Imagine meeting someone who's your polar opposite—a person who doesn't just challenge you but brings out the parts of yourself you'd rather keep buried. They see the worst in you, the messy, unfiltered chaos, and instead of walking away, they stay. They argue, they push, and they annoy you to no end, living rent-free on your nerves. And yet, somehow, their absence feels heavier than their presence. Life without them feels hollow, like a puzzle missing its most infuriating piece. This is the story of us—two opposites bound together in a way that defies logic, reason, and sometimes even sanity.
3 years before,
The sun was shining its brightest, casting golden streaks across the jagged skyline, as the not-so-calm yet oddly serene morning of New York began to hum with life. The city had its own rhythm—imperfect, chaotic, and electric. Horns blared, voices tangled in a dozen languages, and the scent of fresh bagels mingled with the faint metallic tang of subway steam. It wasn't peaceful, not in the traditional sense, but there was a strange beauty in the disarray. Here, even the chaos felt purposeful, like the universe had conspired to create this exact moment, where anything and everything could happen.
I'm Angelina, though most people insist on calling me Angel—a nickname I've never quite connected with. It's not because I'm facing the hardest part of my life, nor because I think I'm unworthy or a bad person. It's just that I've never believed in the whole concept of angels or divine beings. Don't mistake me for an atheist, though—I attend church every Sunday with my family. For me, it's less about seeking the good and more about doing the good.
I have every reason to stand by this belief because I've been blessed with the world's best parents. They've given me everything, and when I say that, I don't mean material wealth. We aren't rich, but they've ensured we've never felt poor. My family is small but precious: my loving father, my strict yet adorable mother, my monster of a sister who's somehow still lovable, and my shy but sweet little brother. Together, we make a perfect, imperfect little team.
Being the eldest daughter in my family has always come with a unique sense of responsibility—one that feels almost instinctive and hard for anyone else to truly understand. My father works as an accountant at Blackwood & Co., while my mother runs the most charming little café with a bookstore tucked inside. It's cozy, inviting, and her way of contributing financially to the family.
As for me, I've always felt the need to step up and support them, not because they can't manage on their own, but because it feels like my turn to lighten their load. My younger sister, bold and confident, recently started working as an analyst at the same company as my dad—it's been just two months for her, and she's already making strides. My little brother, on the other hand, is the calm, introspective one of the family. He's currently studying literature at CUNY (City College of New York) and dreams of becoming a professor—a career that fits his thoughtful personality perfectly.
And then there's me. I've just graduated from NYU Medical School, and today marks the beginning of my Internal Medicine Residency at the renowned St. Victoria Hospital. I'm excited, nervous, and filled with a sense of anticipation. Today is the day I'll start applying what I've learned in real life, and the weight of that is thrilling yet intimidating.
Getting to this point was no smooth ride—convincing my family that I wanted to be a doctor was a battle in itself. It wasn't that they disapproved of the profession, but they always wondered if it was truly my dream. But the real challenge was convincing them that I would be funding my medical education on my own. I'm taking out student loans, and not getting a single penny from them. That was hard for them to accept, especially since they've always been the ones to support me. But I knew it was the only way I could fully own this journey and show them that I was serious about my future.
That's a story for another time, though, because right now, I need to hurry—I can't afford to be late on my first day, can I?
Without wasting any time, I quickly headed to take a bath since I had already missed my usual routine of waking up early for yoga. Last night was a family celebration to mark my new beginnings—so sweet, right? Normally, it's my mother who wakes me up, as she opens her café early every morning to serve the early risers their coffee and help them start their day. But today, she hadn't come to wake me, probably because of yesterday's movie marathon.
Chuckling to myself, I finished my morning routine and decided on an outfit: black high-waisted trousers paired with a light blue button-down shirt. I opted for comfortable nude flats—heels are just not my thing yet. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, as I prefer to keep it neat and out of the way during hospital hours for hygiene reasons. I kept my makeup minimal and slipped on the golden bracelet my father had gifted me. To complete the look, I grabbed my favourite sling bag from Gucci, the first expensive gift I've ever bought for myself. I threw on a black cardigan too—it was just too chilly for a November day in New York.
When I got downstairs, I found my father and sister having their breakfast—pancakes, which were probably rushed together by my mother who must have been cursing herself for staying up too late. They were both in a hurry, especially my sister, who kept mentioning how late they were and how their boss wouldn't be happy about it. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at their frantic behaviour, silently cursing their manager for being such a brat. Don't get me wrong, it's just that I've always felt like rich people, well, aren't exactly the nicest. They have everything handed to them and carry themselves with this attitude, like they're the president or something. I know I'm being judgmental, but my experiences with wealthy people haven't been great. It's not that I hate them, but I can't say I really like them either. Ugh!
I quickly made my way down the stairs, and as soon as my footsteps caught their attention, both my father and sister jumped up to hug me. They showered me with words of pride and wished me the best for my first day. After the warm exchange, my father and sister rushed out, shouting a quick goodbye to my mother before heading off to work, with my father reminding me not to go alone to the hospital and to take my brother with me since it was my first day.
After bidding them farewell, I sat down at the table to have my breakfast, knowing I still had an hour before I needed to leave, and the hospital was nearby. My mother lovingly set my breakfast in front of me before heading off to wake my brother, scolding him for being irresponsible and still sleeping when he was supposed to drop me off at the hospital. Oh, mother!
After finishing my breakfast, my groggy-eyed brother finally emerged and dutifully dropped me off at the hospital. The ride barely took 15 minutes, and before leaving, he waved a cheerful goodbye and wished me good luck. And now, here I am, standing in front of the imposing façade of the biggest hospital in the city—my dream hospital, where my journey officially begins. This moment should feel exhilarating, but instead, it's a mix of anticipation and sheer terror. I can only hope that this will prove to be the right decision for my life.
By now, you might think I'm a bold and confident woman. Well, I hate to burst that bubble, but the truth is I'm absolutely freaking out. Deep down, I'm a classic introvert and a self-proclaimed nerd. Socializing? Crowds? No, thank you. It's not that I lack confidence in my abilities—it's just that I've always felt more comfortable in solitude. The fewer people around me, the less judgment I face, and honestly, I believe a smaller circle equals greater freedom.
Taking a deep breath, I gave myself a mental pep talk. You've got this, Angelina. This is just the first step. You've worked hard for this moment. With hesitant determination, I finally stepped inside.
And what I saw next? Well, let's just say it's a sight I'll never be able to forget.