To what degree can one genuinely alter the trajectory dictated by unseen forces that appear to preordain a person's life path?
Could his skill actually provide the young boy with an opportunity he would not have had otherwise?
That question lingered on the edge of his consciousness. Regardless of fate or destiny, his hands were the boy's best hope.
The boy's parents trailed behind the gurney, their steps heavy with fear. Soot streaked their faces combining tear tracks that pierced through the muck.
The mother gripped her husband's arm as if he was the only thing that holding her up. She was sobbing hard, but her gaze never strayed from her son.
"Tommy! Please, baby, stay with us!" The mother clutched her husband's arm like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She kept repeating it, over and over—like if she just said it enough times, the universe would listen
Elias assessed over the wound. The jagged piece glass punctured the boy's abdomen right below his navel, it's edges wet with blood. The skin around it had tightened, and the muscles stiffened.
He carefully pressed on the wound, and the boy let out a harsh choked moan. His tummy was as rigid as a stone. Internal bleeding, not good. Elias exhaled. We don't have much time.
"Tommy, can you hear me?" Elias leaned in, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.
Tommy's eyes blinked, struggling against the weight of exhaustion. His watery eyes briefly focused on Elias before wandering aimlessly. His lips opened, letting out a shaky breath before uttering a single word.
"Hurts..."
"I know it hurts, buddy," He muttered gently. "We'll take care of you. We're going to make it stop."
He looked at the parents who were transfixed at the edge of the bay. Elias swallowed the lump in his throat before speaking quietly but firmly.
"We're going to do anything we can," he promised. "But we need to get him into surgery now."
He didn't wait for an answer. No...there was no time.
Tommy was prepped and ready, his little body dwarfed by the wide expanse of the operating table.
The surgical team, dressed in blue scrubs and masks, moved like a well-rehearsed orchestra. Elias stood at the heart of it all. His fingers curled around the scalpel. His eyes we're fixed on the boy's frail frame, so little, so still.
The room was quiet, except for the monitor's steady beeping and the team murmurs of confirmation.
Focus.
There's no space for error.
Elias took a deep breath before lowering his scalpel.
The initial incision was perfect—precise, controlled. But as soon as the layers of skin and muscle were pulled apart, he was met with a reality far worse than expected.
A large shard of glass, still embedded in the boy's abdominal cavity, caused blood to seep rapidly around it, pooling at an alarming rate.
Elias's stomach tightened. This is bad. This is really bad.
BEEP... BEEP... BEEP...
Suddenly, the monitor picked up speed, blaring an urgent warning.
"Blood pressure dropping—70 over 40! Heart rate at 130 and weakening!" the anesthesiologist called out.
"Suction!" Elias commanded without hesitation. A nurse moved swiftly, following his instructions.
The operating room doors swung open, and Dr. Ramirez, a pediatric surgeon and Elias's closest friend, rushed in.
"Am I late?" he asked, slipping on a pair of sterile gloves as he approached.
"Very," Elias replied without looking up from the wound.
Ramirez caught sight of the glass shard lodged in Tommy's abdomen and cursed under his breath. "We haven't removed that yet?"
"If we pull it out without preparation, he'll bleed out in seconds."
Ramirez narrowed his eyes, assessing the wound quickly. "Okay. Let's control the bleeding first. Widen the incision—I'll hold the glass in place."
Elias nodded, carefully extending the opening to get a clearer view of the surrounding area.
"Prepare clamps and gauze—lots of it!" Ramirez instructed the nurses. "The moment Elias removes the glass, we clamp every torn vessel immediately!"
Their eyes met. Neither spoke, but they both understood—they only had one shot at this.
"One... two... three!"
Elias carefully extracted the shard. The moment it was out, blood gushed from a ruptured vessel in the liver.
"Clamp it now!!" Ramirez moved fast, pressing down and sealing the torn vessel as Elias swiftly sutured the areas he could repair.
They worked as fast as possible, but Tommy's condition kept deteriorating.
His skin paled further, losing its elasticity. Bleeding spread to areas that hadn't even been injured.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"He's not responding to the transfusion!" the anesthesiologist shouted. "Blood pressure's dropping—60 over 30! We're losing him!!!"
Elias held his breath. No. Not now. Not this child.
"Vasopressors, now!" Ramirez ordered.
"Already administered! No response!"
Tommy's heartbeat continued to weaken.
"Aorta! We clamp the aorta!" Ramirez said quickly.
Elias nodded, grabbing a large clamp. With practiced precision, he placed it on the aorta just below the diaphragm, stopping blood flow to the lower body—forcing what little remained to circulate only to the brain and heart.
BEEP—BEEP——BEEEEEEEEP.
The monitor flattened into a single, piercing tone.
Cardiac arrest.
Tommy's heart had stopped.
"Open-chest CPR," Elias said, his voice tight. "Crack the chest open, now!"
Ramirez moved without hesitation. Within seconds, they widened the chest cavity, and Elias placed his hands directly on Tommy's heart.
He began compressions, rhythmically squeezing the tiny heart, trying to force blood to flow again.
"Come on, Tommy..." he whispered, even though he knew the boy couldn't hear him.
But for the first time in his career, Elias wasn't sure if he could save his patient.
"Epinephrine, 1 mg!" Ramirez barked.
A nurse immediately injected the medication into the IV. One minute passed.
Tommy's heart remained still.
"Increase to 2 mg! Give another dose!"
The second injection went in.
Elias had stopped counting the seconds. His hands, buried in Tommy's chest cavity, wrapped around the tiny heart, manually pumping it.
It was warm, slick with blood. But it remained motionless. No contraction. No beat.
Two minutes.
Three minutes.
Four minutes.
The operating room felt frozen in time. Only the long, droning beep of the monitor, the sound of heavy breaths, and the soft squelch of Elias's fingers pressing the heart broke the silence.
Ramirez lowered his head. "Elias... it's been nearly five minutes. Without oxygen, his brain—"
"No!!!" Elias's voice rang out. "We're not giving up!!"
He compressed the heart harder, his fingers desperately trying to force a response.
Five minutes.
Six minutes.
Seven minutes.
The heart remained still.
No response.
No contraction answering his efforts.
Someone took a long, deep breath. The nurses exchanged glances. The anesthesiologist finally let out a heavy sigh, his eyes empty as he stared at the EKG.
"Time of Death... 1.32 AM." Dr. Ramirez declared.
He slowly peeled off his gloves. But he didn't move away. He remained at Elias's side.
"Eli..."
Elias was still gripping Tommy's heart. Still pumping it.
"Again!!!"
His voice was hoarse, almost rough.
No one moved.
Ramirez clenched his jaw, then stepped closer, placing a steady yet gentle hand on Elias's arm.
"Elias."
His tone wasn't commanding. It wasn't forceful. It was simply... calm.
"He's gone."
"No!!!"
Elias recoiled, shoving Ramirez's hand away. "He's not gone!!!"
His hands still cradled the small heart. Still pressing, still hoping, still waiting for something—anything—to change.
But nothing did.
There was no miracle.
No second chance.
Only a silence so sharp it felt like a blade.
Ramirez swallowed, then—gently—placed his hand over Elias's, still wrapped around Tommy's heart.
"Let go, Elias."
His voice was barely a whisper. "He's at peace now."
Elias's fingers trembled.
And finally, for the first time since the operation began—he let go of Tommy's heart.
Elias tensed, and felt a shudder pass through his body before slumping against his colleague, as if the fight had been pulled from his bones. His breath caught, and then the sobbing poured, raw and unrestrained.
"He's gone." The words barely made it past his raspy, empty voice. "He's gone..."
The OR, once alive with activity and purpose, felt strangely still. The overhead lights produced bright reflections on the metal equipment, yet their typical gleam appeared dimmed.
Around him, the surgical team moved slowly and defeatedly. A scrub nurse's shoulders fell as she removed her gloves. The monitor's flatline drone blended with the distant hum of unused equipment.
Tommy lay on the table, covered in white, the sheet smooth and final. The silence was terrible.
"We need to talk to the parents." Dr. Ramirez voice was soft but heavy with unspoken pain.
Elias gulped hard. The words felt like a punch to his gut.
He had stood before them hours earlier, promising he would do anything for their son. He had seen the desperate hope in their eyes, and felt the weight of their confidence fall on him. But now...
"I'll go with you..." Dr. Ramirez offered. His expression firm and understanding.
Elias shook his head. "No." The word came out harshly, just above a whisper. "This...this is my responsibility."
In a few seconds, he'd walk into that waiting room and see Tommy's parents face crumble. He would be the one who broke them. But there was no avoiding it. He squared his shoulders and pushed his feet forwards.
Elias stepped out of the Operating Room, exhaustion weighing heavily on his limbs. The ordinary that had powered him through the operation had run out.
He found Tommy's parents sat stiffly in the waiting area, their hands clasped in a silent prayer, a sight that he rarely encountered these days. When they saw him, they shot to their feet and searched his face, imploring and bracing.
Elias tried to speak, but his throat tightened.
He swallowed, forcing himself to meet their gaze.
Nothing. Words did not come.
His fingers clenched into a fist. He only managed a tiny shake of his head. That was enough confirmation.
The mother's loud gasp pierced the silence like a blade, harsh and sharp. She stumbled back, her shaking hands covering her lips.
"No..." The word barely left her lips, a frail whisper, before it shattered into an agonizing cry. "No... Tell me this is not true doctor. Tell me he's okay... Please!!"
Elias forced himself to look her in the eyes. He gulped heavily. "I'm so sorry..." His voice was faint and scratchy. "We did everything we could, but..."
The words remained on his tongue. He did not need to finish it. The reality was already present, thick and stifling, pressing against the silence.
"NOOOO... TOMMY..." The mother's raw guttural wail tore through the room.
The father fell into the chair behind him, his body slumped forward and his shoulders quivering in quiet, gut-wrenching sobs.
Time blurred as a nurse gently led the mourning parents away. Their sobs drowned out by the antiseptic hum of the ward. Elias could still hear Tommy's mother's raw and continuous cry.
He stayed motionless, his limbs leaden, watching them vanish down the corridor. A hand landed on his shoulder, steady and grounded.
"Elias." He turned to see Dr. Ramirez looking at him, concern engraved into the deep wrinkles on his face. "You should go home, you've been through hell tonight."
Elias swallowed, despite the constriction in his throat. "There are still patients to see." He grumbled. His voice seemed distant and hollow. "I need to go back to the ER."
Ramirez strengthened his hold, pinning him. "The ER is covered, we have enough hands." He sighed and studied Elias. "My friend, you are running on fumes. Grief does not simply go just because you bury yourself in work."
Elias forced out a breath that seemed more like a shiver. He knew Ramirez was right, his body was hurt, his mind was sluggish, and behind the exhaustion, a hollow pit of guild gnawed at him.
Ramirez demeanor softened but his tone remained stern. "Go home, Elias. That is an order, not a suggestion."
Elias met his eyes, hoping for an argument or an excuse, but only found steadfast confidence. He gave a slow, defeated sigh. "Yeah...okay."
He turned and walk away, his steps long and deliberate. The hospital corridors stretched ahead, sterile and unending. Sounds of footsteps and voices around did not reach him. Nurses exchanged worrisome looks as he passed, but he did not acknowledge them. He could barely feel the fabric of his scrubs sticking to his skin.
The Hospital door swing open with a quiet whoosh, and the city embraced him with its usual frantic energy. Even this late at night, New York City refused to sleep.
Cars honked at the distance, streetlights cast a dreary yellow glow on the sidewalk, and a saxophone played a lonely tune. The hum of the city usually ground him, but tonight it was just distant and hollow sounds.
His feet moved on their own, taking him past neon-lit storefronts and shadowed alleys. Central Park loomed ahead, its trees swinged by the night breeze.
It wasn't until the cold bench bit his scrubs that he realized where he was. Park Avenue stretched before him, alive with motion—businessmen loosening their ties from their late-night drink, couples laughing as they strolled past, and cabs honking at the unconcerned jaywalkers.
He slumped forward, elbows sinking into his knees and fingers entwined in his hair. His thoughts replayed the day incessantly. Blood-stained gloves, the flatline screech of the heart monitor, and a mother's cries piercing through the hospital walls.
Normally, he would have noticed the uneven paving stone beneath his feet, the distant siren's screaming, and the slight shift in wind direction when a train rumbled underground. Tonight, even the bench felt remote, as if he were looking at the city through a thick pane of glass. The smell of exhaust and hot dogs, a familiar comfort, was only a dull ache in his nose.
It was only then that he became aware of the approaching figure—
"Mind if I join you?" The voice, warm and smooth like his favorite melody.
He looked up.
A man stood alongside the bench with his hands buried into pockets of a well-worn leather jacket. His slender form exuded a natural ease, a presence that somehow managed to hold attention without even asking for it. His sandy-blonde hair was artistically unkempt, as if he was just rolled out of bed or had spent the evening ruminating on it.
But it was his eyes that made Elias pause.
Gold, rich and sparkling, with flecks of molten amber—as if sunlight were imprisoned in a glass. They had a soft glow that suggested something deeper, a warmth that didn't belong in the cool evening air.
The man could have been any other New Yorker in his worn blue T-shirt and jeans, blending in with the city's never-ending beat. But there was something else—a slight bit definite energy, as if the space surrounding him was just a little brighter, and the shadows were unwilling to cling to him.
Elias simply shrugged, still lost in his own thoughts.
The man lowered himself next to Elias, leaving just enough space to be courteous but not too far. At first, neither of them talked, leaving the stillness to be filled by the City restless energy.
After a minute, the man tilted his head, his golden eyes warm and piercing. "Rough day?"
Elias let out a breath through his nose that was too phony to be genuine yet was almost a laugh. "You could say that."
"Name's Leo." The man offered his hand.
Elias hesitated, then took the offered hand, his grip slack and almost reluctant. "Elias."
"Nice to meet you Elias," Leo remarked, his smile warm and unwavering.
He reclined back and stretched his legs, as if preparing for a long chat. "Even in a city that never sleeps," he said, his voice low, "you can find pockets of stillness. Places to... reflect." He paused, his golden eyes settling on Elias.
"Sometimes, just sitting and watching the world move around you helps, don't you think?"
Elias gave him no answer.
Leo breathed and tilted his head to the night sky. "it's funny," he said. "Even the sun, the brightest star in our sky, has moments when it dims. Sunset, eclipse... moments when it's radiance fade."
He looked at Elias, his eyes glinting with something more than casual thoughts. "But there is a beauty in it, too. When the sun sets, the other lights have an opportunity to shine. The stars arise, and the world recalls the quiet elegance of shadows and lights."
Something flared at the back of Elias' consciousness, and he knitted his brows in a frown—recognition? Déjà vu. Leo's remarks were too accurate; they seemed to fit right in with the gaps in his mind. There was something uncanny about the way he talked, the way his analogies flowed naturally into the discourse.
"I suppose..." Elias mumbled, barely louder than the murmur of the city.
Leo smiled—not the polite, surface-level grin that people used in short talk, but something warmer, something that... recognize him.
"It's okay not to be okay, Elias," he said. His voice low and steady. "It's okay to feel the weight of everything. To sit in the dark for a time. It merely means you are human."
Elias finally looked at Leo—really looked at him. His golden eyes seemed to shine with an ethereal quality. There was something about the way he carried himself, a gentle confidence that felt both strange yet familiar. His lips curved at the edges, not quite a grin or a smile, but enough to suggest that he knew something Elias didn't.
"Who are you?" Elias spoke before he realized he was doing so.
It was more than just a curiosity; it was a demand, a plea, as if the answer would reveal something hidden deep within him.
Leo maintained his smile. if anything, it deepened, his eyes glinting with something incomprehensible.
"Just a friend," he said, his voice soft and leisurely. "Just a friend who understands."
The words should have frustrated him. It was vague, taunting, and dissapointing. But Elias felt a weird sense of calm. His shoulders relaxed, and the knot in his chest ease slightly. He wasn't sure why, but something about Leo's presence made him feel seen in a way he hadn't in years. Perhaps ever.
They remained silent once more. Elias made an effort to contemplate Leo's words about the beauty of dimming.
"You said... even the sun has its moments of fading," Elias mumbled finally. His voice cautious, as if testing the thought on his tongue. "But it always returns, right? It doesn't simply vanish; it regains its strength."
"It does," he answered. "However, it's not always easy to find that brightness again. Sometimes it takes a journey."
"A journey?" Elias elaborates.
Leo inclined his head slightly, as if weighing his next words. "Sometimes, it needs a little help."
Elias frowned again, there was something more to those words—something personal. Something meant for him.
"What kind of help?" he asked.
Leo's smile widened, mischievous yet knowing. "That depends," he said. "Sometimes it's a helpful hands. Sometimes it's a listening ear. And sometimes, it's a reminder—of the inner strength that can pull you out of the darkness."
Elias searched Leo's face, noting his easy confidence and the eyes that appeared to stare through him rather than at him.
"Why are you telling me this? Why do you care?" he asked.
Leo's eyes softened, and for a moment, they were filled with understanding rather than friendliness. A level of compassion that felt almost too much, too knowledgeable, as if he had witnessed everything Elias had been through, every sorrow, every loss.
"Because everyone deserves to find their light, Elias," he added, his voice calm but confident. "Especially those who spend their lives bringing light to others."
The remarks struck a chord with Elias, reflecting his calling as a healer and his strong empathy for his patients. However, they also hinted at something beyond, something beyond his comprehension of himself and his purpose.
Before Elias could inquire further, Leo stood, his movements smooth and effortless, as if he had never experienced doubt.
"I have to go," he murmured, putting his hands in his pockets. "But I have a feeling we'll meet again."
Elias felt a peculiar sense of anxiousness in his chest. He stood, too. "Wait—" The question came out before he could stop it. "Who are you? Really?"
Leo paused mid-step and turned just enough to look over his shoulder, mischief evident behind those golden eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Let's just say," he mumbled, "I admire your work. And I believe you have a bigger role to play than you realize."
Then, with a wink and one final enigmatic smile, he vanished into the crowd, swallowed by the city's rhythm, leaving Elias standing there—alone, restless, and with more questions than answers.