The first email came on a Thursday morning — bold black letters in Ezra's inbox that read:
"You've been invited to interview at Johns Hopkins Hospital."
He stared at the screen for a long time, toast going cold on the plate beside him. Talia shuffled into the kitchen in mismatched socks, rubbing her eyes.
"Morning," she mumbled. Then she saw his expression. "What happened?"
Ezra turned the laptop toward her.
"Oh." She paused. "That's… incredible."
"It's in Baltimore," he said softly.
Talia nodded.
"I know."
He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. "This is what I've worked for. What I always said I wanted. But now…"
"But now you live in a tiny apartment with a girl who steals your side of the bed," Talia said, trying to lighten the mood.
Ezra didn't laugh.
She walked over and slid her arms around his shoulders from behind, chin resting on the top of his head.
"Go," she said. "You have to go."
"I don't want to leave you."
"You're not leaving me. You're chasing your dream. And I'm still part of it."
Interview season was a whirlwind — flights, hotel rooms, endless suits and rehearsed answers. Ezra flew from Boston to Baltimore to Chicago in the span of ten days, trying to convince prestigious hospitals that he was more than grades and paper.
Meanwhile, Talia stayed in the city, splitting her time between clinical rotations and late-night calls with Ezra. Sometimes they'd talk for hours; other times, she'd fall asleep with her phone under her pillow, the call still connected.
It was hard.
Harder than she admitted.
One night, after her shift, she curled up on their bed alone and opened the notebook again — the one with their old letters. She flipped to a blank page and wrote:
"It's hard to miss you and still be proud of you at the same time. But I do both. Every day." — T
When Ezra came back from his longest trip, he walked into the apartment and just dropped his bag at the door.
Talia stood from the couch, unsure whether to run or cry or both.
He looked tired. Thinner. Eyes heavy from sleepless flights and smiling too much for too long.
And yet, when he saw her — really saw her — his shoulders dropped.
"Hi," he said, voice cracking a little.
She crossed the room and pulled him in without a word. They didn't talk for a long time. Didn't need to.
Later that night, tangled in sheets and warmth and quiet breathing, Talia asked the question she hadn't dared to ask before.
"What if we don't match in the same city?"
Ezra was quiet. His fingers traced slow circles on her back.
"Then we'll figure it out."
"What if figuring it out… hurts?"
He kissed her temple. "Then we'll hurt. And then we'll heal."
Talia swallowed. "I don't want to be a 'someday' person for you, Ezra."
He pulled back and looked her in the eyes.
"You're not a someday," he said. "You're the day. Every day. No matter what the map looks like."
Outside, the city kept spinning, cold and electric. But inside that apartment, for a moment, everything stood still.
They had no idea what tomorrow would bring.
But they had a promise.
And sometimes, that was enough.