Chapter 45
CHAPTER 45
AZARA
ONE MONTH LATER
I’d always been afraid of change.
The mere thought usually sent me into a spiral. I found solace in the stability of a routine and rarely veered from what was familiar to me. But after everything that had happened, I’d needed a fresh start.
The walls of Amanar had grown suffocating and I’d been so trapped in my own thoughts that each day blurred into the next. Not only had my mind become the last place I wanted to be in, but it had also started to affect my work—and I simply couldn’t allow that.
Being a surgeon had given me a sense of purpose after losing my mum. Surgery was what I escaped to when I needed it the most, and it was so deeply woven into who I was, that to feel disconnected from it because of the incessant whispers and the constant pitying looks from my colleagues, became unbearable.
My instincts wanted me to retreat into the safety of what I knew and block it all out. But after I’d battered my frustration in that rage room, I’d made a promise to myself—a promise that I’d do better by myself and stop brushing off how I felt because it was easier.
Then one morning, my phone had pinged with a new email notification, a lifeline thrown my way when I’d least expected it. It had been the first good news I’d had in a long time, and although leaving Amanar had never been in my plans, taking the lead consultant role at Orion University Hospital had been a no-brainer.
Of course I’d missed the ease that came with working at Amanar, since I’d spent years there, but no one knew me here—and that meant I could be whoever I wanted to be.
My father’s legacy—or should I say, now, his tainted legacy— no longer loomed over my head as I led my own department. And, most importantly, after a month at Orion, the spark I thought I’d lost had returned.
“Dr. Ziani, wait up,” called a voice I’d grown accustomed to, as I made my way to the doctor’s lounge, my shift finally coming to an end.
It was nearly 6:00 p.m., and unlike the usual late nights I’d had at AGH, there were some perks to not working at the biggest trauma center in the city—such as leaving work on time on a Friday evening.
I turned around to find Kaz, one of the ICU nurses, heading toward me. Starting over and working with strangers had been a bit daunting, especially after spending the last ten years with the same group of people. But Kaz had been one of the first people I’d met here, and he’d made me feel immediately at ease.
“Everything all right?” I asked, hoping this wasn’t an emergency that would keep me longer. Not only was it my weekend off, but I had a plate of couscous—courtesy of Nakia’s grandmother—waiting for me at home, and I was really looking forward to a quiet night in after the long week I’d just had.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” he said with a small smile. “I just wanted to see if you’d like to join us for happy hour at The Old Harp tonight?”
The Old Harp, just across the street from Orion, was the staffs’ favorite local pub. Kaz had invited me almost every Friday since I’d started, but although I appreciated the offer, the thought of socializing made my skin itch.
I shook my head with an apologetic smile, but before I could reply, he did it for me. “You have other plans,” he said with a shrug, flashing me a boyish smile. “It was worth the try.”
“I’ll see you on Monday,” I said with a chuckle before I waved him goodbye and headed for the lounge.
After changing out of my scrubs, I slipped on my coat, grabbed my bag from my locker and made my way out. I was almost at the hospital lobby when my personal phone rang. Digging through my tote, I pulled it out to see Nakia was calling.
“What’s the best way to kill someone without getting caught?” she said the moment I answered her call.
I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m a doctor, remember? Not a serial killer.”
“ B7el, b7el ? 1 ,” she replied with a heavy sigh. Nakia wasn’t really one to complain, so I knew if she was calling me this irritated, someone must have really gotten on her bad side.
“What happened?” I asked as I pushed through the revolving doors.
A cold, biting breeze whipped across my body, and I shivered, pulling my coat tighter around me. Although it was only the beginning of March, we’d had a few unseasonably warmer days this week, but it seemed winter was reluctant to let go just yet.
Nakia launched into her rant, but her words faded as an all too familiar prickle of heat raised the hairs on the back of my neck.
Please, no.
I didn’t want to look up, but my stupid curiosity got the better of me. My heart rate quickened as I lifted my gaze—and there he was.
He was the absolute last person I’d expected to see here, and yet, sitting on one of the benches at the front of the hospital, wearing a grey wool coat over a black suit, was Michael fucking Young.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut. When I opened them again, he was still there, as if fate had decided to mock me. “Nakia, I’ll have to call you back,” I told her, shoving my phone back into my bag.
The sensible thing to do would have been to walk right past him, to pretend I hadn’t seen him. But he’d already spotted me, and there was no way out.
Even if I wanted there to be.
He stood as I approached, and my breath caught in my throat at his proximity.
“Hi,” he said softly, and I had to stop myself from flinching at the sound of his voice. Seeing him had made my stomach somersault, but hearing him was like a pummeling punch to the gut—a painful, familiar ache I’d been trying to bury for weeks.
I hadn’t seen him in over a month and the sight of him brought with it a mix of anger and anguish, battering against my ribcage. The constant tug-of-war between my emotions had given me more headaches than I could count. I’d done my best to push him from my mind, to erase the sound of his plea for me not to leave, to pretend that his confession about the House and everything it entailed had never happened.
A bloody secret society. I couldn’t have made it up even if I’d tried.
Though it was easier said than done because that was the maddening contradiction of loving someone, wasn’t it? The constant battle between two polar emotions where your head knew what was best, yet your heart stubbornly clung to the tattered remnants of what once was.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as I asked, “What are you doing here?” It was probably a silly question, since this was a public space, and he did use to work here, but this was my space now.
Michael’s eyes searched my face for something I was no longer willing to give. But unlike the last time I’d seen him, he didn’t falter at my sharp tone, nor did he look torn by the confrontation.
No, this time, he looked almost… resolute.
“I’m here for you.”
Ignoring how his words sent my pulse thundering in my ears, I rolled my eyes and tightened my grip on the strap of my bag. “Listen, I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing,” I replied, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be.”
I stepped to the side to move past him, but he blocked my path. My frustration bubbled up, stronger than the pain that came with seeing him again. I moved to the other side, but once again, he placed himself in the way.
“Michael,” I warned, letting out an exasperated breath.
“It isn’t a game,” he said firmly. “It never was.”
“Michael, I swear to you, if you don’t move…” My threat hung in the air between us, the rumble of thunder growing louder. For a moment, I thought he might back off.
But then his next words rooted me to the spot.
“I love you,” he said, releasing a deep breath, like he’d been holding on to those words for far too long.
I drew back at his confession, and I swore my heart nearly gave out. There was a time where all I’d wanted to hear from him were those three little words—words that would have changed everything.
Loving someone always seemed like the last thing I wanted to do.
But not with Michael.
With him, it was the only thing I could think of.
Through everything we’d shared, I’d begun to look forward to the moments where I’d fall more for him. I had let myself open up my heart to the prospect of a future I’d never imagined for myself.
Because he’d made me feel safe.
He’d made me feel loved.
He’d made me feel whole.
Until everything fell apart.
Hearing those words would have changed everything. Now, they only brought me immense pain—the kind I’d tried to ignore for weeks.
The sky opened up, and large droplets of rain began to pour down on us.
“I love you, Azara Ziani,” he repeated. “God, I’ve loved you for months now, but I’ve just been too bloody stupid to let you know how I felt. I didn't know how or when to tell you, because I was waiting for the perfect moment. But I realized too late there’s no such thing as the perfect moment to tell the love of your life that they’re it for you.”
The rain crashed down harder with each word, soaking us both, but I barely noticed. His eyes shimmered with emotions, and my chest constricted until my lungs screamed for air.
His words left me momentarily stunned, before my anger flared back to life. Because what the fuck? How dared he tell me he loved me? I’d spent the last two and half months stowing him and all of my feelings away, only for him to show up and undo all the work I’d done to move on.
“You don’t love me,” I gritted through my teeth, shaking my head. “You lied to me, and manipulated our entire relationship. How can you call that love? You don’t hurt those you love, you protect them. You protect their hearts, but you broke mine.”
By the end, my voice was barely above a whisper and my body trembled. Whether it was from the cold rain or the force of my emotions, I couldn’t tell.
But at this point, it didn’t matter.
And I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t get a hold of myself, hated that I couldn’t just shut it off and act unaffected by his words. Because the truth was, I was affected by his confession.
It stabbed through like a stake to the heart, leaving my vulnerability bleeding in front of him. I felt tears well up, my eyes and nose burning, but I swallowed them back.
He instinctively took a step forward before he caught himself, his eyes softening as if he tried to convey what he couldn’t do with his touch.
“I know I hurt you, Azara,” he said quietly. “And I’m not expecting you to welcome me back with open arms. But I do know that I’m willing to fight for you. No matter how long it takes. I’ll be here every day, waiting for you.”
I heard my heart splinter in half. I wanted to believe him, but I’d done it once already, and look where we ended up. It’d be foolish of me to put my trust in him again.
It didn’t matter that I also loved him, and in a perfect world, our confessions would have been at the culmination of a perfect moment. I’d have fallen into his arms, and we would have lived out our happily ever after.
But this wasn’t a perfect world.
Not every love story ended in a happy ending, and this one was no exception.
“I’ll file a restraining order against you,” I said, my chest heaving, trying to breathe through the pressure building inside me. Seeing him once was already too much, but the thought of seeing him every day sent me into a spiral of panic.
“Then, I’ll be however many feet away from you that I need to be.”
I sighed, emotion clogging at my throat. I couldn’t do this back-and-forth anymore. The exhaustion of it was taking over and I just couldn’t?—
He pulled one hand out of his coat pocket, and I recoiled instinctively, thinking he was about to touch me. Hurt flashed on his face for a brief moment, before he reigned it in and handed me a white envelope.
It had today’s date scrawled on the back of it in black ink. Rain began soaking the paper, so I reluctantly took it, pulling it under my coat to shield it from the downpour.
At least that’s the excuse I was going with.
“What is it?” I asked, my pulse hammering in my chest as I looked from the envelope clutched in my right hand to him.
“Last time, you said you didn’t know who I was. Although, I’d argue that you’re the only one who truly knows who I am, I hope that these letters help with that.”
He paused for a moment, and my heartbeat slowed under the weight of his earnest expression. I hadn’t even realized he’d mentioned letters —plural.
“I’m not giving up on us, Azara,” was the last thing he said before he walked away.
1 ? Same, same (Moroccan darija)