HEADACHE
I stood there, staring at the milk as it slowly began to rise, the surface trembling like it was warning me. My head was pounding, each pulse of pain making my temples throb.
Perfect.
Just perfect.
A headache and a house that felt too quiet.
“Fine,” I muttered to myself. “A strong coffee will fix you.”
At least that’s what I hoped.
I leaned against the counter, watching the milk carefully. If this overflowed, I swear I would lose whatever patience I had left for the day.
And then—
My phone rang.
I frowned.
It was in the room.
I glanced at the milk again, narrowing my eyes at it like it was capable of betrayal.
“Don’t betray me, okay? I’ll be right back,” I said, pointing at it like it could actually listen, before turning and walking toward the room.
I picked up the phone.
And froze.
My eyes blinked once.
Then twice.
What a surprise.
I stared at the name for a moment, my brows knitting together in confusion.
Maybe he called by mistake.
Yeah. That must be it.
I walked back to the kitchen, the phone still in my hand, my attention shifting between the screen and the milk that was slowly climbing higher.
The call cut.
And then—
It rang again.
My eyes widened slightly.
What the hell?
Again… him?
A small scoff escaped me.
“Did this man suddenly fall in love with me or what…” I muttered under my breath, clicking my tongue.
The phone kept ringing.
The milk was rising.
My head was hurting.
And my patience was hanging by a thread.
I sighed and accepted the call, pressing the phone to my ear while my eyes stayed fixed on the vessel.
“Hello?” I said, my tone still distracted, my eyes on the milk rising like it was about to betray me any second. “Make it quick. My milk is about to run away—”
“Viyana.”
His voice cut through.
Sharp.
Breathless.
Panicked.
I froze.
The way he said my name—
Not annoyed.
Not irritated.
Not mocking.
Desperate.
“Viyana…” he called again, his breath uneven, like he had been running… or like something inside him was collapsing.
My grip on the phone tightened.
“What?” I asked, my voice no longer casual.
“I— I don’t know what to do,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out of him, messy, unfiltered. “I can’t… I can’t handle this.”
My heart skipped.
Behind me, the milk rose higher, the soft hiss growing louder, but I didn’t turn.
“What happened?” I asked, stepping closer to the stove unconsciously, but my attention was nowhere near it.
“There’s a kid…” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “A small girl… Viyana, she’s just— she’s so small…”
He stopped.
Like the words refused to come out.
Like saying it would make it real.
I swallowed hard, my chest tightening without knowing why.
“What happened to her?” I asked, softer now.
A shaky breath came from the other side.
“She’s hurt,” he said, but the way he said it—
It didn’t sound like just hurt.
It sounded like something far worse.
“I saw her… I…” his voice cracked again, frustration and helplessness mixing together. “I couldn’t even stand there. I walked out. I just— I left.”
That confession hung in the air.
Heavy.
Raw.
“I’m a fucking nurse, Viyana,” he continued, his tone breaking under the weight of it. “I’m supposed to handle this. I’m supposed to be there. But I couldn’t even look at her properly. I just—”
His breath hitched.
“I feel so useless right now.”
The milk spilled over.
The flame hissed.
“Her parents are crying outside… everyone is shouting… and I just walked out like I couldn’t do anything,” he said, his voice lowering, guilt seeping into every word.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me…”
Silence followed.
Not empty.
Not awkward.
Just… heavy.
For once—
He wasn’t strong.
He wasn’t controlled.
He wasn’t the man who always had an answer.
He was just…
A human.
Breaking.
“I can’t even look at her—” his voice came out rushed, breaking over itself. “Her body… it’s covered in blood… I couldn’t stand there, I just—oh my god…”
His breath hitched loudly through the phone, uneven, like he was losing control of it.
For a second, I closed my eyes.
The irritation… the sarcasm… everything slipped away.
“Relax,” I muttered, but this time there was no edge in it. Only steadiness.
He didn’t reply.
Just silence.
But I could hear him.
That uneven breathing.
That quiet panic.
“Breathe,” I said, slower this time.
“Just… breathe.”
I leaned against the counter, gripping the edge lightly as I grounded myself before trying to ground him.
“Inhale… slowly,” I continued, my voice softer, more deliberate. “Don’t rush it.”
A pause.
Then I heard it—
A shaky breath being pulled in.
“Good,” I whispered unconsciously. “Now exhale.”
The milk behind me had completely spilled over, the flame hissing beneath it, but I didn’t move.
“Again,” I said gently. “Slowly… don’t think about anything else.”
Another breath.
Still uneven.
Still fragile.
But trying.
“That’s it,” I murmured, my voice almost a whisper now. “You’re okay… just breathe.”
For the first time since he called—
The panic didn’t feel so loud.
I don’t know what he is going through there.
I can’t see it.
I can’t feel it the way he is feeling it.
But I can hear it.
In the way his breath breaks between words.
In the way his voice trembles like it’s holding too much at once.
And somehow…
That is enough.
I leaned against the counter, the phone pressed closer to my ear without even realizing it. My voice had softened, my words slower, careful… like I was afraid of hurting something fragile.
When did this happen?
When did I start talking to him like this?
Not with sarcasm.
Not with irritation.
Not with that constant need to fight.
But like… this.
Like he mattered in that moment.
Like I wanted him to be okay.
The thought made my chest tighten unexpectedly.
This feels… wrong.
No.
Not wrong.
Unfamiliar.
Too unfamiliar.
As if we weren’t the same two people who couldn’t stand each other just hours ago.
As if we weren’t tied together by something so ugly.
As if…
We were just normal.
Like two people who could call each other when things get too heavy.
Friends.
The word slipped into my mind and stayed there for a second too long.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
No.
We are not that.
We can’t be that.
And yet…
Right now—
With his uneven breathing on the other side…
And my voice trying to steady it—
It felt dangerously close to something real.
A few seconds passed.
His breathing was still uneven… but not as broken as before.
“I… I tried,” he said finally, his voice quieter now, like the storm inside him had lowered but not settled. “I went near her… but I couldn’t stay.”
I didn’t interrupt.
Because this wasn’t the kind of silence that needed to be filled.
“I’ve seen cases before,” he continued slowly, like he was trying to make sense of himself. “Injuries… blood… everything. But this…”
His voice faltered.
“She’s just a child, Viyana.”
The way he said it—
It didn’t sound like a statement.
It sounded like something he couldn’t accept.
I swallowed slightly, my gaze drifting to nothing in particular.
“I know,” I said softly.
Another pause.
“I feel like I failed,” he whispered. “I walked out. What kind of doctor does that?”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“The kind who is still human,” I replied without thinking.
He went silent.
Completely.
As if my words caught him off guard.
“You think nurses and doctors don’t feel?” I continued, my voice steadier now, even though my chest still felt tight. “You think you’re supposed to stand there like nothing affects you?”
“That’s what we are trained for,” he muttered.
“No,” I said quietly. “You are trained to help. Not to stop feeling.”
He didn’t respond immediately.
I could almost imagine him standing there, somewhere outside that chaos, staring at nothing, trying to hold himself together.
“You didn’t run away,” I added after a moment. “You stepped out because you couldn’t process it. There’s a difference.”
“But I left her,” he said, guilt still heavy in his voice.
“And you came out to breathe,” I replied. “If you had stayed there in that state, you wouldn’t have helped her anyway.”
Silence again.
But this time…
It didn’t feel heavy.
It felt like he was listening.
Like he was actually letting my words reach him.
“She needs nurses and doctors who can think clearly,” I continued softly. “Not someone who is breaking inside.”
His breath steadied a little more.
“I don’t know if I can go back in,” he admitted after a while.
I closed my eyes for a second.
“You can,” I said.
A pause.
“I don’t feel strong enough,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to feel strong,” I replied gently. “You just have to go.”
He stayed quiet.
“There are two types of people when they face something like this…” I said slowly, my voice softer than usual, as if I was choosing each word with care.
He didn’t interrupt.
He just listened.
“One… sees the suffering and holds onto hope. They think—no matter what—this person should be saved. That they have to save them.”
I paused for a second, leaning against the counter, my fingers tightening around the phone.
“And the other…” I continued, my voice dropping slightly, “can’t bear to see that pain at all. They step away. Not because they don’t care… but because they feel it too much.”
Silence.
Not empty.
Just… still.
“If I was there…” I let out a small breath, shaking my head faintly. “I might have thrown up seeing so much blood… so many wounds. Not because I’m disgusted by the child…”
My throat tightened slightly.
“But because the pain she’s going through would hit me all at once.”
I closed my eyes for a second.
“And I wouldn’t blame myself for that.”
My voice steadied again.
“And you shouldn’t either.”
He didn’t speak.
But I knew he was listening.
“You are trained for this,” I said gently. “You can do this. You just forgot that for a moment.”
I swallowed, my gaze dropping to the floor.
“That little girl…” I whispered, my voice soft but firm, “she went through all of that… and she’s still breathing. Still holding on.”
My fingers tightened around the phone unconsciously.
“Somewhere in that pain… she’s trusting that the people around her will save her.”
A pause.
A deep one.
“So don’t break that trust.”
My voice barely rose above a whisper now.
“Put your efforts. Do what you can. That’s enough.”
I let out a slow breath, like I had been holding it in all along.
The line stayed quiet for a moment.
Then I heard voices from his side. Someone calling his name.
Reality pulling him back.
“I need to go,” he muttered.
His voice…
It wasn’t panicked anymore.
It wasn’t breaking either.
Just… quiet.
Steady in a fragile way.
I hummed softly in response.
No more words were needed.
And then—
The call ended.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen as it went dark.
The kitchen came back into focus.
The silence returned.
And then—
The smell hit me.
Burnt.
I turned my head sharply.
The milk had completely overflowed, spilling down the sides, hissing against the flame, creating a mess I had forgotten in the middle of everything.
“Oh fuck.”
“In the middle of everything, I completely forgot you.”
The milk had spilled everywhere, hissing angrily against the flame, leaving behind a mess that would take time to clean.
I quickly turned off the stove, grabbing a cloth and wiping the edges, my movements slower than usual. Not because I was tired…
I let out a quiet breath, leaning back against the counter once I was done, my fingers resting on the cool surface.
The headache that had been pounding my head just a while ago…
It wasn’t there anymore.
I frowned slightly, touching my temple unconsciously as if to confirm it.
Gone.
Just like that.
After talking to him.
A small, confused smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
How does that even make sense?