Chapter 8 Max #2
“That’s criminal. We have got to go. Soon. I’m taking you, and we’re getting those stupid Mickey ears, and you’re going to eat a churro the size of your arm. You will heal that inner child and I will help you find her.”
Asha laughed—really laughed, the sound bright and unguarded—and Max felt her heart swell with something that felt dangerously close to forever.
But then she opened her mouth and ruined it.
“We should go out sometime,” Max said, trying to keep her tone casual. “Like, actually out. To a restaurant. Maybe see a movie. Do normal couple things?”
Asha’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. The shift was subtle but immediate.
“I know we have to be careful,” Max continued quickly. “But LA is huge. There are hundreds of restaurants. What are the odds we’d run into someone from work?”
“Not zero,” Asha said quietly, setting down her fork.
“So we pick somewhere far from the hospital. Santa Monica, maybe. Or Venice Beach.”
“What if someone sees us?” Asha’s voice had gone tight, defensive. “What if one of the nurses is there? Or Doctor Harrison? Or any of the residents who rotate through?”
“Then we’re two colleagues having dinner,” Max said, but she could hear the frustration creeping into her voice despite her best efforts. “People are allowed to be friends, Asha.”
“We’re not friends though, are we, Max?” Asha stood abruptly, started gathering their plates even though they weren’t finished eating. “And the way you look at me—the way I look at you—anyone paying attention would know we’re not just friends.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with all the unspoken implications.
Max set down her wine glass carefully, trying to keep her emotions in check. “So what? We just hide forever? Never go anywhere together? Never be seen as anything more than coworkers?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” Max stood too, following Asha to the kitchen.
Asha gripped the edge of the counter, her back to Max. “I’m saying I need time. To figure out how to navigate this. How to be with you without—” She stopped, her shoulders rigid.
“Without what?” Max pressed, even though part of her didn’t want to hear the answer.
“Without destroying everything I’ve built.
” Asha’s voice cracked, just slightly. “You don’t understand what it’s like, Max.
I’m already the ‘ice queen.’ The uptight doctor who doesn’t fit in.
I’ve worked hard to get to where I am. The woman who’s too serious, too rigid, too—” She swallowed hard. “If people find out I’m—that we’re—”
She didn’t finish, but Max heard it anyway. If people find out I’m gay. If they find out I’m sleeping with a nurse. If they find out I’m anything other than the perfect, controlled Dr. Patel.
Max felt something crack in her chest. “Are you ashamed of me? Do you not think I’ve worked hard too?”
“No. I’m not saying that.” Asha whirled around, eyes fierce and bright. “God, no. Max, you’re—” She took a shaky breath. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in years. Maybe ever. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is complicated.”
“I know it’s complicated,” Max said, trying to keep her voice gentle even though frustration was building behind her ribs.
“I’m not asking you to announce it to the whole hospital.
I’m not asking you to hold my hand in the NICU.
I just—” She stopped, searching for the right words.
“I don’t want to be your secret. Not forever. It’s not fair.”
“You’re not a secret.” Asha crossed the space between them, reaching for Max’s hand. “You’re mine.”
Max let Asha take her hand but couldn’t quite bring herself to squeeze back. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you want to keep me hidden. Like you’re ashamed of what we are.”
“I’m not ashamed of what we are,” Asha said, her voice breaking on the last word. “I’m terrified of losing everything else. My career, my reputation, my family, the respect I’ve spent years building. You don’t understand—”
“Then help me understand,” Max interrupted, finally letting her frustration show. “Because right now, it feels like you’re saying I’m not worth the risk.”
Asha flinched like she’d been slapped. “That’s not—I didn’t mean—”
“I know.” Max pulled her hand free, wrapped her arms around herself. “I know you didn’t mean it that way. But Asha, I can’t—” She stopped, took a breath. “I can’t keep being the thing you only want when no one’s watching.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy and painful. Asha’s eyes were too bright, her composure cracking at the edges.
“I’m sorry,” Asha whispered finally. “I’m asking too much. I know I am. I just need—”
“Time,” Max finished for her, the word tasting bitter. “Let me guess. You need more time.”
Asha sighed, looking miserable.
Max wanted to push, wanted to demand more, wanted to say that love should be enough and why couldn’t Asha just be brave for once. But she looked at Asha’s face—pale, strained, barely holding it together—and found she couldn’t do it.
“Okay,” Max said quietly. “Take your time. But I can’t say I’ll be waiting forever.”
They stood in the small kitchen, the half-eaten Thai food growing cold, and Max felt the first real crack forming in what they’d built.
Asha apologized. Max said she understood.
They moved to the couch and put on a movie neither of them watched, curled together in silence.
When Asha left at midnight, her kiss was gentle but sad, and Max closed the door behind her feeling like she was losing something she’d barely had a chance to hold.
That night Max laid in bed; her mind lost in thought.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Asha.
I’m sorry. I know I’m asking too much. I just need to figure out how to do this. I never expected you to happen. I never expected to feel this way.
Max stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to type, I love you, but I can’t be your secret. She wanted to type, Choose me. Please just choose me.
Instead, she typed, I’m trying.
Max set the phone down, leaned her head back against the seat, and closed her eyes.
But what if Asha couldn’t stop hiding? What if the fear was too big, too deeply ingrained? What if Max kept waiting and waiting and it was never enough?