Talia always imagined that the end of med school would feel like a finish line — a flurry of cheers, proud parents, and champagne-fizzed promises. But as she stared at the hospital hallway, flooded with early sunlight and the scent of disinfectant, it felt more like a beginning.
She adjusted her lanyard, newly clipped with a gold-edged ID badge that now read:
Dr. Talia Quinna, MD — Resident Physician, Internal Medicine
She ran her fingers over the raised letters, the way someone might brush the spine of a long-awaited book.
From behind her, Ezra's voice chimed in, soft but unmistakably full of wonder.
"You know… it looks really, really good on you."
Talia turned to see him leaning in the doorway of the resident lounge, wearing his own fresh ID badge with the hospital logo gleaming beneath his name:
Dr. Ezra Riverra ,MD — Resident Physician, Emergency Medicine
She grinned. "Well, now that we're both employed by the same hospital, I think it's official. You're never getting rid of me."
Ezra stepped closer, slipping a hand into hers. "I never wanted to."
Their permanent contracts came through a week ago — unexpected, sudden, and a little surreal. Talia had been halfway through rounds when she'd gotten the call. Ezra was paged in the middle of a lecture and thought someone had died.
Instead, both had been offered full-time residency contracts at the very hospital they had trained in — the same one where they met, fought, grew, and fell back in love.
The same place where, not long ago, Ezra had saved a life in Room 314, and Talia had realized she didn't want a future without him in it.
They celebrated quietly that night — pizza on the hospital rooftop, a threadbare blanket, and two scrubs-wrapped bodies curled beneath the stars.
Talia tilted her head back, chewing slowly. "It's weird. I used to want to escape here. Now I feel like I built something here."
Ezra nodded, lying beside her. "Same. I came for medicine, but I stayed because of you."
She looked over. "Are you going to get all sentimental now?"
He smiled. "Only if you promise not to mock me."
She reached over and tangled their fingers together. "No promises."
They laughed — that easy, light laughter that only comes when hearts are finally at rest.
The next morning, the hospital lobby felt different. Warmer somehow. Like it recognized them now — not just as students passing through, but as doctors who belonged.
They were handed their new schedules, lockers, and orientation packets. Talia slipped hers into her bag, barely glancing. She wasn't nervous. Not anymore.
Walking down the corridor, their steps matched, shoulder to shoulder, white coats brushing.
"So," Ezra asked, "first rounds as full-blown residents?"
"Bring it on," Talia said, confidence laced in every syllable.
He nudged her. "Want to meet for lunch at the usual spot?"
"Only if you promise not to flirt with the nurse who gives out pudding cups."
Ezra smirked. "Again, no promises."
She rolled her eyes and smiled anyway.
They reached the elevator just as the doors opened. Two first-year interns stepped out — wide-eyed, jittery, overloaded with clipboards and caffeine. Talia gave them a knowing nod as she and Ezra stepped in.
The doors closed.
Ezra looked at her reflection in the mirror-lined interior, then at her directly. "This is it, huh?"
She met his gaze. "No. This is only the beginning."
And as the elevator hummed upward — toward patients, pressure, and the rest of their lives — they stood close, steady, and exactly where they were meant to be.