8. Scalpels, sketches and Car rides.
Operating Theatre 2 – 2 hours into surgery
The room was ice-cold, yet sweat lined the back of Eva’s neck.
It had been over two hours.
Two hours of silence, steel tools, steady hands, and the terrifying sound of a beeping monitor keeping time like a ticking bomb.
Aarvi’s chest lay open before them—so small, so fragile. Her heart, barely the size of a clenched fist, fluttered beneath surgical lights.
Dr. Neil Morris stood still and commanding at the head of the table. Every movement of his was surgical choreography—precise, practiced, almost poetic.
Eva stood opposite him, holding retraction steady. Her gloves were tight. Her eyes focused.
She wasn’t breathing. Or blinking.
“Clamp.”
“Gauze.”
“Suction, left border.”
They worked like parts of a machine.
But then—he paused.
The bleeding slowed.
He looked at her, voice even but sharper now.
“Walter,” he said. “We need to excise the damaged valve. Clean. Careful.”
Eva’s heart froze. Her gloves trembled.
“Me?” she whispered, already knowing the answer.
Neil didn’t look up. “Yes. Cut here—see the tissue fold? Just between the annulus and the ruptured leaflet. One clean stroke. Do not nick the myocardium.”
Her fingers hovered.
One wrong move and I tear the heart. One wrong move and she bleeds out.
He’s letting me do this.
He trusts me to do this.
But her hand wouldn’t move.
Time didn’t slow. It tightened.
Eva whispered, “I—I don’t think I can—”
“Yes,” Neil snapped softly, firm but not unkind. “You can. And you will.”
Her eyes darted up, startled. He was looking at her now. Right into her.
He wasn’t angry.
He was certain.
“Eva,” he said quietly, almost too quietly, “cut.”
She swallowed, blinked away the sting in her eyes, steadied her hand...
And cut.
Clean.
Precise.
The damaged valve dropped gently into the basin.
No rupture. No tear. Just silence—and then the soft hum of the monitors rising back into rhythm.
Neil nodded once. “Good.”
Eva finally let herself breathe.
Not because it was over.
But because, for the first time in her life, she’d touched a heart—an alive one.
Surgery was successful it felt like a battlefield.
"Complete the Sutures" he hissed feeling exhausted.
"On it." Eva replied with needles in her hand.
"And done" she whispered with one last stitch and a smile crept her face checking the stable vitals.
Outside Operating Theatre – 7:32 PM
The door swung shut behind them with a soft hiss.
The kind of silence that followed wasn’t peace—it was gravity.
Eva stood just outside the scrub room, leaning slightly against the tiled wall, eyes fixed on her own reflection in the glass. Her hands, now washed clean, still felt like they were holding that little girl’s heart.
Her body ached. Her shoulders stiff. Her mind—still inside the OT.
She did it.
She cut into a living, beating heart.
She didn’t faint. She didn’t mess up. She didn’t run.
And yet…
Why did her chest feel so full she could barely breathe?
A soft sound of footsteps broke the silence.
She turned slightly.
Neil.
He walked out behind her, scrubs damp from hours in surgery, mask pulled off, surgical cap in hand. His hair was a mess, but his posture was, as always—controlled.
He glanced at her.
No smile.
No praise.
Just that unreadable look she’d come to know.
She looked down. “She’s stable now.”
He nodded once. “We’ll monitor her post-op for 48 hours. If there’s no arrhythmia, she’ll recover fully.”
“Right,” Eva said softly. Her voice was steadier than she felt.
He looked at her a moment longer. “You did well.”
Eva blinked.
Not dramatic. Not exaggerated.
But from Neil Morris? That was a standing ovation.
She gave a small smile, trying not to let it mean too much. “Thank you… for trusting me.”
He turned, about to leave, but paused.
Then—without turning back, he said quietly:
“Trust is earned. You earned it.”
And then he walked away, coat swaying, already on to his next case, his next crisis.
Eva stood there for a while longer, letting the weight of those words settle on her shoulders.
She didn’t cry.
But she smiled.
A real one.
Because today wasn’t just about saving a life.
It was about becoming the surgeon she always dreamed to be.
Ria sat cross-legged on her bed, a pencil between her teeth, coffee on her sketchbook, and fire in her blood.
Her playlist blasted something angsty. Her sketchpad was filled with half-finished silhouettes, dramatic capes, sharp tailoring, and fabrics that practically screamed vengeance.
Because this wasn’t just a college project.
This was a statement.
A rebuttal.
A designer’s revenge.
Rig my win once, shame on you. Try it again, and I’ll outshine you so hard, you’ll need sunglasses to scroll past my feed.
She looked over at her sticky note wall.
“Final Showcase: 3 Weeks.”
Underlined. Circled. Threatened with glitter.
Ria narrowed her eyes at one particular design: a blazer-dress hybrid with cutouts, chains, and attitude. It wasn’t subtle.
But neither was she.
Her phone buzzed.
Lexi homie:
“Still alive after OT drama. Your sister? A legend.”
Ria smiled. “Obviously.”
Another ping. This time from her department group chat:
“Material pickup @ CityArt Supply before 2 PM today – last batch.”
Ria groaned, dragging herself up. “Time to face the world. And possibly punch it.”
"Coming , work in progress. Time is running out you have to do this Ria"
Downtown – CityArt Supply
Ria strutted into the store like she owned it. Messy bun. Slit jeans with a perfect desined crop top. Combat boots. A whole do not try me vibe.
She was halfway through selecting fabric swatches—completely in the zone—when someone behind her knocked over a row of ribbon spools.
Crash.
She sighed dramatically. “You break it, you organize it. That’s how karma works.”
“No kidding,” a familiar voice replied.
Too familiar.
Ria froze.
She turned slowly.
And there he was.
Ryle Morris.
Tall. Smug. Holding a fallen basket with zero shame. Wearing sunglasses indoors like a walking red flag.
Of course.
"Why is he wearing formals,scary." She thought.
His eyes widened the moment he realized who she was.
“Wait—you're—”
Ria raised a hand. “Nope. Not today.”
But fate had other plans.
The manager returned from the counter, holding a fabric bundle. “Here you go, Ms. Walter! And Mr. Morris, your law journals are packed too.”
Both of them turned.
Together.
Eyes narrowing.
"A lawyer, seriously? Him?" Ria muttered to herself.
“You two know each other?”
They didn’t answer.
But they both muttered the same thought internally NO.
Ria stormed out of the store, her fabric bag swinging like a weapon of rage and style.
She refused to look behind her.
She didn’t want to see his stupid face.
His smug smile.
His indoor sunglasses.
She reached her e-bike and turned the key.
Nothing.
She frowned. Tried again.
Still nothing.
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed at it, flicking the handle like it owed her rent. “You have one job. ONE.”
She tried again.
Dead.
Like her patience.
“Need a lift?” came that unmistakable voice.
She didn’t turn.
She just muttered, “I’d rather stay here all night.”
A pause. Then the unmistakable click of car keys unlocking.
“Cool. I hope you know there are no cabs here.”
Ria finally turned. She knew she had no other option now.she gave up.
Ryle Morris was leaning against the driver’s door of a matte black car, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, still somehow wearing those sunglasses like he was auditioning for a movie no one asked for.
She glared. “You stalked me.”
“I bumped into you. The stalking’s accidental.”
“I don’t need a ride.”
“You also don’t have a bike that works.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He walked around the car, casually opened the passenger door, then raised both brows at her as if to say, what now, designer girl?
The rain picked that exact moment to start falling again.
Because of course it did.
Screw the universe.
Ria stomped toward the car. “Flirt with me and I will cut your soul into confetti.”
Inside the Car –
The silence was thick.
The engine hummed.
The rain hit the windows in rhythm.
Ria crossed her arms and stared out the window like it personally offended her.
Ryle drummed his fingers on the wheel. “So… we’re not gonna talk about the fashion show?”
She didn’t look at him. “We’re not gonna talk.”
“You heard me that night.”
Still no reaction.
He sighed. “Look, I was stupid. Lara was—”
“Still is,” she muttered.
He grinned despite himself. “You’re not wrong.”
A beat of silence.
Then Ria turned, eyes sharp.
“I don’t care about your reasons. But I do care about my work. And if you ever try pulling anything like that again—”
“I won’t,” Ryle said quickly. Sincere now.
The playfulness dropped just a little.
"I am sorry.No- I am really serious this time.And the other day I came to apologize. You were probably off designing some flaming cape of vengeance or something.”
"Yeah I am busy unlike you."
Ria blinked. Almost smiled.
Almost.
Then returned to her glare. “Damn right. Flaming, and studded. With daggers.”
“Sexy.”
“Shut up.”
He smiled. Quiet now. Driving slower as the rain thickened.
They didn’t say much the rest of the ride.
But the silence didn’t feel so sharp anymore.
And Ria?
She didn’t forget what he did.
But she was curious now.
Because behind that smirk, and those sunglasses, and the chaos… there might be something real.
Maybe.
Harmony Care Hospital – Resident Lounge – 8:19 PM
The sky was still crying.
Rain lashed against the hospital windows like it had a grudge. The chaos had calmed, but the wards were still buzzing with tired voices, dim lights, and the comforting hum of machines.
Eva curled into a chair in the resident lounge, blanket draped over her lap, tea in hand.
Her bones ached. Her mind was still replaying Aarvi’s surgery like a loop on mute. That tiny heart. That single cut.
Neil’s voice in her head.
"You earned it."
She smiled softly to herself, sipping the too-hot tea even as it burned her tongue.
The door creaked open.
Her smile vanished.
Because he walked in.
Still in scrubs. Still has aura. Still very much… Neil Morris.
He paused when he saw her, a brow raised slightly. “You’re still here?”
Eva blinked, then gestured at the tea. “Yes, well… some of us process trauma with caffeine.”
He walked past her and grabbed a black mug off the shelf.
She sipped again. “Did you check on Aarvi?”
Neil nodded. “She’s stable. Vitals holding. Still sedated.”
Eva looked down into her tea, fingers tightening around the cup. “That’s… good. That’s really good.”
He didn’t sit, but he leaned against the counter across from her, watching her in silence.
After a pause, he said, “You didn’t hesitate.”
Eva looked up, surprised. “I did. For a second.”
“You didn’t let it win.”
That was the closest thing to praise Neil Morris gave anyone. She felt her cheeks warm, and she tried to hide it behind her cup.
He glanced at her fingers. “You’re shivering.”
“It’s cold,” she said quickly. “And I haven’t eaten.”
He moved to the mini-fridge, pulled out a sandwich container, and tossed it gently to her.
She caught it, startled. “This yours?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Eva smirked. “Do you always carry emergency sandwiches?”
She paused.
Then softly: “You brought it for me?”
Neil didn’t answer. He just sipped his own tea and said, “You overthink everything.”
Eva stared at him, half-annoyed, half-melting.
“You know you’re too loud when you laugh,” he replied dryly.
“I do not—!”
“You do.”
She blinked.
He was smiling. Just the smallest tug of the lips. Barely there.
But there.
And in that rainy, quiet lounge, with a half-eaten sandwich between them and thunder growling in the background—they weren’t surgeon and resident.
They were just Neil and Eva.
Eva yawned as she packed her things, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. The sandwich was half gone, and the tea long cold. Lexi and Trent had texted her an hour ago—they’d already gone home.
She glanced at the clock. No buses. No Lexi. No umbrella.
Just perfect.
She sighed and slung her bag over her shoulder.
Neil, who was quietly checking something on his phone, looked up.
“Where’s Lexi?”
“Gone,” Eva muttered. “And so is public transport apparently. My e-bike battery died this morning. So now I’m either walking home or waiting for divine teleportation.”
Neil stared at her a beat.
Then said, casually:
“I’ll drop you.”
Eva blinked.
Hard.
“You… what?”
“Do you want to walk in the rain?” he asked flatly, already standing, already heading toward the exit.
“I mean—no—but—you? You’ll drop me?”
He paused at the door and turned slightly.
“Do you plan to argue until it stops raining?”
Eva grabbed her bag and ran after him. “Okay, okay! I’m coming. Grumpy knight in scrubs to the rescue.”
" You watch a lot of cartoons don't you?"
"They are not cartoons it's Disney."
The engine purred low. Soft jazz played faintly from the speakers. The leather seats were warm. The dashboard had no dust. Of course it didn’t.
Eva sat beside him, still damp from the drizzle, hair escaping her bun and eyes wide as she looked around.
“Wow. I expected your car to smell like antiseptic and sarcasm, but this is… fancy.”
Neil said nothing.
She took that as permission to keep talking.
“I always imagined you lived in some castle-like apartment with white walls and zero furniture. Like, emotional damage but make it aesthetic.”
Still no reply.
She peeked at him.
He was… smirking.
A real, silent, blink-and-miss-it smirk.
Her heart did a backflip.
“So you do have a sense of humor,” she teased.
He turned toward the road. “You just talk too much to notice.”
Eva gasped. “Rude! I bring sunshine to your otherwise grayscale existence!”
“And excessive noise.”
She crossed her arms dramatically. “I’m going to remember that when I become the top resident and take over the cardio floor.”
“Terrifying.”
She snorted, then leaned back in the seat. “But really, thank you. For the ride. And… earlier. In the OT.”
Neil didn’t glance at her this time, but his voice softened. “You did good.”
It wasn’t just professional.
It wasn’t just kind.
It was… personal.
Eva turned her head, watching the rain bead on the windows. Her voice was quieter now.
“You scare me, you know.”
Neil looked at her briefly.
She smiled. “Not like horror movie scary. Just… you’re so perfect at what you do. And I feel like if I mess up once, you’ll just… stop trusting me.”
He didn’t answer right away.
Then, gently:
“I don’t expect perfection. I expect intention.”
She turned to him, surprised.
He kept driving, one hand relaxed on the wheel.
“But if you ever do mess up,” he added, “I’ll still expect you to show up the next day. Learn. Fix it. That’s what makes a good doctor.”
Her throat tightened.
You don’t get this man often. But when you do… God, it matters.
She looked at him quietly for a second longer.
Then whispered, “Thank you.”
He parked outside her gate. Didn’t say anything more.
But as she stepped out of the car and turned back—
He rolled the window down slightly and said:
“Try to sleep. You’ve earned it.”