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Chapter One

Eliana

It’s 2 a.m., and the room is cloaked in shadows, the only light coming from the dim desk lamp casting a soft glow over my textbooks. My eyes are heavy, but I keep going, pushing through another chapter of neuroanatomy. The words blur together, and I have to read the same sentence three times before I understand what it’s saying. My hand is cramping, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not when I’ve worked this hard to get to this point.

The silence of the apartment presses in around me, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing. It’s always like this when I’m studying, alone in my thoughts. My leg throbs, a dull ache that I can’t quite ignore tonight. It’s strange, but some days it feels like it’s a part of me, and others it’s a weight I can’t shake off.

I shift in my chair, trying to find a position that makes it less noticeable, but it’s no use. The discomfort isn’t something I can escape.

“Focus, Eliana,” I whisper to myself, biting the edge of my pen. “Just finish this chapter.”

But it’s hard to focus when my mind keeps drifting to the same thoughts. The kind of thoughts that pull at me when I’m alone, when I can’t distract myself with work or the busy hum of the city outside.

Med school is brutal, and I’ve always been good at burying myself in it. But sometimes, even the most complex medical terminology can’t fill the hole in my chest.

The weight of the last five years is there, buried under layers of ambition and pain. It’s in the quiet moments, like now, when I can’t outrun it.

There’s no room for weakness here. Not in this world.

I glance over at the clock. 2:15 a.m. It’s getting later, and I can feel the exhaustion in my bones. I should sleep. I know I should. But I can’t—there’s no time for sleep. I still have an entire stack of notes to go through. Exams are coming up, and if I want to make it through this semester, I need to push harder than anyone else.

Another sip of coffee, and I feel the familiar buzz of caffeine start to kick in.

As I run my fingers over my notes, my eyes fall on the sticky note in the corner of my desk, a small reminder written in Ava’s messy handwriting: “Don’t forget to breathe. You’re human.”

I snort softly. Ava always knows how to make me laugh, even in the middle of a study session. She’s been my roommate since I moved to London, and despite our vastly different personalities—her easy-going nature and my determined, sometimes obsessive drive to succeed—she’s been the one constant in my life.

But even she can’t help me shake the emptiness I sometimes feel.

I push the thought aside and turn back to my textbooks, but it doesn’t work. No matter how hard I try to focus, my mind keeps drifting. I think about the people in my life, the way they look at me—like they don’t understand the weight I carry. I think about the friends who act like everything’s fine when it’s not. They don’t know how it feels to keep going, to put on a smile when it feels like you’ve lost something that you can never get back.

I swallow hard, the sting of emotion rising in my throat. I refuse to let it show. Not now. Not ever.

A sound breaks my focus—a soft knock on my bedroom door. Ava. Of course.

“Still up?” Her voice is muffled, but I can hear the concern in it.

I groan softly, not in the mood for her “you need to take a break” speech. “Yeah. Just finishing up.”

She doesn’t believe me, of course. Ava’s smart, and she knows when I’m lying. A second later, she pushes the door open, stepping into the room with that determined look on her face that always precedes a “talk.”

“Melanie, you need to rest. You’ve been at this for hours.” I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair. “I’m fine. Just want to get through this chapter.”

She crosses her arms, unimpressed. “You said that an hour ago. I’m pretty sure your brain is starting to fry itself.”

“I can handle it,” I reply, trying to push her out of my space. The last thing I need right now is a lecture.

Ava eyes me for a long moment, her expression softening. “Look, I’m not telling you to stop studying. But you’re burning yourself out. I’ve seen you do this before. You’ll crash.”

I exhale, annoyed at the truth in her words. She’s right. I can feel it. But I can’t stop. If I do, it’ll all catch up with me—the doubts, the insecurities. The fact that everything I’ve worked for could crumble at any moment if I don’t keep pushing forward.

“I don’t have a choice,” I mutter. “I can’t afford to let up now.”

She sighs and sits on the edge of my bed, crossing her legs. “I get it, El. But you have to make room for yourself. For... yourself. You’re more than just a med student.”

I know she means well, but the words feel hollow, like they don’t quite apply to me. Not now.

I know who I am. I’m someone who pushes through pain. Someone who doesn’t let the cracks show. Because once you start letting those cracks appear, it’s hard to stop the flood.

Ava doesn’t press further, and after a long pause, she stands up and walks to the door. “Alright. But don’t expect me to pick up the pieces when you fall apart.”

I smile faintly, but it’s strained. “I won’t.”

The door clicks shut behind her, and I’m left alone again. The silence is almost deafening now. I take a deep breath, sitting back in my chair, and stare at the page in front of me, but the words blur together. My vision grows hazy, and for a moment, I wonder if it would be so bad to just close my eyes, to surrender to the quiet.

But no. I can’t.

There’s always more to do. Always more work.

I push through the exhaustion, feeling it claw at my mind as I try to focus, but my body is screaming for rest. I turn my attention to the clock again, noting the time: 3:00 a.m. The world outside is still. The city hums, but the apartment feels like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something. For someone.

I exhale, forcing myself to finish one more page. Just one more. That’s all I need. Just one more.