The bus pulled into campus at eleven-thirty PM. We filed off in silence, grabbed our bags, and scattered toward the hostel without the usual complaints about the ride or the food or Dr. Cross's sadistic team-building exercises.

  Priella practically jumped off the bus the second the doors opened, walking fast, phone already in her hand, calling someone. Her boyfriend probably.

  A guy of another year, always cracking stupid jokes, got off the bus laughing. He was telling someone about how the oatmeal had tasted like cardboard and how his feet were destroyed by the hike. Just casual conversation, like nothing had happened. I watched him walk away, joking with two other guys, and felt something between confusion and anger. How could he just... not carry it?

  Rafe walked off the bus in silence, stared at the hostel building for few seconds, then turned and walked toward the chapel on the east side of campus. He just needed somewhere quiet to pray, apparently.

  Kaya was crying. Not dramatically, just tears running down her face while she pulled her bag from the storage compartment. She wiped them with the back of her hand, grabbed her bag, and walked toward the hostel with everyone else.

  I walked slowly, my borrowed boots pinching with every step. Murin and Akki were behind me. We hadn't spoken since leaving the mountain.

  The hostel was mostly dark, just a few lights on in the windows. I climbed the three flights of stairs to our room. The door was unlocked, we never locked it, nothing worth stealing except textbooks and nobody wanted those.

  I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on my bed without turning on the light. Murin came in a few minutes later, followed by Akki. Neither of them turned on the light either. We sat in the dark like idiots, too tired or too wrecked to do basic things like find light switches.

  "I'm going to shower," Akki said eventually.

  He left. Murin and I sat in continued silence.

  We sat there until Akki came back, hair wet, wearing clean clothes. He looked slightly more human. "Your turn," he said to me.

  I grabbed my towel and shower supplies and headed down the hall. The communal bathroom was empty at this hour, just dripping faucets and mildew. I stood under hot water for a long time, trying to wash off the mountain, the trek, the image of a girl in a pink jacket. It didn't work.

  I dried off, dressed, went back to the room. Murin was in the shower now. Akki was lying on his bed. "You know what's fucked up?" he said without looking at me.

  "What?"

  "This morning I was devastated about Prisha, genuinely thought my world was ending because she rejected me. And now..." He laughed without humor. "Now I can't even remember why I cared so much. Girl on the mountain put things in perspective real fast." He turned his head to look at me. "How are you so calm about this?"

  "I'm not calm. I'm just good at pretending."

  "That's a depressing skill."

  "Welcome to medicine."

  Murin came back, also showered and changed. He climbed into bed without saying anything.

  My phone buzzed. I pulled it out. Message from my mother: Did you have a good trek? Are you eating enough?

  I stared at the text. How do you respond to that? Yeah Mom, great trek. Saw some trees, carried people uphill, witnessed a suicide.

  I typed back: Trek was fine. Back at hostel now. Will call tomorrow.

  Put the phone down. Closed my eyes.

  Morning arrived too early and too bright. Someone was knocking on our door.

  "Wake up! You have rounds in forty minutes!"

  I opened my eyes. My shoulders ached from carrying Murin and Zaid. My back hurt from sleeping on mountain ground.

  And my brain hurt from everything else.

  Murin was already up, getting dressed. Akki was still in bed.

  I got up. Found my hospital whites, wrinkled but clean enough. Put them on. My regular shoes felt weird after two days in borrowed boots. Akki finally moved, sitting up slowly like an old man. "I don't want to go."

  "None of us want to go, but we’re going anyway. Stop that and get ready."

  We made it to the hospital by 7:45 AM. Orthopedics ward, fourth floor. Dr. Pierce was already there, looking annoyed that we were fifteen minutes early instead of thirty.

  "You're late," he said anyway.

  I was too tired to argue. "Yes, sir."

  Rounds started. Patient after patient. Hip replacement post-op day three. Tibial fracture, scheduled for OR this afternoon. Elderly woman with compression fracture, conservative management. All routine. My hands did what they were supposed to do. My mouth said the right words. The machinery of medical training had a way of grinding everything else into background noise.

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  The afternoon was clinic. Orthopedics outpatient, seeing follow-ups and new referrals. Mostly routine stuff—post-surgical check-ups, conservative management discussions, the occasional interesting fracture pattern.

  I was in the exam room with Dr. Pierce and a middle-aged woman complaining of knee pain. Chronic, gradual onset, worse with activity. Textbook osteoarthritis.

  Dr. Pierce was examining her knee when his pager went off. He checked it, frowned. "I need to take this. Continue the exam." He left. I was alone with the patient.

  She looked at me expectantly. "So what do you think, doctor?"

  "I'm not a doctor yet, just a student." I continued the exam. Range of motion—decreased. Crepitus on flexion—present. Joint line tenderness—moderate. All consistent with osteoarthritis. "It's probably arthritis," I said. "The cartilage in your knee is wearing down. That's what causes the pain and stiffness."

  "Can it be fixed?"

  "Not fixed, no, but managed. Weight loss if applicable, physical therapy, anti-inflammatory medications. In severe cases, knee replacement, but you're not there yet."

  She nodded, processing. "How old are you?"

  "Twenty-two."

  "Are you seeing someone?"

  I blinked. That was not the follow-up question I'd expected. "I'm sorry?"

  "Dating. Do you have a girlfriend?"

  "I... no. Why?"

  Her face lit up in that way mothers get when they've identified a potential match. "My daughter is also twenty-two. She's doing her business degree. A very smart and pretty girl. You seem like a nice guy, polite, educated, going to be a doctor..."

  Oh no. "Ma'am, I appreciate the thought, but—"

  "Just meet her once. She studies near here, very convenient." She pulled out her phone. "Let me show you her picture."

  I was saved by Dr. Pierce returning. He took one look at the scene—the woman holding up her phone and me looking trapped. "Mrs. Chen, are you trying to set up my student?"

  "He's a good guy! My daughter needs a good boy, not these useless engineering types who only play video games."

  "I'm sure she does. But perhaps we should finish discussing your knee first?"

  She reluctantly put her phone away. Dr. Pierce completed the exam, confirmed my assessment, wrote prescriptions. As she was leaving, she pressed a small card into my hand. "My daughter's number. Just think about it."

  I looked at the card. Lisa Chen with a phone number written in neat handwriting.

  Dr. Pierce waited until she was gone. "That happen often?"

  "First time."

  "Won't be the last. Parents see a medical student and immediately start matchmaking. Congratulations, you're now an eligible bachelor in the eyes of every mother with a single daughter."

  "That's horrifying."

  "That's reality. Throw the card away or don't, up to you."

  I pocketed it without thinking and immediately regretted it. Now I'd have to actively throw it away later instead of just leaving it on the desk.

  I left the hospital around six PM, exhausted in a different way than yesterday. My phone buzzed. My mother:

  I'm at the hospital with Zoya for her checkup. Are you still there?

  I stopped walking. Turned around and headed back inside. Found them in the oncology outpatient waiting area. My mother spotted me first and waved. Zoya was sitting next to her, thinner than I remembered but smiling.

  "Look at you," Zoya said when I reached them. "So professional in your white coat."

  "It's mostly for show. I'm still figuring things out."

  "Aren't we all." She stood to hug me. I could feel how much weight she'd lost, her bones more prominent than before. But her grip was strong. "Your mother has been telling me about your trek. Sounds adventurous."

  I smiled. My mother studied my face. "You look tired. No, you're always tired. Are you eating?"

  "Yes, Ma."

  "Properly? Not just hospital cafeteria garbage?"

  "I eat properly enough to survive medical school."

  Zoya laughed. "Let him breathe. He's doing fine." She turned to me. "How are my test results looking? Your mother won't tell me anything, says I have to wait for the doctor."

  "I haven't seen them. But you look better than last time."

  A nurse called her name. "Zoya?"

  "That's me." She stood, grabbed her bag. "Wish me luck."

  "You don't need luck. Your numbers are good."

  She smiled and disappeared into the consultation room. My mother and I sat in the waiting area. She kept glancing at me like she wanted to say something but wasn't sure how.

  "What?" I asked finally.

  "You really do look tired. Was everything alright or was it just the trek?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Just the trek."

  She didn't believe me but didn't push. Just reached over and squeezed my hand once. "Come home this weekend. Properly, not just a quick visit. I'll make your favorite food."

  I nodded my head as 'yes'.

  Zoya emerged twenty minutes later looking relieved. "Tumor markers are down. White blood cells are stable. Doctor says the treatment is working." My mother hugged her. "Come," my mother said to both of us. "Let's get something to eat before we head home. My treat."

  We went to a small restaurant near the hospital. Nothing fancy, just good food and decent tea. Zoya and my mother talked about neighborhood gossip, about Zoya's treatment schedule, about normal things that felt grounding after the past few days.

  My phone buzzed. Group chat notification. The forensic medicine department group.

  I opened it. Message from Dr. Karim.

  Interesting case arriving tonight. Full autopsy scheduled for tomorrow 10 AM. All third-year students invited to observe. This is your first formal autopsy attendance. Attendance strongly encouraged.

  Below the message, other students were already responding.

  "Will be there"

  "Definitely coming"

  "First autopsy, finally!"

  Nobody else made the connection. To them, this was just an educational opportunity. An interesting case. Their first real autopsy after months of theory.

  I put my phone down.

  "Everything okay?" my mother asked.

  "Yeah. Just a message about class tomorrow."

  "You're coming home this weekend though?"

  "I'll try."

  She gave me a look that meant try harder, but Zoya distracted her with a question about medication timing and the moment passed. We finished eating. I hugged them both goodbye and watched them get into a cab back home. Then I stood on the sidewalk outside the restaurant, staring at my phone. The group chat had more messages now.

  "What time should we get there?"

  "9:30 to get good viewing spots"

  "Is it the same procedure room as anatomy?"

  "Different building, Dr. Karim will send details"

  I typed and deleted three different responses before just putting my phone away. I started walking back to the hostel, each step feeling heavier than it should.

  Tomorrow. 10 AM. Ready or not.