Stitches

0.9

I wake slowly, consciousness seeping in like a soft gray dawn through closed blinds. My head throbs dully—a subtle but stubborn reminder of last night's champagne. I open one eye, the pale light filtering in, making everything look washed-out and hazy, and the faintest scent of lingering perfume clings to my hair, blending with the memory of laughter, lights, and Harry's eyes meeting mine across that crowded room. I close my eyes again, rolling onto my back, feeling the ache of exhaustion pulling me down, telling me I could steal another ten minutes, maybe fifteen.

But my alarm chimes out again, insistent, and I'm reminded that it's another workday—back to reality, to long hours and endless rounds at the hospital. With a resigned sigh, I drag myself out of bed, stretching out the dullness from my bones. Each movement is sluggish, a reminder of the evening's indulgence, and I rub my temples, wishing I'd swapped that last glass of champagne for water.

I stumble across my room, fumbling for the door to the bathroom, the light is sharper, colder in there and it takes a few blinks to adjust. I stare at my reflection—a bit pallid, eyes still clouded with sleep. The hot water of the shower eventually shakes the remaining cobwebs from my mind, and I let it soothe me, standing there longer than usual, letting the heat soak into my skin. The steam fogs up the mirror, making the room feel like a cocoon, safe and secluded, and for a few minutes, I allow myself to savor the quiet.

Afterward, I wrap myself in a towel and head back to my room, slipping into the comfort of my work scrubs, freshly laundered and smelling faintly of vanilla. My usual morning routine feels almost mechanical today—scraping my hair up into a tight ponytail, dabbing on a little concealer under my eyes to mask the evidence of last night, and slipping on my sneakers. 

Before heading out, I creep over to Mia's room, the door slightly ajar, revealing her sprawled out across her bed, face half-buried in her pillow. "Bye, Mia," I whisper, leaning against the doorframe, but she only lets out a sleepy mumble and pulls her blanket higher. I smile, knowing she'll most likely sleep through the entire morning, and quietly close the door behind me.

Outside, the morning air is crisp, a little cooler than expected, and it wakes me up in a way that the shower hadn't fully achieved. The streets are just starting to come alive—neighbors heading to work, the baker across the street putting out his first batch, the scent of warm bread mingling with the cold air. There's a familiar rhythm to the neighborhood, a sense of constancy that's oddly comforting, and as I walk, I let my mind wander, thoughts drifting back to the art event, to the things Harry said, to that intense, inexplicable look in his eyes. I push the memory aside, though, trying to center myself on the day ahead, focusing on the steady beat of my footsteps, the rising hum of the city around me.

By the time I reach the hospital, I'm feeling sharper, more awake. I take a deep breath before walking through the entrance. It's another day, another shift, and I slip into my role, determined to tackle whatever comes my way.It's the kind of morning that buzzes with the sort of anticipation you can't quite place. Maybe it's the crisp chill from outside, or maybe it's just me; I've been feeling oddly unsettled since that charity auction. Something about Harry buying that painting gnaws at me, but as I head towards the locker room, I push the thoughts away.

Today will be like any other day—long, grueling, and full of the little moments that remind me why I chose this job. Moments where I can do something good.

As I step into the locker room, I spot Ada sat on the benches tiying up her shoes, her short, cropped curls flopped over her eyes. She glances up and catches my eye, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.

"Rough morning?" she teases, arching a brow as I approach.

"Oh, you don't even know," I groan, slumping myself next to her, leaning my head on her shoulder, grateful for a momentary reprieve, that I won't have until my shift ends. "Let's just say last night had... an excessive amount of champagne." I say, groaning at the thought of it.