Clinical Trials of the Heart

The morning started with coffee and exhaustion.

Talia rubbed her temples as she stared at the anatomy flashcards Ezra had left for her on the kitchen counter, complete with his handwriting—neat, underlined, color-coded. There was even a little doodle of a heart with a smiley face in the corner of the "Cardiac Output" card.

She smiled despite herself.

Ezra, ever the perfectionist, had already left for rounds at the teaching hospital. She could hear the echo of his quiet voice in her head, telling her "You've got this, Talia. Just breathe through the panic."

She didn't feel like she had this.

Midterms loomed. The pressure to perform—to not fall apart, to keep pace with the students who had grown up dreaming of white coats—pressed against her ribs like a vice.

Unlike Ezra, Talia hadn't grown up wanting to be a doctor. Medicine had found her in the chaos. In the hurt. It was a challenge she took because she needed to prove—to herself and everyone else—that she could hold her own.

And lately, the only time she didn't feel like a total imposter was when Ezra looked at her like she hung the stars.

But even that, lately, had begun to falter under the weight of their schedules.

By the end of the week, they were running on caffeine and adrenaline.

Ezra was pulled into a high-pressure research project with a cardiologist he admired—long hours, tight deadlines, constant expectations.

Talia was drowning in simulations and OSCE prep, her performance anxiety spiking anytime a professor looked her way.

They barely saw each other.

No long talks. No shared meals. Just cold takeout, quiet shoulders passing in hallways, and one-word texts like "studying" or "sleep".

One night, Talia came home late and found Ezra asleep at his desk, cheek resting on a half-finished patient write-up, glasses still on.

She stood in the doorway, heart aching.

This wasn't the fantasy. This wasn't Paris. This was the clinical trial of their love. And for a second, she wasn't sure they'd pass.

They fought the next day.

It started small—over the dishes in the sink, of all things.

"I literally haven't had time to eat, let alone clean," Ezra said, rubbing his eyes.

"Neither have I," Talia snapped. "But you don't see me making excuses."

He looked at her, confused and hurt. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Making excuses?"

She folded her arms, jaw tight. "I think we've both stopped trying."

Ezra stepped back like her words physically struck him.

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" she said, voice rising. "Because lately it feels like I'm the only one still holding this together."

"You think I don't want this to work?" he asked, eyes blazing now. "Talia, I've been killing myself trying to keep my grades up, my rotations perfect, and somehow still be the boyfriend who makes you smile before bed. But I'm burning out."

There it was.

The unspoken truth: they were both on fire, and neither had noticed the smoke until now.

Talia sat down, hard. Her hands were shaking.

"I'm scared we're going to lose us," she whispered.

Ezra didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he knelt in front of her, resting his forehead against her knees.

"So am I."

The quiet that followed was different this time. Not cold. Not distant.

It was the stillness that comes after a storm—exhausted, but clearer.

"We need to stop pretending this isn't hard," Talia said softly.

Ezra nodded. "We're med students in one of the hardest programs in the country. Of course it's hard."

"But we don't have to let it break us," she added, her fingers brushing through his hair. "I don't care if we only get five minutes a day. I want them to be real."

Ezra looked up at her, his voice rough. "Then let's make a rule."

"What kind of rule?"

"No matter how insane school gets, we give each other five minutes every day. No phones. No studying. Just you and me. Five minutes."

Talia smiled. "You're such a nerd."

He shrugged. "A nerd in love with you."

"Five minutes," she repeated. "That's doable."

They sealed the promise with a kiss—soft, grounding.

A five-minute anchor in the middle of a whirlwind.

That night, they lay in bed—shoulders touching, hands clasped on top of the sheets.

Ezra whispered, "You know… the heart survives through pressure. It needs resistance to grow stronger."

Talia turned to him, brow raised. "Are you seriously using cardiophysiology to explain our relationship?"

He grinned. "I am."

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. "God, I love you."

Ezra kissed her knuckles. "I love you more."

And just like that, they passed another trial.

Not by acing exams or being perfect students.

But by remembering what it meant to choose each other—again and again, even when everything else was trying to pull them apart.