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Summary
Samira didn’t go out.
She worked around 60 hours a week, came home and slept, or sat on her futon reading journals until the words swam and her eyes burned. JAMA. NEJM. Anything that kept her mind occupied long enough to feel useful.
She told herself that it was enough.Lately, it hadn’t been.
Her mind had developed an annoying habit of drifting, usually when she was trying to focus on something important.
A line from a paper would blur, and she’d catch herself thinking about Jack. His gravelly voice, talking her through a procedure. The way he told her she’d done well, like it wasn’t just routine praise.
It made no sense to her. She tried to frame it as admiration. But it lingered, unhelpful and intrusive, like a symptom she couldn’t quite name.
So when Trinity texted drinks? followed by far too many emojis, Samira said yes before she could overthink it.