It started with a collapsed lung and an unanswered page.
Talia had just scrubbed out of an early morning minor procedure when the overhead system blared: "Code Blue. East Wing. Room 314."
She didn't recognize the name of the patient—an older man, in for routine post-op observation. But something in the way the nurses scrambled, how the attending broke into a full sprint, told her this wasn't going to be routine for much longer.
She grabbed gloves and ran.
By the time she reached the room, Ezra was already there—eyes locked on the monitor, hands steady as he adjusted the patient's airway and barked quick instructions to the intern across from him.
"Tension pneumothorax," he said to the attending, not even flinching. "We need a needle decompression now."
It was the first time Talia had seen him like this—completely composed, commanding, and sure.
The moment was life or death, and he didn't hesitate.
The procedure was over within minutes. The lung reinflated. The man's color returned slowly. And Ezra stepped back, only then allowing his chest to rise and fall with the weight of it all.
Talia stood in the doorway, in awe.
Later that afternoon, she found him outside on a bench near the staff parking lot, his hands still slightly shaking, a paper coffee cup in his lap.
"You were brilliant," she said, walking up slowly.
Ezra looked up, startled. "You saw?"
"I saw everything."
He gave a nervous laugh. "I thought I was going to pass out when the needle stuck."
"You didn't," she said, sitting beside him. "You saved someone's life today."
Ezra stared at his shoes. "I think I've never felt more alive… or more scared."
Talia was quiet for a second, then whispered, "That's what being a doctor is, right? Terrified, but doing it anyway."
He looked over at her, and she smiled.
"Hey," she added gently. "You were everything I dreamed you'd be."
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
She tilted her head. "Back in first year, when I didn't know how to let people in. You sat beside me that first day like a storm I didn't know was coming. You were awkward. You were sweet. And even then, I think I hoped you'd be the kind of doctor who saves people like this."
Ezra's eyes shimmered. "You still see me like that?"
"I always have."
A long silence stretched between them, but this time it wasn't uncomfortable. It was warm. Familiar. Healing.
Ezra reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled paper ribbon.
Talia's breath caught. "You kept it?"
"It fell out of your coat pocket the day you didn't come to dinner," he said, offering it to her. "I didn't tie it again because I didn't want to rush it. But now, after today…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Talia took the ribbon with trembling fingers.
Slowly, she looped it into a fresh knot. The ends were frayed. The color faded. But it held.
"I want this to mean something new now," she whispered.
Ezra nodded. "No more assumptions. No more silences."
"No more letting work swallow us," she added.
He smiled. "No more late-night EHRs with flirty nurses?"
She smacked his shoulder playfully. "You're lucky you're cute."
Their lips met in a kiss that tasted of caffeine, adrenaline, and something deeper—forgiveness.
When they pulled apart, the hospital lights flickered on behind them, casting long shadows over their white coats.
The world hadn't slowed down. Their rotations were still brutal. Exams loomed. But somehow, this one moment made everything feel possible again.