14. You wanted to see me?
The hospital was calm when I stepped foot inside. Low voices, purposeful strides, but overall not chaotic.
This wasn't the first hospital I had set foot in. And it definitely wasn't the first massive facility I was visiting. I was well acquainted with tall buildings, fancy designs, state of the art architecture.
Yet something about this place distracted me in a way I couldn't explain.
For years, it had been only one reason.
Every single time I had come here, it reminded me of loss and fear. My legs always shook, my steps always faltered, my breath always hitched.
How great it would be if help always arrived on time. If lives weren't flipped upside down in seconds.
If people we loved never died.
People always believed that I funded such facilities and developed such projects as a strategic business move. For more money. More success. More power.
But that wasn't true.
Somewhere deep down, I believed it could help others avoid what I had experienced.
My trauma fuelled the urge to ease others' suffering. I refused to be part of the rich who viewed lives as mere, worthless objects. Who'd burn people's lives to the ground for wealth and status.
"Mr. Anderson," Dr. Jameson's voice dragged me out of the dimension my thoughts had spiralled into. He showed a chart on his tablet. "The adaptive triage interface has significantly reduced documentation time. Our residents are actually finishing rounds on schedule now."
"That's good to hear." I replied automatically, scanning the figure once.
But my attention betrayed me again. A flash of white coat at the far end of the hall made my chest tighten, only to ease a second later when I realized it wasn't her.
Pathetic.
I still didn't understand what it was about Dr. Ayra that drew me to her like a moth to a flame. Sure, she was beautiful. Smart. Dedicated. I could write endless adjectives to describe all the things she was.
But there seemed to be more than just that. Every time I laid my eyes on her, I couldn't help but think that I had met her before. I had this unshakable desire to be her shield, to be closer to her.
It was very unlike me. I had never been with a woman before. No girlfriends, no hook-ups. I had dedicated years of my life to building a strong future for myself, one that others could also benefit from.
My work had always been focus driven. Help the underprivileged. Provide security. Use technology as a means to make lives easier. Make a difference in someone's life.
There was no time to waste with other things. Especially not women. I had never even felt the urge to lift my head and look at woman for more than a second.
And then came Dr. Ayra.
She'd occupied my thoughts in a way no one had. She made me feel things. For the first time, my heart and mind had made up space for something other than work.
"The learning curve was steep for some of the senior staff," Dr. Jameson continued, "but the younger doctors adapted quickly. Especially in obstetrics and gynecology."
My ears perked up.
"Oh?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
"Yes," he said with a pleased smile. "The gynae department has been one of the most enthusiastic adopters. Their workflows are complex—lab integration, fetal monitoring, emergency overrides—but your team customized it beautifully."
I nodded. "And clinically?"
"Fewer delays. Better communication between labor rooms and NICU. Fewer near-misses." He paused. "Honestly, the feedback's been strongest from one of our residents."
My heart was hammering in my chest now. "Really? Which resident?"
"Dr. Ayra Laurent."
My chest warmed at the sound of her name, annoyingly so.
"She's been instrumental in optimising the system for obstetric emergencies," Dr. Jameson went on. "She's very sharp. She understands the realities on the floor."
I already knew that.
I'd seen it in the way she spoke, precise but gentle. Confident without arrogance. How she carried exhaustion like a badge she didn't complain about.
Still, hearing it affirmed didn't do anything to dull the quiet pride curling in my chest.
"That's good," I said, taking a short pause. "Would you mind asking Dr. Ayra to join us?"
Dr. Jameson looked mildly surprised. "Of course. She's probably in the ward right now. I'll have someone page her."
"Thank you."
As he stepped away to make the request, I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders back as if I needed to prepare myself.
Ridiculous.
This was a routine site visit. A standard post-implementation review. I had no reason to feel... anticipatory.
And yet, I found myself straightening my cufflinks. Adjusting my watch. Running my fingers through my hair. Glancing down the corridor.
I wondered if she was tired today.
If she'd slept any better than she had that night in the car.
If she still walked home when she shouldn't.
The thought irritated me more than it should have.
A few minutes passed.
Then footsteps approached.
My heartbeat was a mess.
"Dr. Ayra?" Dr. Jameson's voice reached me. "Mr. Anderson wanted to hear directly from you about the gynae department's experience."
I turned then.
And there she was.
White coat slightly wrinkled at the sleeves. Hair pulled back, a few strands loose around her face. A tablet tucked against her chest like a shield.
She looked surprised.
Then she saw me.
Something flickered across her expression—soft, startled, unmistakably real.
And just like that, the noise of the hospital faded into the background.
"Mr. Anderson," she said politely, though her voice carried that familiar warmth. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes," I replied, my tone professional, even as my gaze softened despite myself. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Dr. Jameson smiled between us. "I'll leave you two to it."
He walked off, oblivious to the sudden shift in the air.
Ayra adjusted her grip on the tablet, glancing around before looking back at me. "Is everything alright with the system?"
"From what I've heard," I said, "it's working well. But I wanted to hear it from you."
Her brows knit slightly. "From me?"
"You're the one using it in real time," I continued calmly. "I don't want filtered reports. I want the truth."
She hesitated for half a second, then nodded.
"Okay," she said. "In that case... there are a few things I'd like to mention."
And as she began to speak—about labor room alerts, real-time CTG integration, emergency C-section activation protocols—I realized something quietly unsettling.
I hadn't come here just to assess a system.
I'd come here to see her.
And now that I had, I wasn't sure leaving would be quite so easy.
As I listened to her, her voice like magic to my ears, the atmosphere in the hospital abruptly shifted.
The pitch of voices changed. Footsteps quickened. A sharp, urgent call cut through the corridor.
"Emergency—OBGYN! Incoming!"
I turned instinctively.
A stretcher rolled in through the double doors. On it lay a girl, no older than twenty.
Her face was pale, eyes wide with terror, one hand gripping the thin sheet pulled over her abdomen.
Red.
Too much red.
Blood soaked through the sheets, streaking the side rail, dripping onto the sterile white floor in a way that made my stomach lurch.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
My muscles locked. Breath stalled halfway in my chest. The sounds around me blurred into something distant and distorted, like I was underwater.
Headlights.
Rain.
Blood.
A scream that didn't belong to this place.
I clenched my jaw hard, grounding myself in the feel of my teeth pressing together.
When Ayra lay her tablet aside and ran towards the girl, was when I regained touch with reality.
I stood frozen in place as I watched her put on gloves and approach the girl.
"How many weeks?" she asked, her voice steady and sharp in a way I hadn't heard before.
"Thirty-two." A nurse replied breathlessly. "Heavy vaginal bleeding. BP's dropping. Possible placental abruption."
Ayra was already at the girl's side, one hand gently but firmly pressing against her forearm.
"Hey, I'm Dr. Ayra," she said calmly, her tone softening just enough to soothe without losing authority. "You're going to be okay, but I need you to stay with me, alright?"
The girl nodded weakly, tears spilling down her temples.
"Get two wide-bore IV lines," Ayra ordered. "Type and crossmatch. Start fluids now. Call anesthesia and prep OR two. We might need an emergency C-section."
The words landed with precision. No panic. No wasted motion.
I stood rooted to the floor, my hands curling slowly into fists at my sides.
The smell of antiseptic mixed with iron hit my senses.
For a split second, the corridor didn't look like a hospital anymore. It looked like chaos.
I forced my eyes to stay open. To stay present.
Ayra leaned closer to the patient, her hand never leaving the girl's arm. "Any pain? Contractions? Dizziness?"
"Everything's spinning." The girl whispered.
"I know," Ayra replied gently. "You're doing great. Keep breathing with me."
She demonstrated slow, controlled breaths, and the girl mirrored her without even realizing it.
It was... extraordinary.
And I didn't even realise that my breathing had begun to even out as well.
I was in awe of her.
"We're taking you to the OR now, okay? You and your baby are going to be fine." She assured with a gentle firmness.
The stretcher moved again, rushing to the OT.
I watched them go, my pulse loud in my ears, my body still tense, until the doors swung shut and the corridor fell quiet once more.
Only then did I exhale.
I hadn't realized my hands were trembling until I looked down.
And as the echo of her calm authority lingered in the sterile air, one thought settled deep in my chest, heavy and undeniable.
She didn't just save lives.
She ran toward the very thing I had learned, long ago, to freeze in front of.
And for the first time in years... I wondered if standing near her might teach me how not to.