Chapter 2: Paper Gowns and Half-Told Truths

✧ Some memories don't fade. They echo.

(A flashback — two weeks before the flight)

The break room hummed with the purr of a coffee machine and the low whisper of a television that no one was watching.

Elira sat on the deep velvety brown sofa by the window; fingers wrapped around a paper cup of coffee she hadn't even taken one sip of. The hospital at night had a different kind of silence — not peaceful, but stretched thin, like even the walls were tired.

Ayla walked in, tugging her badge off, her ponytail loose from the shift. She didn't say anything at first — just grabbed her own cup and sat beside Elira with a soft sigh.

"You've been quieter than usual," Ayla said without looking at Elira.

Elira shrugged. "It's a quiet night."

"You usually fill the quiet," she said, finally turning to Elira and offered a small smile. "Especially after three coffees."

Elira didn't return it. Looking a bit off that night.

Ayla hesitated. "Is this about that leave you asked for?"

A silenced moment.

"You're not… quitting, are you?"

Elira stared into her cup. The coffee had gone cold, but she took a sip anyway.

"I think I've outgrown it," she said quietly. "Or maybe… it outgrew me."

Ayla frowned. "But this job… you were made for this. You told me medicine was your calling."

"Maybe I stopped listening to what was calling me."

The words hung between them like breath they couldn't exhale.

Elira didn't explain the rest — that her resignation letter wasn't even printed. That she wasn't waiting for permission. That her flight was already booked, and the quiet goodbye had already begun.

"There's a part of me that still loves it," she whispered. "But there's a louder part that's tired of surviving through it."

Her eyes swept across the room, lingering briefly on the quiet chaos that surrounded her.

Ayla didn't push. She just reached out and squeezed her wrist lightly. "Then maybe it's time to go."

✧ Flashback — The night before her flight

Elira's room looked the same — but she didn't feel like it belonged to her anymore.

She opened the drawer where she kept her old journals. One by one, she pulled them out and slid them into a box. Her stethoscope too. Her ID badge from internship days. The photo of her and her batchmates from that exhausting first year — all smiles, fake confidence, sleep-deprived but starry-eyed.

She stared at it for a second longer than she should have.

The books on her shelf. The quotes she once stuck above her desk. The small dream board with "Dr. Elira, E.R specialist" circled in glitter pen.

It used to mean everything.

Now… it just meant she'd tried.

Her mom passed the doorway briefly, carrying laundry.

They didn't speak.

Just a glance. A nod. A pause too long to ignore — but not long enough to say something.

In another version of her life, maybe she would've hugged her. Maybe she would've cried.

But this version was quieter. And less brave.

At her desk, she opened her journal one last time and wrote:

"There's no ceremony to endings.

No applause.

Just bags, doubts, and a ticket with your name on it."

She folded the page gently and closed the journal. Then reached into her bag and slid her scarf inside. The soft one she always wore on cold days. Just in case.

Before switching off the light, she stood by the window for a moment.

The city looked small from here. So much noise. So many memories.

So many versions of her, still learning how to leave.

_She climbed up to the rooftop just after midnight, barefoot and hoodie on. The air smelled like damp concrete and unachieved dreams.

From up here, everything looked farther away — like she was already halfway gone.

Elira looked up at the sky and whispered,

"If I'm wrong…

please don't let it destroy me."

There was no reply.

Just the wind...

Her phone buzzed after a while.

Sena calling.

Elira swiped to answer.

"Finally," she smiled, though her voice felt hollow. "Was starting to think you forgot."

Sena laughed. "I could never forget. Just… packing. You know how chaotic I get."

Elira leaned back onto the wall. "I'll land around noon. I'll text you from the airport."

"Of course! I'll text you first," Sena said. "Just think — next week we'll be getting dumplings by the river like in the dramas. Can you believe we're really doing this?"

Elira smiled faintly. "Yeah. I guess it still doesn't feel real."

The call ended. Elira stared at her screen long after.

It felt like someone else's dream Sena was promising her.

✧ Now — Present Day.

The café was quiet. Outside, the street buzzed with a language she didn't speak and signs she couldn't read.

Elira sat by the window, sipping a tea that had gone cold hours ago. Her phone lit up again.

Still no message from Sena.

No call.

No apology.

No reason.

She opened their chat.

"Just landed :)" the last message she sent.

Seen. No reply.

Elira tapped and held the chat for a moment.

Deleted.

She didn't flinch.

Just leaned back into the chair, closed her eyes briefly, and whispered,

"Maybe this was always meant to be a solo story."