The Student

"Hey!"

The word sliced through the air, pulling me from my thoughts. 

I froze, the chaos of inner dialogue swirling—”Is she talking to me?” The silly question echoed, each repeat sharpening my confusion until she stepped closer, her fingers grazing mine in the softest touch. 

“Hey.”

I blinked, scrambling to catch up. “No,no, no not now!” I heard a foreign quiver within. 

“Hey, it’s me!”

Embarrassed, and I mumbled an apology, trying to explain the momentary paralysis. “It’s just… I haven’t seen you in so long. You look………..different” I lied, my voice barely steady.

She smiled, a flicker of amusement in her eyes, and casually tucked her shorter hair—a sleek bob now—behind her ear. The gesture exposed the new round gold frames perched on her nose, and as I locked onto her gaze, those deep, mesmerizing eyes that once owned my every thought stared back. My heart clenched, a subtle sigh escaping my lips. “Why now?” my internal conversation went on; as feelings long buried floated to the surface flushing my cheeks in the process, revealing a singular truth.

She gestured toward a bench in the lobby, her intention clear—she wanted to talk.

I stood still, feeling exposed;The hospital buzzed with the chaotic energy of a typical Monday morning—nurses rushing past, the hum of voices blending with the beeping of distant machines.

In the corner of my eye some of my colleagues engaged in usual conversation, while others politely nodded good morning as they passed by . 

“I am late for a case conference,” I protested, pointing to the time on my watch.

“Oh I was just there, it has begun, you can't be late twice, right?” She chuckled, waving her hand towards the bench again. 

“Ok!” I agreed, I can spare a moment; I reasoned; trying to comfort myself in a false narrative of control but in reality I was already lost. Too giddy too even recognize the importance of her knowing where I ought to be. My vulnerability was the only thing that was quite apparent; its blind loyalty to nostalgia leading me to a place where my common sense was telling me I should not venture. 

I could feel the intensity of my heart pounding against my ribs, the sensation of my nerves tingling with the light brushes of her fingers against my hand. The closer we got, the more butterflies fluttered about in there, the anticipation of something, the past and the present on a path to collide.

“Oh I have missed you! Her first declaration as we sat down, patting my leg as some form of reassurance. I smiled at the absurdity of the claim, holding on to the feelings attached to the lie, my mind clinging to the hollowness of her words, grasping at them to keep myself from feeling the tidal wave of everything else.

“You can’t mean that Riley, you have been all over the world for God’s sake, and I, well, I have been here.” My voice cracked slightly. The suburban doctor, in his cliche’ of a life she left behind; a qualm thought that appeared and disappeared with every change in wanted and unwanted circumstance. 

I couldn't look at her, my gaze falling to the scratched-up plastic table in front of us, reading the names of strangers that wanted to be remembered. 

She did not respond to my accusation directly but rattled out places she visited, places I’d once recommended to her. Regretfully, she confessed that she experienced it in my absence. As she spoke, I felt her moving closer, her shoulder brushing against mine, her warmth pressing in on me. My inner voice reading louder “Savannah, Joey, Big Dick Joseph, Cassie is beautiful….”

“I work here now. she said quietly. “So I am also…..here, I am here now.”

There it was, the catastrophic event. the moment I’d been unknowingly dreading, the suffocating reality crashing down on me. I had nowhere left to retreat. I turned to her, surrendering, and saw that she’d removed her glasses. Her eyes—those dark, piercing eyes—were locked on me with a weight that felt unbearable. In that instant, the world outside ceased to exist. No noise, no hospital, no people—just her, just us. 

I subconsciously played with the ring on my index finger in order to ground myself but it was no use; I was utterly defenseless; I had no idea what to say or how to act; I couldn't move, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't speak. Paralyzed I watched as she slowly leaned in and kissed me. Her kiss was soft, but her lips were cold—colder than they should’ve been. And even in that surreal, suspended moment, a wave of grief hit me, raw and unexpected. My chest tightened, and I could feel the sting of tears welling in my eyes.

Abruptly, I jerked away, standing up too fast, my hand gripping my chest. “Your lips are cold,” I muttered, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “I have to go.”

She touched her lips, confused, but her voice was calm. “See you around, maybe we can talk more?”

I gave a faint nod, barely absorbing what I’d just heard, my stomach churning as I turned and rushed away, my original purpose dissolving into a fog. Maybe I was running—more than walking—too fast, my legs buckling mid-stride. I stopped, pressing my hands to my hips, gulping in a shaky breath to steady myself, but the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic hit me, stirring a fresh wave of nausea. I could feel the prickling stares around me, curious and judgmental, but they were already fading as my mind spun, spiraling deeper into a mounting dread. It was happening—the life I’d fought so hard to control, both resented and protected, was starting to splinter, unraveling faster than I could grasp. And in the midst of it, my inner voice clawed through the panic, louder and more frantic than ever, "What are you going to do now, Victor? How do you even begin to face this?"