Beside

31 - expectation (part 2)

"Jellybean, why do you look up at the stars every night?"

"To make sure they're still there."

"But they don't go anywhere."

"What if one day they do?"

ᖴO᙭

I'm wearing someone else's life.

The suit hugs my shoulders, tailored to perfection, dark navy. Classy. Precise. But it's constricted. The tie feels like a noose, so I tug at it, loosening the knot just enough to breathe as I look around the dining hall. The blurry reflections on the dark mahogany walls. I catch glimpses of myself, hair combed, suit flawless. A stranger wearing my face.

"Johns Hopkins! Or Stanford—I'd place you there. You have the look, hon."

My smile is tight as the woman's hand tightens on my arm. "I'm set on Goldwen, ma'am. I appreciate the compliment."

"Ma'am? Honey, call me Isla. Isla Richardson." She smiles, a row of veneers winking behind lipstick-covered wrinkly lips.

I pat her hand. "Ms. Richardson, if you'll excuse me."

These alumni are talking about residencies.

Get me the fuck out.

This world of tailored suits and residencies feels like another planet compared to the raw, visceral punch of boxing. Boxing is real. It's the cut of the gloves on skin, the adrenaline that floods your veins. You feel every second of it, even the pain.

I'm supposed to fit here, in this swanky restaurant with white tablecloths and low murmurs. I've got the backing—family money Faro protected, capability, everything laid out in front of me like some carefully orchestrated chess game. But fuck, it still feels like wearing a costume.

As some middle-aged guy drones on about fellowship programs, I notice a butterfly lapel clip on his black tie, and my mind drifts to Chris.

The way her laugh sounds when she's really happy—soft, almost shy, like she's surprised by it herself. It's the laugh I needed hear that night at the bar. The night we met.

Odd—to think where we are now.

I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"Mr. Fox Weber." It's a tall man with graying hair and a Rolex flashing at his wrist. A professor of medical biophysics. "Long time. You're planning on medical school?"

I smile, my speech practiced too. "Yes, sir. In part to your lecture about electrical valve activity."

"If I remember correctly, you passed my class with a near perfect performance." He folds his arms, looking at me like he's measuring my worth. "And when I asked you to intern with me, you said you hadn't planned your future quite yet. Now here you are."

Yes, because you're a fucking dick. "Medical school felt right. I've always wanted to help people. To be in a position where I can make a real difference." It rolls off my tongue so smoothly.

"And your parents?" His brow quirks up. "They in medicine?"

I grin tightly. "No, sir. But I've got their unwavering support."

"Good. That's what you need." He nods, satisfied. "Perhaps I'll meet you in the lab one day."

He moves on to someone else.

I exhale, my shoulders loosening.

But another old professor of mine steps up, aching to know how I'm doing, asks the same questions. I give the same answers.