Anya:

The month after the acceptance email was a blur of excitement and jitters about moving cities. Mom came to visit after hearing the good news. She couldn't stay long, but she kept her promise to help me move.

The new apartment I rented was a cozy two-bedroom. The rent was not cheap, and I could afford it on my resident's salary, but that would mean I'd be surviving on cereal for half the month. It also meant no savings, and one thing my mom had taught me was how to prepare for worse days, because you never know what life might have in store for you. So I'll have to find a roommate and fast, but for now, all I want to do is ride the high of getting placement at my top-choice hospital.

The day of the joining came too soon. All the paperwork that needed to be filled out before joining felt like I was signing my rights away. And I did all that with a smile on my face.

Honest to God, if they had asked me to sign my life away I'd still happily do it. Because this has been my dream program for as long as I can remember. Some of my idols in medicine have worked here.

I always wanted to be a doctor, no scrub that, I always wanted to be a surgeon. I think I was six or seven years old when my mom gifted me my first anatomy doll one Christmas. It was a hideous little thing, but playing a surgeon at 7 years old stuck with me and turned into my biggest dream.

Most of my friends and classmates wouldn't even look at that thing, but I would always carry it with me and when I was old enough to understand, my mom got me my first anatomy for dummies book.

I was not a dumb kid by a long shot. My grades have always been good, and I have worked hard to maintain them. You could say I was a nerd of sorts.

Standing here today at the front stairs of Ashbourne Memorial Hospital, I can't contain my excitement. All that daydreaming, studying my ass off and sleepless nights of pre-med, then med school finally paid off.

The weight of the ID badge feels heavy around my neck, but the good kind. The kind where you feel pride and responsibility that comes with the job.

I'm not nervous at all, at least not yet, and I repeat my mom's words to me.

"If anyone can do it, it's you, Dr. Anya Briar."

The name gives me a surge of pride as I move towards the entrance. I catch my reflection in the glass, looking back is the girl in a crisp white coat and a surge of emotion takes over.

I deserve it.

I bled for it, and now it's time to do the work to become one of the greatest surgeons. That's the goal.

I reach the orientation hall, and its already filled with so many faces. I take a seat in the middle. There's another girl sitting two seats over. She looks at me and waves enthusiastically. I smile and wave back. Then, without any invitation, she moves to the seat next to me.

"I hope the seat wasn't taken?" She asks after she takes the seat.

I just smile brightly, telling her, "Not at all. Be my guest."

She extends her hand with the biggest smile, "Hi, I'm Zara Thompson. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, fellow resident."

I laughed, taking her hand, "Pleasure is all mine. Anya Briar."

She asks, still holding my hand, almost squeaking, "Isn't it exciting? Oh My God, I feel like my heart will explode out of my chest".

I laughed again. I like this girl. She's the kind of person who befriends you at the first meeting and never lets go.

We are still having our moment when the announcer opens the mic and requests everyone to take their seats.

There are around fifty residents inducted, some for core surgical training like me and others have completed their core surgical rotations and are here for major specialties.

Ashbourne has one of the widest ranges of sub-surgical specialties and all ranked among the top in the country. It's one of the reasons it's such a sought-after residency program. When I was doing my research, I read somewhere that the number of applicants that try their luck every year is in the thousands and not just locals but all over the world and only a few are selected.

'The chosen ones', some forums had called them. Sitting here among these geniuses, I feel like an imposter but I quickly reprimand myself. And repeat my mantra in my head.

I deserve to be here. I am as smart as any of my peers. And being given this spot proves that.

The announcer, a junior fellow from plastic surgery, introduces himself and welcomes us all to the program. His words are polite, precise and clinical.

It reflects the efficiency expected of everyone who works here.

Quality over quantity.

He requests the director of the clinical training program to say a few words. She is sitting among other faculty and senior doctors in the front row.

I know this woman more than anyone. I have read every article she has ever published, every surgical technique she uses. She is my idol. Plain and simple.

Dr. Elizabeth S. Ashbourne

She is sophistication and competence packed with elegance in a fifty-six-year-old woman who doesn't look a day over forty. She is wearing a dark maroon pantsuit with a white silk shirt. She's smart, about an inch or two taller than me and really gorgeous.

I think I'm drooling looking at her. God, if someone was to hear my thoughts they would think I'm some psycho with a crush on the hospital director.

Well, I do have a crush, but of professional sorts.

When she speaks, I hold my breath. She talks about the history of AMH but does not linger on for longer than necessary. While she is telling us what kind of effectiveness and diligence is expected of all of us, the door to the hall on her right opens and a man in scrubs walks in.

Dr. Felix Ashbourne,

The heir to the Ashbourne legacy, the director's son and, oh god, so sexy that my heart skips a beat.

I know him and I have read about him and all his work. He's an exceptionally gifted surgeon, but the pictures on the internet do not do him justice, because that man is six-foot-two sin and he does not have the right to be this gorgeous, wearing scrubs.

His sharp features are etched with exhaustion that shows he just finished some major surgery and why he was late for the orientation.

His mother, the director, gives him a look that is full of fake reprimand and pride at the same time, but starts speaking to the audience again. I stopped listening.

He walks towards the empty seat in the front row with the ease and confidence of someone who has been doing this all his life.

Before he takes the seat, I think he feels someone staring, that someone being yours truly. his gaze sweeps the audience, and when those deep ocean-blue eyes meet mine, the rest of the world quiets down.

His gaze lingers for a second too long, face totally unreadable, before he takes the seat.

And I'm left hyperventilating for no reason with every nerve ending on fire....

Felix:

The light above the operating table is too bright and unkind to the headache I'm nursing, courtesy of last night's whiskey.

There is a man in front of me with his chest open and that is all that matters at this moment. He came in with a gunshot wound and at the brink of death and now the weight of responsibility falls on me and my team's hands to save his life.

I'd met his family briefly before we came in. He's got a wife and a son waiting for him to survive this.

I feel a pang behind my own chest at the memory of my own father. His loss is a wound that refuses to heal. He was my guiding star. And he left me and my mom so quietly one morning that I still have difficulty accepting it despite it being 2 years since his death.

I force my attention to the person losing his life in my hands and everything else fades away. My pain, my loss, my grief.

All that remains is the responsibility and the skill in my hand that took years to hone to perfection.

The bullet had just grazed his heart and his chest cavity was full of blood. I had already removed the bullet and all that remains is the final steps to close the bleeder. My first assistant, Jonathan, a junior fellow, is sweating. I can feel it even without looking up.

He is always a nervous wreck whenever there's a major surgery, but that never hinders his ability to perform under intense pressure, no matter how sweaty he gets. That's why he's been my first assistant for 3 years.

My focus shifts to the vitals of the patient, stable. The bleeding has stopped and all that is left is the closure part and I know Jonathan is capable of doing so, but I just stay long enough, moving away from the table, giving him the chance to close up, to go see the patient's family.

Telling them the good news that he'll live and the expression of gratitude on their faces like I'm some God send, is almost too heavy for me.

I tell them he will be shifted to CCU for the next 24 hours, but he will be alright and go to my office on the 15th floor where the executive offices are.

Before I can step in, my assistant, Ana stops me, "Dr. Ashbourne"

"Ana," I greet her, "and how many times do I have to tell you, I'm Felix to you, Dr. Ashbourne was my father."

She doesn't respond to that, reminding me about the orientation meeting going on this second. "Your mother asked me to remind you that you have to attend the meeting" I'm about to refuse when she adds, "She also said you might try to get out of it but as the future heir and director of the hospital you have to and your dad would have wanted you to, and I quote" she ends with a sympathetic look in her eyes.

She knows I can't refuse when she uses my dad's name like that. "Mother is not coming slow, is she?"

I reluctantly turn around. I hadn't changed out of my scrubs, hoping to get a shower in my officer suite.

"At least change out of those scrubs first. She'll be angry." She calls after me.

"Well, it was her idea to use the big guns, so she'll have to be okay with the dress code," I say over my shoulder and go towards the elevator.

The last thing I want to do right now is sit through a whole session of baby residents staring at everything in awe like a child visiting the zoo for the first time. The exhaustion from a hangover and long surgery this morning has definitely dampened the mood.

But my mom would be disappointed if I didn't go and that is the last thing I want.

After dad, she's the only family I have, and I don't want to put too much on her plate when she's already been doing so much. Since dad died, she took over as the hospital director, and she has managed it as well as my dad did despite grieving herself from losing the love of her life.

The elevator door opens to the 12th floor where the ceremony is happening. It's the academic block. I cross the library and a small cafeteria for doctors and medical students on this floor, along with several classrooms to enter the hall.

It's already packed to the brim, with faculty and senior fellows in the front row along with several department heads. My mom gives me the look and I shrug unbothered due to exhaustion and the weight of everyone's expectation and envy heavy on my shoulders.

I walk towards my seat when I feel like someone is staring, but that is nothing new. I have been gawked at, especially by newly inducted residents for as long as I have been a doctor, some with admiration, others with envy.

This feels different. I look up, scanning the faces and that's when i see her.

Soft features: dark brown hair tied neatly, face free of any makeup and eyes the color of forest after rain.

I stop breathing for a second. She is beautiful, not the most beautiful woman I have seen, but the kind that doesn't need any layers to shine. Her beauty has this pull to her.

And her eyes, they could take you hostage and I forget for a second I'm surrounded by so many people.

Taking back control over my thoughts, I take the seat.

It takes immense restraint for me to not turn back and steal another glance.

This has never happened to me. I have always been surrounded by beautiful women. Some were attracted to my name and status, others to my looks. There was never a shortage. But something about her pulled at me in a single glance.

I've spent years mastering control. But under the light, with her eyes on me, I felt it slipping.

Anya:

Everything around me fades away.

All I can focus on is the man in scrubs, no, scratch that... the Greek god in scrubs.

I've seen plenty of attractive men at college, rotations, even conferences, but no one has ever set my whole body on fire like he just did.

Oh my God. I really need to stop my wayward thoughts. Five minutes ago, I was thinking about his mother and how stunning she is and how I might have a professional crush on her. Not that kind of crush, okay? It's not the same.

I force myself to breathe.

I've worked too hard to be here; I can't ruin this with some ridiculous crush. If he ever found out, he could fire me on the spot. He has the power, after all, this is his world, and I'm just the new resident standing in it.

I'm so distracted I don't even realize the director has stopped talking until she calls on Dr. Felix to address us.

My pulse spikes again. My face burns; I'm probably pinker than I'd like to admit. I blink too fast and bite the inside of my cheek, anything to calm my racing heart.

Zara elbows me and whispers, "Isn't he a sight for sore eyes? You're drooling next to me."

I can't answer. I don't even try to look at him again, but I can't not hear him when he starts to speak.

And when he does, I want to scream like some unhinged groupie at a concert.

Something is definitely wrong with me.

Stop it, Anya. You'll embarrass yourself if your ovaries explode right here, I scold myself silently.

His voice is deep, smooth, and steady, the kind of voice that knows exactly who it belongs to.

He and I live in different worlds, and the thought is enough to douse the hormones currently rioting in mine. I'm worse than a teenager.

This isn't a Taylor Swift song, and no matter how much it feels like the awkward nerd meeting the star quarterback, but he does not belong with me.

It's good, actually. I'll need that reminder next time I see him walking the same corridors. He's my senior attending, might be my supervisor, and I have to remember respect not how his voice somehow soothed an old ache I didn't know still existed.

Like his mother and every other speaker, he doesn't talk long. When he finishes, I'm equal parts relieved and disappointed.

The crowd begins to scatter. As our program's assessment in-charge, he asks us to collect our assigned rotas and follow the chief resident of each specialty for a tour of the hospital.

Thank God he won't be in the same group as me.

Zara and I are both placed in the core-surgical program along with twelve others.

Our chief resident is a woman named Kelly Montgomery, not much older than me, tall, with an air of authority, dark glowing skin, the most beautiful shade of curly brown hair, and eyes to match. For a second I'm confused.

Are all the doctors in this hospital this gorgeous?

I feel like I'm living inside an episode of Grey's Anatomy, except I'm no legacy and my mother isn't a doctor. No one in my family ever has been. I need to pinch myself, wake up, and concentrate.

I glance at my rota. One look and I already know how this intern year is going to go. We'll be working thirty-six- to forty-hour shifts twice a week, and I'm on call for thirty-six straight tomorrow.

Well, congratulations, Anya, I mock myself and snicker quietly.

Zara notices and gives me a questioning look. I mouth nothing as we slip out the back door of the hall.

The tour lasts an hour and a half. The hospital is a maze. I'm probably going to get lost on my way to, well, anywhere.

Walking those corridors, illuminated by white fluorescent lights, smelling of bleach and disinfectant, watching the mix of hope and despair on patients' families' faces, it's overwhelming.

But my resolve doesn't waver for a second.

Life is like that: happiness and sadness, hope and despair, sickness and health, all come in pairs.

So I vow to myself again: I'll give it everything I have, because I'm not a quitter. This is what I was meant to do. I believe in it.. in myself.

All thoughts of the sexy sin in scrubs fade from my mind... until the day is about to end.

Zara wears the same expression I do, equal parts awe and resolve, laced with the weight of new responsibility.

She asks where I'm living, snapping me out of my internal monologue. I tell her about my situation, and just as quickly as she took the seat next to me this morning, she offers to be my roommate.

She hasn't found a decent apartment near the hospital and is renting a room at a motel.

Well, that's settled sooner than I expected.

We decide to move her in tonight, because starting at 5 a.m. tomorrow we begin our first thirty-six-hour shift.

Zara and I will be on call for the ward patients, supervised by a fourth-year resident named Luke Wilson.

After the tour ends and the paperwork is finished, we climb into her beat-up Camaro and drive to the motel to collect her things. Moving is harder than expected, most of her furniture won't arrive until next weekend but by eight we're done.

The evening is spent in easy chatter and laughter, from where we grew up to favourite comfort food and everything in between.

We go to bed early, waiting for the next day with that good kind of nervous excitement.