岸 開成 ( kishi kaisei)

To wake from death and return to life—it's a strange idea. But death always seems to have its own way of coming back for you, again and again, until you finally give in.

It makes me think—should death be "him" or "her"? Does it even have a gender? And if death doesn't, then what about the rain, or the thunder that crashes through it? What about the sun, or the moon? Are they beyond the labels we so easily place on them, or are we just trying to make sense of things that were never meant to be defined?

People call me a woman, but I've never felt entirely tied to that word. Gender feels like another one of those labels, another way we limit ourselves, as though everything needs a category to belong to.

In my heart, I don't feel like a woman or a man. I feel like something else entirely. A bird. A bird still figuring out how to spread its wings, still learning how to fly.

"You ready?" Jaerim asks, taking my bag in her hand. I give her a slight nod. Lily's busy since there's an exhibition at the gallery, so she sent her girlfriend, Jaerim. She's nice and sweet, sure, but her words sting sometimes—too straightforward for her own good. Lily says it's what she loves most about Jaerim, her blunt honesty. But sometimes, don't we all just need people who cheer us up instead of pointing out how useless we are?

"Hey, can I have a quick conversation with my doctor?" I ask. Jaerim looks at me with a straight face.

"The cab's waiting, Rae."

"No, I mean, of course, but it's important," I say.

"Okay, fine, but don't be late. I have an appointment at the parlour," she says, rolling her eyes.

I don't really know where Dr. Asher might be, but I decide to find him. Just one question. One last thing before I leave. I'm not rushing—Jaerim doesn't scare me. She loves to pipe people up but never agrees to anything instantly.

As I pass by a row of rooms, I spot a door with his name on it: Dr. Asher Lively.

He must be in there, right? I knock. No response. I knock again, harder this time.

"You want something, Miss Kemp?" His voice comes from behind me. I spin around, catching him as he straightens up and looks at me.

"I thought you were inside," I say.

"Surgeons don't often get to sit in their cabins," he replies.

"But still, it's nice to have a cabin, isn't it?" I smile, but Mr. INTJ just stares blankly. No response. These stares are more awkward than anything.

"Okay, so I was almost leaving, but then I remembered something," I say, finally getting to the point.

"Go ahead," he says, holding his file.

"Well, I've noticed something strange."

"What?"

"Apparently, every time we talked, I get dizzy. At first, I thought, 'Oh, maybe it's just the thrill of your sparkling personality,' but nope. Turns out, it's sedatives. Funny how it is not even in my prescription.Care to explain, or should I just assume you've already sold my kidneys on the black market?"

His jaw clenches, his grip on the file tightens.

"Ah, the classic 'silent doctor' routine. Very reassuring. I'm just waiting for you to say, 'Trust me, I'm a professional.'" I smirk as his eyes widen.

"Come inside," he says, opening the door and motioning me in.

"Well, well, let's go see what you've got," I say, stepping in with a mock flourish.

He walks slowly toward his chair and gestures for me to take a seat. Judging by his face—completely devoid of any emotion—this must be something big.

Without any further argument, I sit down, glaring at him, waiting for the explanation I came here for.

As he slightly leans toward me, I break the silence.

"Come on, I don't have much time."

"Miss Kemp, I completely understand your concern, but—"

"I'm not very concerned," I interrupt. "Just curious. I mean, you don't seem like the type of guy who would hurt anyone intentionally. So…why?"

He exhales sharply and stands up, walking toward a cupboard. From it, he pulls out a blue file that immediately catches my attention.

"This," he says, handing it to me.

"What's this?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Your CT scan and MRI results," he replies.

"Okay…" I say, confused. I'm not sure what game he's trying to play, but if he thinks showing me some medical mumbo jumbo will justify drugging me, he's not as smart as he looks.

He takes a deep breath before continuing. "When they brought you here three days ago, you were in critical condition. The truck that hit you caused enough force to break several ribs, one of which pierced through your skin—it was visible at the time. You also had a neck fracture that could've damaged your spinal cord and a skull fracture that could've caused internal bleeding. But…"

"But?" I repeat, watching as his expression grows more intense.

"But miraculously, none of these injuries caused any severe internal damage. In fact, when we brought you into the operating theater, something…unusual happened." He pauses, like he's reliving the moment.

"What do you mean, unusual?"

"Your ribcage was perfectly intact. No fractures. Your skull was fine, with only minimal injuries. It's like the damage just…repaired itself. I've never seen anything like it before. Miss Kemp, I have no logical explanation for what happened to you."

For a brief second, I think he's being genuine, but then my skepticism kicks in. "Look, Doctor, I think you're just hallucinating. Maybe instead of giving me sedatives like I'm some lab rat, you should start taking anti-delusional tablets."

"Anti-psychotics," he corrects me flatly.

"Whatever. You need them," I snap.

"Miss Kemp, I'm sure of what I saw. I don't usually do things like this unless I'm a hundred percent certain. And this…this is beyond unusual. There's something going on with you."

I cross my arms, smirking. "So what now? Are you going to open me up like a Thanksgiving turkey to check if I'm an alien or a vampire? Maybe you've been watching too many fantasy movies, Doctor."

His lips press into a thin line. "You're right. What I did was wrong, and I should've asked for your permission. I don't usually cross professional boundaries like this. I love my job, and I've never done anything to jeopardize it. But this time, I…I couldn't stop myself."

"And what did you find?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. I'm sure he found nothing. If he had, he wouldn't be apologizing.

"Nothing…" he admits reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Exactly. Because there's nothing unusual, paranormal, or whatever crap you're imagining," I say, rolling my eyes.He nods, staring down at his file like a scolded child.

"You should probably focus on your date instead of me," I say pointedly, referring to his girlfriend, Vanessa Raymond. I don't like her at all.

"I'm sorry, Miss Kemp," he says, his voice low. "I assure you this will never happen again."

"Let's see," I reply coldly. Trust issues tend to hit harder than lightning bolts in situations like this, and I've definitely got plenty of those now. The thought of seeing him again for my routine checkups already has my adrenaline spiking.

Finally, he looks up at me, and for a moment, I catch the flicker of something in his hazel-green eyes.

"Pretty…" I whisper, almost to myself.

"Sorry?" he asks, looking confused.

"No, no," I stammer. "I mean…your date. She's very pretty. Adorable."

I want to slap myself. What the hell am I saying?He just nods, his expression unreadable.

"I mean, I like girls with hazel-green eyes and curly hair. They look…divine," I blurt out, cringing internally.His face twists in slight confusion. "Vanessa's straight," he says, his tone oddly disappointed.

"Oh, God, no. That's not what I meant!" I say, flustered. "Forget it. I should go now, Doctor Asher. It was…uh…nice meeting you.

"You too, Miss Kemp. Take care of yourself," he replies, his voice softer now.

As I turn to leave, I can still feel the weight of his gaze on me. Whatever just happened here, I hope to God it never happens again.