Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
AZARA
I stared at the digital clock on my bedside table, watching the minutes crawl by agonizingly slow. I’d easily fallen asleep last night—which hadn’t been an easy feat for the last ten years—but a nightmare I could barely even remember now woke me up and I couldn’t fall back asleep after that.
It was currently 5:00 a.m. and I’d been lying here for the past thirty minutes, despite knowing I should be grabbing every minute of rest I could. Especially when I had a full day of scheduled surgeries ahead, and with how busy work had been lately with the holidays coming up.
It was like everyone’s heart in the city failed and since I worked at the biggest trauma center in London, we always got the biggest influx of patients.
I’d hoped that if I’d shut my eyes, I could get a few more minutes of sleep but my mind kept racing through my endless list of tasks that needed to get done, and I ended up running through it instead.
I was still exhausted from my last shift, but when was I not tired? My whole life was dedicated to Amanar General Hospital, but just another year before what I’d dedicated my blood, sweat and tears—a lot of tears—came to fruition. Although my work wouldn’t really end when I finally finished my training and I officially became a cardiothoracic surgeon.
My alarm went off fifteen minutes later, its shrill sound slicing through the stillness of the room and pulling me out of my thoughts. With a groggy groan, I fumbled for the snooze button, and silenced it with a frustrated swipe.
I lay there for a moment longer before letting out a resigned sigh and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. The cold touch of the floor instantly ran up my spine and I grabbed the side of the mattress, mustering the courage to get on with my day.
I eventually got up and shuffled to the bathroom, every step feeling like a monumental effort. I flicked on the bathroom light, and startled at my reflection in the mirror.
I look like I need a large dose of coffee injected into my veins.
Rubbing my weary eyes, I reached into the shower and turned it on. While I waited for the water to heat—which usually took much longer than it should, especially with how much I was paying for this flat—I rummaged through my dresser for a pair of leggings, a sports bra and a chunky cable-knit jumper, laying them out on the bed to be ready after I showered.
Picking up my mobile from where it lay on the bed, I checked my blood sugar as I made my way out of the bedroom and found it within range. A small victory that I always appreciated in the morning, because it was too early to have to deal with my diabetes.
Especially after the night I’d just had.
Passing the living room, I flicked on the small lamp beside the cream sofa I’d gotten for my birthday a few years ago before I headed into the kitchen. I left my phone on the rustic wooden table and brewed my first—of many—coffee for the day.
Walking back to my bedroom, I glanced at the clock on my bedside table to confirm I wasn’t running late before finally getting to showering. After a quick wash, I changed into my clothes and opted to leave the bed undone, like I did most days.
It was just so much more convenient to slip back into it after a long day at work.
Back in the kitchen, I downed another coffee and grabbed a piece of toast from the bread bin, spreading a thin layer of amlou on it. Then, with my toast in hand, I slung my work tote over my shoulder and grabbed my phone, inputting the grams of carbs into my app, as I headed out.
It was still pitch-black outside, like it was most mornings these days, as I walked briskly to the station. I quickly regretted not wearing a coat, my wool scarf and jumper barely cutting out the frigid air, but I couldn’t go back home or I’d miss the Tube and be late to work.
I quickened my steps, my breath forming small clouds in the chilly air, and once inside the carriage the warmth of bodies slightly helped. Shoving the remainder of my toast into my mouth, I sat at one of the vacant seats and pulled out my phone, going through my emails and responding to any urgent ones.
I was in the middle of drafting an email when the doors slid open at the next stop, and in walked a couple, laughing and seemingly oblivious to the world around them. I glanced up from my screen to find them practically glued to each other—his mouth nuzzling her ear while she gazed at him with a nauseating affectionate glance before he planted a lingering kiss to her lips.
I felt my lips curl into a subtle frown.
It’s 6:00 a.m., for heaven’s sake.
They eventually settled into the seats across from me and she was practically in her partner’s lap, completely unconcerned with the half-dozen grumbling commuters around them.
I found myself stifling the urge to roll my eyes and tried to refocus on my phone again, but their incessant PDA was hard to ignore. It wasn’t that I hated affection or people in love, but I’d always thought it was a bit overrated.
The whole concept of love or finding the one was always shoved in your face—in movies, songs and now, apparently, even morning metro rides.
Fortunately for me, my stop came up next, and I slipped out of my seat, leaving the couple and any thoughts of their overly affection display behind.
It was almost 6:30 a.m. by the time I made it to work. I changed into the green scrubs the hospital provided and headed for the cafeteria. There were many things I loved about working at Amanar and being a surgeon, but my favorite part was the free coffee and food the hospital provided doctors.
I picked up my regular order of a matcha latte at the counter and spotted Houssam and Zainab at a table. I’d met the twins last year during a consultation in the emergency department where they were both working during their last rotation as junior doctors.
I wasn’t exactly known to be the social type and tended to keep mostly to myself aside from when I spent time with my bestfriends Nakia and Hazel, but the twins reminded me a lot of my cousins back home. Since I hadn’t been back to Morocco in what felt like ages, I liked to enjoy their company whenever our paths crossed.
Despite the early morning, they were already bickering over something I couldn’t quite make out. Zainab looked up as I approached. She used the loose end of her navy hijab to create a makeshift barrier between herself and her brother as I sat down across from them at the small round table.
“Please tell my idiot brother that he’s wrong,” she implored, though I had no clue what the argument was about this time.
These two future general practitioners were exceptionally bright and competitive, which often found them in predicaments like these where they argued about anything and everything.
I took a sip of my coffee, knowing better than to get involved. The last time I’d taken a side, I’d spent an entire week never hearing the end of it.
“You know I can still hear and see you,” Houssam shot back, bringing his sister’s hand down.
Zainab barely glanced at him, tucking the fabric of her hijab back into her blue scrub top. “Could have fooled me with the two brain cells you seem to have,” she replied, before focusing her gaze on me.
“What’s wrong with you?” she suddenly asked.
I frowned. “Nothing. Why?”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re usually grumpy, but your energy”—she vaguely gestured her hand in circles in my direction—“Yeah, it’s grumpier than usual.”
I took another sip from my paper cup, unsure if I should be offended or not. I wasn’t the most spirited person in the world, but I wouldn’t call myself ‘grumpy’.
Houssam sighed in exasperation and chimed in. “Don’t listen to her. She always thinks she can read people better than she actually can.”
Zainab ignored him and waited for my response.
I groaned, recalling the earlier email I’d received. “It’s nothing really. I just found out we’ll be welcoming a new consultant soon.”
This morning, while checking my inbox, I’d found an email dated from two days ago from our medical director—who also happened to be my father— informing me that a new cardiothoracic consultant would be joining the team in the next few weeks and that I’d need to make a good impression. In other words, my father wanted me to welcome him with a radiant smile and be nice.
“ Oh, ” Zainad said suggestively. “Who is he? What hospital is he coming from?” she fired off each question in quick succession, barely taking a breath between each. “Is he good-looking?” she whispered the last question, hoping her brother wouldn’t hear.
Judging by the eye roll he gave, it was clear he had.
Zainab had a knack for gathering any crumbs of gossip roaming around the walls of this hospital. Not that she would run around and spread it amongst the staff, but she liked to be in the know. Just in case it would be useful in the future.
I shook my head and let out a short laugh. “I don’t know much, only that he was awarded his certificate for completing his training early, and I’ve heard he’s unbearable.”
Now, that last part wasn’t entirely true. I’d never met Dr. Young, but the amount of gushing I’d overheard from the nurses after he’d covered one of my on-call shifts last month, when I’d gotten violently sick from whatever flu had been roaming around, had been enough to draw the conclusion.
“My favorite kind,” Zainab said with a dreamy sigh.
I raised an eyebrow at her just as her brother stood up from his seat. “I’m not sticking around for the rest of this conversation.” He gently flicked her over the head before bidding us both goodbye and heading back to work.
“You know, arseholes in real life aren’t quite like the ones you like to read about?”
She got up and placed her hands on the table, leaning over it to bring herself closer to me. “Oh, I’m very much aware. But a broody and mysterious doctor sounds wonderful. Maybe it’ll dislodge that stick up your arse.”
Before I could respond, her DECT phone went off. “I have to run, but I’ll need a detailed rundown on this Dr. Young whenever he arrives.” She smiled at me before walking off, dropping her empty water bottle into the recycling and disappearing through the cafeteria door that led straight to the emergency room.
I sat there, staring at the spot where she’d vanished.
Ridiculous.
Before I could savor the last few minutes of freedom ahead of my morning rounds, I glanced at my phone and realized it was already time for my shift. I inhaled a deep breath before finishing off my latte, and heading upstairs.
To surviving another day.
“Zayd, hurry up or we’ll be late,” I called out.
“I’m coming,” my younger brother yelled back, his head briefly poking out of the corner at the top of the staircase before he retreated back into the bathroom.
He’d been locked in there for the past twenty minutes. Ever since he turned fifteen last spring, he’d been spending hours getting ready, regardless of where we went.
Who needs this long for a simple trip to the park?
I was about to call his name again when he came barreling down the stairs, nearly crashing into me. My hands instinctively flew up to steady him.
“Oi, watch it. You’ll hurt yourself.”
He ignored my reproach and gave me a cheeky smile. “I’m ready.” He put on his coat and grabbed a knitted hat from the closet, tugging it over his light brown, curly hair.
I rolled my eyes at him. “About time.” Reaching for the front door of the townhouse I’d grown up in, I motioned for Zayd to head out first. “Why does it always take you ages to get ready,” I huffed, locking the door behind us since our dad was upstairs, fast asleep, and wouldn’t notice we’d left until much later.
“I was hardly in there for ten minutes,” Zayd protested.
I turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “More like twenty.”
“But you’d wait an eternity if it meant spending time with your favorite little brother,” he countered, flashing me another broad smile.
“You’re the only one I have. Unfortunately.”
He clutched his chest in mock indignation. “I’m quite offended by that.” Zayd was usually rather shy around others, but his personality came out the moment it was just the two of us.
I shook my head at his dramatics. “Spare me,” I said, placing the keys in my pocket and going down the few steps at the front of the house.
He slung an arm around my shoulders—yes, my fifteen year old brother was a giant—and we started the short walk from our home to Hyde park, the sun beginning to set on the horizon.
With my surgical training keeping me busy, I didn’t get to see him as often as I’d like, but I’d made it a priority to have these sibling outings. And like every other year, we were heading to Winter Wonderland.
“So, will I finally manage to convince you to do a ride with me this year?” Zayd asked, his eyes shining with mischief.
I shot him a sideways glance. “What do you mean? I always join you on rides.”
“The kiddie ones don't count,” he deadpanned.
I swatted his chest and gently nudged him away, but he barely moved, only tightening his grip around my shoulder. “You know I’m not fond of heights,” I explained.
My role at any type of theme park was to be present, hold belongings if necessary and eat all the food I could handle without spiking my sugar. Heights or adrenaline? Not particularly my thing. Unless the adrenaline came from performing surgery. But more importantly, I was far too old to risk a heart attack from something I’d willingly subjected myself to.
“Or you’re just boring ,” he drawled, emphasizing the last word.
I rolled my eyes and chuckled. “Alright, Mr. I have no fear. I’ll do the giant wheel with you, but that’s it.”
“First off, I’m not fearless and you are well aware of that. Remember the incident with the thing that ran away with me on it.”
I threw my back, laughing, as the incident he was referring to took shape in my mind. On one of our summer holidays to Morocco, we’d taken a trip to the beach with some of our family and Zayd had implored us for an entire hour to let him ride on one of the horses. My dad and I had eventually agreed, just to get him to stop asking.
Everything had been fine until my brother decided it would be amusing to yank on the horse's mane. The horse bolted with a screaming Zayd still securely fastened on top of him. It only took the owner five minutes to get him back, but it scarred him for life. Even now, my brother could barely look at one—or even utter the name—without getting full body shivers.
Zayd spoke again, pulling me out of the memory. “Secondly, the giant wheel does not count. It’s so slow, you barely even feel a thing.”
“Take it or leave it,” I replied as we made it to the blue gate, the queue for the entry stretching out before us. Thankfully, I’d bought tickets online so we didn't have to wait and were let in easily.
Once inside, we passed the ice rink and strolled through the Christmas market stalls, browsing through the various small businesses. Although our family didn’t celebrate the holidays anymore, Zayd and I always went our separate ways and bought each other a gift—well, I technically bought both since I gave him the money to spend on mine.
After securing our presents, we wandered deeper into the park and we explored every corner for the next few hours. We raced through some of the Fun Houses to see who did it the fastest, walked through the Magical Ice Kingdom to look at this year’s ice sculptures, before I spent the rest of our time there watching Zayd jump on every ride he laid his eyes on and eat twice his weight in food, while I nursed the same decadent hot chocolate from EL&N.
Then, to my misfortune, I’d had to honor my promise to climb into the giant wheel. I’d closed my eyes the entire time, gripping the edge of the seat so tightly, I could barely feel my fingers after the ride.
It was almost 10:00 p.m. when we sat on the front porch for our annual gift exchange. I briefly glanced back to find the living room lights on, which meant my dad was most likely engrossed in one of those Turkish soap operas that were broadcasted on 2M. Although he would totally deny watching them, and blame it on the fact that it was the only thing on at this time.
“Right, so who goes first?” I asked Zayd, turning my attention back to him.
He took off his hat and shoved it in the side pocket of his coat. “I’ve got the best gift, so you should go ahead. It’ll be a gentler blow to your confidence,” he replied with a wide grin.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile as I rummaged through my tote. “And I was told I lacked humbleness.” I pulled out the wrapped parcel and handed it to him. “Here you go.”
He wasted no time in tearing into the wrapping, his eyes widening in surprise when he registered what was inside. “Shut up!”
“Hey, language,” I chided gently.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. His hands roamed over the handmade leather sketchbook before he opened it up to explore the different compartments.
Zayd loved drawing so the moment I’d seen it, I knew I had to get it for him. It was made of distressed genuine leather, came with an assortment of pencils and hosted a few pockets inside for storage. The shopkeeper, a lovely older lady, had recommended it and since I didn’t know much about art or drawing, I’d taken her word for it.
By Zayd’s reaction, she’d been spot on.
My brother finally looked up, a broad smile lighting up his face. He hugged the sketchbook to his chest and said, “Thanks, Zizou. I love it.”
I loathed that nickname, but it was worth it for the expression on his face.
“Think you can top that,” I teased, nudging his shoulder with mine.
He grimaced at that, and gave me a non-committal nod, his earlier confidence waning. By the look on his face, I braced myself for what he’d picked for my gift.
He reached for the inside of his coat pocket and retrieved a thinly wrapped bright orange package. Then, he bent forward, presenting it with a flourish, “For you, dearest.”
I narrowed my eyes at the horrendous color and grabbed it from his open palms.
“Don’t judge until you open it,” he said, sitting back.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m not judging, but your earlier gloating doesn’t quite match the size of this package.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, well you know not to believe everything I say.”
I unwrapped the paper to reveal a wooden bookmark engraved with the words “Best Sister Ever.”
“Surprise,” Zayd said, tilting his head to the side.
I held the bookmark up, feeling a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Really? This is what you came up with?”
He shrugged again, a cheeky grin spreading wider across his face. “Isn’t it charming? And don’t you like to read, so this is perfect so you can stop dog-earing your books which for the record, should be a crime. I’m not even a reader and I know that.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t even know what to say.” I hadn’t touched a fiction book since secondary school and the only ones I read now were textbooks or peer-reviewed journals so I didn't know how this would be useful, but it was the intention that mattered, right?
“A thank you would suffice.”
I rolled my eyes playfully, and tucked his gift into my purse before wrapping an arm around him and pulling him into a side hug. “Thank you, little brother,” I said, ruffling his hair.
“Azara, no. Not the hair,” he protested, laughing as he pulled away to fix the unruly strands.
“Maybe that’ll remind you next year to do better.” Which reminded me. “By the way, where did the rest of the money go? Surely the bookmark didn’t cost the full fifty quid I gave you.”
He looked at me with a guilty expression. “Can we consider it a tax for being the best brother ever?”
I shook my head. “I would say yes, but I suspect you’ve already spent it.”
Before he could confirm what I already knew, the front door swung open and we both startled at the sound of our father’s voice interrupting us.
“What are you two still doing out here? It’s nearly midnight,” he scolded, his head poking through the door. “And it’s bloody cold out here, you’ll get sick.”
He pushed his glasses up his nose, feigning authority. My father might look like he would put you in your place, but he had not a mean bone in his body—especially when it came to us, his greatest weakness.
The man I grew up with might have changed a lot over the last fourteen years, but on rare occasions, his old self resurfaced.
“Sorry, baba ? 1 ,” I said, standing up. He opened the door wider, and I moved to greet him. I planted a kiss on his cheek, the familiar stubble grazing against my skin. “I know it’s a school night, we just lost track of time.”
“Hi, benti ? 2 ,” my father said, his voice softening as he kissed the top of my head.
Zayd joined us, kissing his other cheek. “What she said,” he added.
My father narrowed his eyes at him. “You should be in bed.”
“Tomorrow’s Friday and we don’t have anything important scheduled.” My dad didn’t acknowledge his explanation and simply gestured for him to get inside.
“I’ll see you next week,” I said to my brother as he kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat.
He winked at me, already halfway up the stairs. “I wouldn’t miss it. Thanks for today.”
“Always.” I smiled at him, before he took off to his bedroom in a hurry to avoid another scolding.
“That boy is giving me more gray hairs than I should have at my age,” he grumbled, running a hand over his buzzed hair.
I let out a small laugh. “Well, you are old.” When his eyes widened in disbelief at my comment, I quickly added, “But you look phenomenal for a sixty-three year old excellent father.”
He gently tapped my cheek a few times. “Nice save.” There was a short pause before he spoke again. “Did you get my email?” he asked, changing the subject.
I should have seen it coming. I had seen his email, but still hadn’t acknowledged it or the other five text messages my father had sent me about it since then.
“I did,” I confirmed, hoping that would be enough for him to drop the subject.
It wasn't.
“And you’ll be nice to Dr. Young. He’s a great addition to the department.”
“I’m always nice, baba .”
He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
“I will be nice to Dr. Young,” I promised, even though I wasn’t entirely convinced myself. I’d never met the man, yet something about his arrival set my nerves on edge. It was most likely entirely irrational, but I couldn’t help it.
Competition was an integral part of our field and I thrived in it. I loved the challenge it brought, and proving that I was the best at what I did, especially in a male-dominated specialty. The look on other surgeons’s faces when I walked into a room was in my top three favorite things in the world.
But the idea of spending the rest of my career being compared to this Dr. Young every step of the way, wasn’t something I wanted to be subjected to.
My father would retire one day—although he refused to ever discuss it—and I wanted his position. I’d worked hard to get where I was and I refused to let a newcomer, much less a man, take it from me.
“Good. It’s quite late, stay the night?”
“No, that's alright. I have a shift tomorrow,” I replied, giving him a soft smile. Besides, my Omnipod would expire in the next hour and needed to be changed.
“Alright, benti. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” We exchanged goodbyes, and I crossed the street to where my car was parked, my father still lingering on the porch, watching until I climbed in.
As I drove home, replaying the day in my mind, one thought kept resurfacing, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that this new arrival might change everything.
1 ? Father (Arabic)
2 ? My daughter (Arabic)