Chapter 1
Aya
My heels clicked against the polished floor as I wheeled the portable audiometer toward Room 3. The sun was just high enough to slice stripes across the carpet, warming patches of beige in the morning light. My clipboard pressed against my side, a small weight of order in the chaos of my thoughts. Coffee in hand, lukewarm but comforting, I felt the familiar surge of focus settle over me. Today, like every day, I had work to do. I had to stay sharp. No distractions.
"Morning, Aya," Mariel's voice reached me across the clinic. I lifted my head, forcing a polite smile even though my mind was already counting tones and calibrations.
"Full day today?" she asked.
Fuller than usual, I thought, scanning the patient list. But ready? I hoped so. "Yes. Fuller than usual," I replied. My voice sounded steady enough. I told myself that was what mattered.
Mariel's laugh rang out. "You always survive somehow. Like a superhero."
I let a small chuckle escape. Superhero? I didn't feel like one. I felt like someone holding it together with sheer habit and coffee. "More like a coffee-fueled problem solver," I muttered, tugging at the folds of my lab coat until they felt right. Everything had to be in order. The world, my patients, my life—predictable, controllable.
The first chart caught my eye: Calvin Mendoza. Six years old. Timid but curious. I crouched to meet him at eye level as I opened the door, careful to soften my approach. I always softened.
"Hi, Calvin," I said, letting my voice carry warmth I hoped he could feel. "Ready to see if your ears are as strong as your imagination?"
He paused, lips pressed together, hesitation written all over his small frame. I think so, Miss Aya, he whispered.
I felt a small tug of pride in my chest. Good. A spark of bravery. "That's a good start. Hop on, and I'll show you something fun."
The test began, smoothly at first. Each beep, each subtle movement of the machine, I noted, my mind half on calibration, half on him. I caught his fascination with the device, how his little hands twitched with curiosity. But then—a glitch. A sharp beep, a flicker on the screen. My frown was instant.
"Hang on, superhero," I murmured, patting his shoulder, soft enough to reassure. "We'll fix this faster than a villain can escape."
He watched me, eyes wide, a mixture of awe and impatience. I smiled, caught in the little miracle of seeing a child engage with the world, genuinely present, genuinely curious.
A memory flickered—Luis. That teasing smile, the quiet weight of something he said long ago: Looks like you're already in that dream, Aya. A family. A little girl. A pretty little girl.
I shook my head. Focus. That was the word I whispered under my breath, like a mantra.
Calvin's mother cleared her throat. "You're great with him, Aya. I don't know how you do it."
I shrugged, brushing off the praise even though my chest warmed. "Just pay attention. Listen. That's all."
By mid-morning, the clinic hummed with activity. I moved from patient to patient, my mind toggling between procedure and observation, each child's small quirks, the subtle shifts in expressions, and the way their parents watched, relieved, hopeful.
My phone buzzed on the counter. Samantha's name lit up the screen. Dinner later? I know you'll survive the morning chaos, superhero.
I typed back quickly: Sure. Meet at the café around six.
I barely had time to breathe when the door creaked open. A voice—soft, familiar, impossible—made my chest stutter.
"Aya?"
I froze, pen halfway to the holder, blinked twice, trying to process. Could it really be her?
"Mrs. Marisa?" I said cautiously, standing. "I… didn't expect to see you here."
Her eyebrows shot up, and she laughed softly, the sound warm and hesitant. "Aya! I… oh, I was just around the corner, running errands, and thought maybe I should finally get my hearing checked. I didn't realize this was your clinic!"
My brain scrambled, and yet my voice stayed steady. "I… I run it," I admitted, the words heavier than I expected. My heart pulsed, a strange cocktail of pride and nerves. I was the one in charge here, but suddenly I felt exposed.
Marisa's eyes widened. "Aya! Luis never mentioned this. What a surprise!"
I forced a smile, sliding a file across the desk, keeping my pulse calm. Of course, he didn't. It's not the kind of thing people casually mention. "It's been a few years," I said lightly, tucking the thought away. "I guess not everyone talks about their career paths."
She perched on the edge of the testing chair, curiosity flickering in her eyes. "I'm glad it's you. I've always known you'd do something meaningful. Now I see it firsthand."
The words lodged somewhere inside me, warmth and unease at the same time. Luis. Memories that hovered quietly in the corners of my mind—smiles, teasing remarks, a life imagined long ago. I forced myself to refocus.
"It's fulfilling," I said, guiding her through the testing procedure. My hands moved automatically, eyes scanning for subtle reactions, adjusting, coaxing, explaining. Her laughter punctuated the quiet clinic, a reminder of the past I hadn't realized I'd missed.
When it was over, I showed her the results. She leaned back, still smiling, hands folded in her lap. "I can't believe you kept this from me all these years. Running a clinic, helping people… I should have known you'd make something extraordinary of yourself."
I chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm just doing what I love. That's enough for me."
She stood, placing her hand gently on my shoulder. "Keep at it, Aya. Life's full of surprises, and it seems you've embraced them well."
I watched her leave, the door clicking shut, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My chest felt simultaneously lighter and heavier, my heartbeat echoing the quiet stirrings that had begun in the morning. Luis's old words flickered again. You'd make any family proud.
I shook my head. Not now. Not here. Not the time. Yet the whisper of curiosity persisted, a small ache in the pit of my chest.
Lunch arrived in the form of the bustling café, sunlight streaming across the wooden tables. I chose a corner seat, shielded yet observant. Families passed, laughter, juice boxes, small hands gripping coffee cups. My mind wandered to Luis's teasing, unspoken years ago.
Marco slid into the seat across from me. "Hey, Aya. You look… pensive. Work or existential pondering?"
I laughed lightly. "Maybe a little of both."
He smirked. "Everyone sees it. Efficient, independent… but sometimes your eyes tell a different story."
I watched a mother hand her child a juice box. "Maybe," I murmured. Maybe they do.
Marco leaned back, casual but earnest. "There's a seminar in Canada in the next three months. Audiology outreach—kids, elderly, community projects. Sounds like you. Thought you might be interested. It'll be a whole month."
I raised an eyebrow. Across the map. The words hummed, stirring a quiet pulse of curiosity I hadn't felt in years. "Interesting," I said cautiously.
"Just planting ideas," he said. "Maybe it's time to look beyond your usual. See what's out there."
I took a sip of coffee, letting the idea drift and settle in the quiet part of my mind I rarely acknowledged.
Back at the clinic, the afternoon was filled with tiny hands and delicate adjustments. I crouched, coaxed, explained, and encouraged. A toddler tugged at my ponytail, pulling me into his little world.
"You're very patient, Miss Aya," his mother said softly.
I smiled, brushing hair behind my ear. "Seeing them smile when it works—that's worth it."
The phone buzzed—Samantha confirming dinner plans. I pocketed it, returning fully to my patient. Every improvement, every quiet victory, reminded me of why I did this. And yet, beneath the satisfaction, the quiet ache lingered—the what if I hadn't allowed myself to imagine a little more?
Evening fell, clinic quieted. Computers off, charts organized, coffee finished. I paused by the window, watching city lights shimmer. The whisper of memory arrived uninvited: Luis, that gentle smile, words meant for the past.
I exhaled, slow and measured. He had his life. It wasn't mine to dwell on. But still… the thought left me restless.
A knock at the door, a new intern eager for guidance. I crouched, demonstrated patience, encouragement, and expertise. Teaching felt like a balm, yet it didn't silence the echo of curiosity inside me.
Stepping out into the night, keys in hand, I felt it settle—restless, insistent. I have everything… don't I? Or is there something more waiting for me?
The cool air touched my skin as I slid into my car, gripping the wheel. Maybe I did have it all. But maybe… life had a few surprises left yet.
And for the first time in years, I realized I didn't have all the answers. And I kind of liked it.