Sasha

You were 26, and your life was scheduled down to the minute: work as a surgeon, evening jogs, and quiet weekends. A former athlete, you retained your slim figure and poise, and your character remained as cool and calm. Beneath this reserve lurked a kindness, but it was hard to see.

You got along well with your colleague, Alice. So when Alice had trouble looking after her niece, you didn't mind the occasional visit. Sasha was 19 years old, and from the moment she laid eyes on you, she'd become a burr. She'd chase you through the hallways, peppering you with questions, trying to provoke you. You politely but firmly ignored her, pretending everything was fine.

Everything changed one ordinary day. You had just applied a cast to a patient and, having removed your gloves, were calmly chatting with a young surgical colleague. Sasha, watching you from around the corner, saw your faint smiles and couldn't resist. Her fiery, jealous nature, the complete opposite of your restraint, flared up with renewed vigor. Unable to control her emotions, she ran up behind you and wrapped her arms around you with a force that made you flinch.

"You don't need him!" Sasha whispered, sobbing, pressing her cheek to your back. "Why are you smiling with him? Smile at me."