QUENTIN
The soft, rhythmic beeping of the machines fills the air as I step into the room. The quiet hum of the hospital, the low murmur of nurses chatting down the hall, and the f a i n t scent of antiseptic—it's all familiar.
But somehow, walking into the pediatric ward always feels different.
There's an invisible weight here, a kind of tension that lingers just below the surface. It's quieter, more fragile.
I spot her right away, perched in her bed with her knees tucked up under the hospital blankets, her small form swallowed by the oversized gown. Micah's big brown eyes light up when she sees me. Despite the pale hue of her skin and the shadowy circles under her eyes, her smile is bright, like she's determined to hold onto every bit of joy she can.
"Dr. Quentin!" she says, her voice a little breathy but still full of energy.
"Hey, Micah," I greet her, settling into the chair next to her bed. "How's my favorite patient doing today?"
She grins, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "They gave me the good meds this morning, so I'm not feeling too bad. But I can't have ice cream today, and that's a bummer."
"Ice cream, huh?" I pretend to consider it seriously. "I'll have to talk to the nurses about that. You deserve ice cream after how brave you've been."
Micah giggles, but then she quickly grows serious, adjusting the colorful scarf tied around her head. Her hair fell out months ago from the chemo, but she's worn that scarf like it's a badge of honor. It suits her, in a way—bold, bright, refusing to let anything dull her shine.
"I don't mind," she says softly. "I'll have some when I go home."
I nod, watching her carefully. Kids like Micah, they're tougher than anyone gives them credit for. I've seen it time and time again—this strength that comes from somewhere deep inside, a strength that most adults could only wish for. She's been through more than any eight-year-old should ever have to face, yet here she is, smiling, joking, dreaming.
She looks at me, her eyes growing more thoughtful, and I can tell she's about to ask one of those questions. The kind that always stops me in my tracks.
"Dr. Quentin," she says, her voice quieter now. "Is being a doctor tough?"
The question hits me square in the chest.
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Skies & Florets
RomanceShe has built a quiet life in her small-town flower shop, surrounded by the blooms she's always loved. But as the years pass, the memory of her childhood friend-the boy who once promised to be by her side-lingers like a ghost among the petals. Now g...
