35. Fresh StartMila
Thirty Five
Fresh Start
Mila
I t’s been a week since my new life began. A week of figuring out what it means to breathe freely. And, surprisingly, I’ve adjusted quickly. Faster than I thought I would.
The physics lab is quiet except for the low hum of machines and the scratch of my pen against paper. I’m perched on a stool, scribbling notes while the data from our experiment blinks on the screen in front of me. We’re working on refining some kind of sensor technology. It’s cutting-edge and way above my previous knowledge, but Professor Elliot doesn’t seem to mind. He’s patient, endlessly encouraging, and more understanding than I probably deserve.
When he announced this research project, I practically begged to be on his team. There were better candidates, I know there were. People who’ve been in this field longer, people who probably have the credentials to match their enthusiasm. But Professor Elliot waved it off when I brought it up. He told me my passion outweighed any gaps in my experience.
I should’ve felt pride, but guilt settled in its place. Without Professor Elliot’s help, I wouldn’t have achieved any of this. It makes the scholarship I technically don’t need any more feel a little less earned.
I sigh and focus on calibrating the lab equipment. The project is fascinating. We’re testing sensor arrays, working out bugs, and figuring out how they can be used in more practical applications. The science of it keeps me busy, keeps my mind spinning just enough that it drowns out the other noise in my life.
I rub my shoulder, kneading the spot where there is a dull ache. Recovery came faster than I thought it would—partly because of the top-tier medical care Rafael arranged and partly because the bullet, thankfully, didn’t cause much internal damage. Still, every now and then, a sharp pain jolts through my shoulder. I don’t know if it is psychological.
It’s strange how quickly things turned around, how I went from wanting it all to end to craving life again. Maybe it’s because I finally escaped the reminders of my past. I didn’t expect it, but being away from that darkness made me see things differently. The air feels lighter, the days don’t feel so heavy, and for the first time, there’s this quiet hope inside me. Some nights are still hard. The memories don’t vanish just because I want them to, but it’s nothing like before. Nothing like the numbness that used to wrap itself around me. Now, I can breathe. I can live.
Professor Elliot pops his head in, offering a small smile. He breaks me out of my thoughts. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I reply, glancing up from the monitor. “Still working through the data from this morning’s run, but I think we’re getting closer to what you want.”
“Keep at it,” he says, disappearing as quickly as he came.
He’s been a godsend. Truly. He didn’t just give me a place on his team—he helped me find my way around campus, trained me on all the lab equipment, introduced me to faculty members, and even put in a good word for me with the scholarship committee before I officially got started. I don’t need the scholarship anymore, but the gesture still meant something. Getting it wasn’t hard, my father made sure I had nothing in my name, not even a bank account, despite his riches
Rafael’s card burns a hole in my wallet, always on me like a tether. When he said he’d give me space, I should’ve known he didn’t mean it in the way most people would. Physical space, sure. He hasn’t shown up at my door, or stormed into my lab like I halfway expected. But every day, like clockwork, a bouquet of flowers arrives.
Roses. White lilies. Daisies. Each one prettier than the last, and each one accompanied by a note. I don’t plan to open them anymore. They’re dark, obsessive.
You’re the air I breathe, Mila. Do you think I’ll let you suffocate me?
I shiver at the memory of yesterday’s note and shove it out of my mind, turning my attention back to the work in front of me.
It’s strange, though—being here, in this lab, surrounded by other people who love what they do. It’s a kind of joy I’d almost forgotten. I wake up excited now. I wake up without that tight knot of dread in my chest. Just… peace.
Well, as much peace as someone like me can hope for. I always feel watched. Even when the streets seem empty, even when I’m alone, I can feel their presence, unseen but constant. I never catch a glimpse, but I know Rafael’s guards are there, lurking in shadows, blending into the background.
Mary walks into the lab with her usual huge SpongeBob tote bag slung over one shoulder. She settles onto the stool beside me, glancing over my shoulder at the instrument I’ve been fighting with for the better part of twenty minutes.
“Still not behaving?” she asks.
I groan, slumping dramatically. “Not even close. I think it’s mocking me.”
Mary chuckles, pulling her red hair back into a neat ponytail. She takes the calibration guide off the table, scans it for a few seconds, and starts adjusting the knobs. Mary has a background in physics, so she skipped the prep courses that have been eating up most of my free time. I swear, sometimes she makes everything look so damn effortless.
“I don’t know how you’re not losing your mind,” I whisper, leaning back on my stool to watch her work.
“Oh, I am,” she replies, still focused on the machine. “I’ve got this dynamics class that’s absolutely kicking my ass. Professor Dan can’t stop piling on the assignments. It’s like he’s trying to weed us all out before the semester even starts.”
“Sounds brutal.”
“You have no idea.” She glances at me, smiling. “I’ll save you my notes, though. If you’re stuck with him next term, you’ll need them.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
The door swings open and Sam strides in like he owns the place. “Hello, beautiful people! What’s for lunch today?”
I burst out laughing. Sam always manages to bring his own brand of chaotic energy into the room. He’s like a walking Yelp review, more obsessed with food than anyone I’ve ever met. But to be fair, he’s introduced us to some incredible restaurants, so I can’t complain too much.
“Let the expert decide that,” Mary teases, still fiddling with the equipment.
Sam strikes a pose like a food critic in a five-star restaurant. “I’ll have you know, my culinary expertise is highly sought after.”
“You’re literally just hungry all the time,” I shoot back, grinning.
He clutches his chest in mock offense. “Rude. But true.” Then he perks up. “Oh! There’s this new Greek place that just opened up downtown. Amazing reviews. Garlic fries. You’re coming.”
Mary snorts. “Garlic fries? Is that your selling point?”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” Sam says, flashing a smile.
“Fine. You win,” I say, throwing my hands up in surrender. “But if it’s bad, you’re paying.”
“Deal.”
Sam coughs sharply. I scowl. “Are you okay, Sam?”
He waves me off, but there’s something tired in the movement. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just my apartment acting up again.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Your apartment?”
“It’s been a little… moldy.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s nothing new. I’ve been dealing with it since I moved in, but it’s been worse lately. Can’t even sleep without waking up coughing. But hey, at least the rent’s insane, right?”
God, my chest tightens. I think about the ridiculous penthouse Rafael set me up in, with its floor-to-ceiling windows, gleaming marble, and walk-in closets I’ll never fill. It’s so big I can hear my own voice echo when I talk too loud. I hate it. But knowing Sam is stuck in a glorified box that’s literally making him sick? It’s making me realize how truly privileged I am.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur.
Mary hums without looking up from the instrument she’s still fine-tuning. “Check my tote bag,” she tells Sam. “I think I have some cough drops in there.”
Sam blinks, then smirks. “What don’t you have in that bag, Mary? Spare organs? A small child?”
“Keep making jokes and see if I help you again,” she teases.
I let out a soft laugh as Sam rummages through Mary’s tote, pulling out a crumpled pack of cough drops like he’s just unearthed treasure. “Ah, lifesaver. Thanks, babe,” he says, popping one into his mouth.
“Don’t call me babe,” Mary replies.
“Fine,” Sam drawls. “Thanks, goddess of all things organized and prepared. How’s that?”
“Better,” she deadpans.
Sam turns to me, shrugging. “See? She loves me.”
“She tolerates you,” I tease, but my smile fades quickly. “Seriously, though, Sam. Mold is no joke. Have you told your landlord?”
He scoffs. “Oh, sure. And I’m sure he’s just dying to help the gay guy who keeps asking for repairs.”
My stomach twists. It’s not like I haven’t heard Sam joke about this stuff before, but every time he says it, it makes me more concerned.
Mary finally looks up, her brows furrowing. “He can’t ignore you if it’s a health issue.”
“He’s been ignoring me since I moved in,” Sam says, leaning against the counter. “Anyway, I’m fine. Don’t go getting all worried about me. I’ve survived worse.”
“Sam—”
“Really,” he cuts me off, flashing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Besides, I’ve got my priorities straight. Like lunch. Speaking of which, Greek food still good with you guys?”
Mary shakes her head but doesn’t argue. I bite my lip, nodding reluctantly. “Yeah, okay.”
He claps his hands together. “Great. I’ll book us a table for after class. My treat. You two are officially my favorite people.”
The sound of the equipment calibrating fills the silence as we all go back to work, and I fumble with my notes, trying to shake the heavy feeling in my chest.
Sam deserves better than that apartment. Better than a landlord who doesn’t care. And a better friend than me, stuck in my shiny new life and too scared to offer more than a damn apology.