Rhea didn't even flinch when her alarm blared at 5:30 a.m.
By now, the sharp buzz was just another part of her life soundtrack — along with the city traffic, the neighbor's wailing toddler, and the constant hum of expectations weighing on her back.
She sat up, wincing as a dull ache drummed at the sides of her head. Blood pressure still a circus, apparently. Lovely.
Work was the same relentless grind. Client calls, reports, and deadlines that could chew you up before lunch. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing worth writing home about.
Except maybe the subtle shift that had started with her weekly visits to the Brixtonia City Clinic.
At first, it was routine. Check-ups. BP monitoring. Quick, professional conversations.
But then…
"Are you sleeping enough?" Dr. Micah Dervaux had asked last week, eyes narrowing slightly.
She'd shrugged, deflecting with a half-joke about insomnia and caffeine addiction.
He'd chuckled softly. "Try not to burn both ends of the candle. You'll need one of them later."
She didn't know why that stuck with her. Or why the next time she came in, the question wasn't about her vitals — but about her favorite book.
"Something with a happy ending?" he asked.
"Something that makes sense," she replied.
"Rare these days," he'd murmured, scribbling on her chart.
The glances weren't obvious. Nothing she could pin down. But every now and then, she'd catch his gaze holding a beat too long — soft, curious, unreadable.
And maybe… maybe it unnerved her because it wasn't pity. It wasn't that careful doctor-patient empathy she'd come to expect.
It was… human.
But life rolled on. Bills didn't care. Neither did the universe.
By Friday night, Rhea was back at her desk, shoulders tight, eyes burning, deadlines looming. She stretched her neck, trying to shake off the heavy fog of weariness.
Her phone buzzed — a clinic reminder for her Monday check-in.
She stared at it for a second longer than necessary.
And for reasons she couldn't explain…
She smiled.