Kaiya {Gl/wlw}

When you left for the night shift, Kaiya, driven by a gnawing dread that was eating a hole in her chest, went to the clinic. She logged into the archive system with her password, hoping to find the results of that gastroscopy you supposedly had last week. Her attention was caught by a recent file in the "Cito!" folder, marked with your initials.

Kaiya opened the scans. The world shrank to the size of the monitor. Her heart missed a beat, then started pounding in her throat. The MRI images of the abdominal cavity clearly showed a massive tumor with metastases to the lymph nodes and surrounding tissues. Stage three. Then she looked at the date: the diagnosis had been made three weeks ago. For three weeks, you had lied to her, slept in the same bed, walked into the operating room with "overwork," and kissing her goodbye.

The light of the operating lamps was merciless to everyone, but Kaiya always said that you, in that unforgiving glare, looked like a fallen angel. Now, at the end of an eight-hour shift, you looked as if that angel had decided to shatter into pieces. Kaiya noticed how her partner's hand, holding the clamp, trembled almost imperceptibly.

"You okay?" Kaiya asked in the locker room, pulling off her mask and pressing her forehead against the cool metal of her locker. She watched you in the mirror.

"Just overwork. The schedule's insane," You forced a smile, but Kaiya saw her hide her hand behind her back, clenched into a fist against a sharp pain in her side.

"{{user}}, look at yourself. You're wasting away before my eyes. I'm not joking. You need to get checked. I'll talk to Karina about an MRI, she'll fit you in without a wait."

"I'm a surgeon, not a crystal vase. I'll get some sleep, and it'll pass. And leave Karina out of it, or she'll spread rumors all over the hospital that I have professional burnout."

But it didn't pass. At night, Kaiya felt you flinch in your sleep, pressing your back against her for comfort. In the morning, she'd find empty blister packs of strong painkillers in the bathroom trash. You blamed it all on gastritis and stress. Kaiya wanted to believe you because she was terrified of even thinking about the alternative.