"Four and a half hours from symptom onset. But earlier is better—every minute of delay means more brain cells lost."
"Contraindications?"
"Recent surgery, active bleeding, history of intracranial hemorrhage, uncontrolled hypertension..." I rattled off the list while plating the pasta, the information flowing more easily now than it had a month ago. "Coagulopathy, current anticoagulant use with elevated INR."
Ava looked up. The lamp caught her glasses, her eyes, and the smile starting at the corner of her mouth.
"Not bad, Torres." She set the textbook aside. "You might actually pass this thing."
"Your confidence in me is overwhelming."
"I'm very confident. That'swhyI'm hard on you."
I ducked my head so she wouldn't see my expression. She probably saw anyway. I carried the plates to the couch, handed her one, and settled on the opposite end with Watson eyeing our food from his perch.
Ava never treated my work like background noise. She leaned in. Asked the hard questions, the specific ones, the ones that told me she was actually listening. She wanted to understand the weight of it. The responsibility. The lives that would depend on whether I got this right.
She was building a future paramedic. One who could run a medical scene, not just assist on one. And she took that responsibility seriously. She expected excellence because she knew I was capable of it.
Four years of knowing her. Four years of falling.
How much longer could I keep pretending this was enough?
Not much longer.That was the honest answer.
I kept it to myself.
On Friday night, when we were both off shift, we had no food.
The realization hit around 7 PM, both of us standing in front of the open refrigerator, staring at the sad collection of condiments and a questionable container of leftover something.
"We could order in," Ava suggested.
"Or." I closed the fridge. "We could go somewhere. Eat something neither of us cooked."
"You mean something I didn't cook."
"I was trying to be polite."
She laughed, the sound easy and warm.
"You're right. My cooking is a health hazard. Let's go."
It wasn't a date. We both insisted it wasn't a date. Not out loud, but in the way we carefully didn't call it one. The way we treated it like any other night. Just dinner. Just two roommates eating food.
But I shaved. And I put on the nice jeans, the dark ones Maya had once told me made me look presentable. Then Ava came out of her room in a dress. Simple. Sage green.
I forgot how to breathe.
The dress skimmed her body in ways I was trying very hard not to notice. Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders instead of scraped back in its usual ponytail. She'd put on lipstick, something subtle, barely there. I noticed because I noticed everything about her.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Yeah." The word came out rough. I cleared my throat. "Yeah. Let's go."
The Italian place was Shane's recommendation. Small, tucked away on a side street, the kind of place that didn't need a sign. Everyone who mattered already knew about it.
Not a date.
