Page 7 of Stolen Moments

“I’m not stupid, Sharma. I’m just better at visual learning than memorizing formulas.”

“I didn’t say you were stupid.” She quickly tells me, and I believe her.

“You implied it.”

“I did not.” She pushes the diagram toward me. “Here. Draw the molecular orbital diagram for oxygen.”

I pick up the pencil and start drawing. It’s not perfect, but I get the basic structure right, atomic orbitals on each side, molecular orbitals in the middle, electrons filled in according to energy levels.

Priya leans over to check my work, and I catch a hint of her scent, something clean and slightly floral, like jasmine.

“This is actually good,” she says. “You just had the antibonding sigma orbital in the wrong position. Here⁠—”

She reaches across to correct my diagram, her arm brushing against mine. The contact is brief, incidental, but I feel it like an electric shock.

She freezes.

For a moment, we’re both very still, her arm against mine, her face close enough that I can see the gold flecks in her brown eyes.

“Sorry,” she says, pulling back quickly. “I was just…the orbital placement was wrong.”

“It’s fine.”

“We should stay focused.” The words come out in a whisper, but I hear the nervousness in them.

“On molecular orbitals.”

“Yes. On molecular orbitals.” She’s not looking at me, focusing intently on the diagram. “Which are very important for understanding chemical bonding.”

“Right. Very important.”

We work in silence for a few minutes, but the tension is there, humming between us like a live wire.

“Can I ask you something?” I say finally.

“If it’s about Chemistry, yes.”

“It’s not. Why pre-med? Why the crazy hours and the stress and the constant pressure?”

She’s quiet for a moment. “My parents are both doctors. Cardiologist and neurosurgeon. They met in medical school, got married during residency, and had me during their fellowships. Medicine is the family business.”

“But is it what you want?”

“Of course it’s what I want.”

“That wasn’t convincing,” I tell her.

She sets down her pen. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is the path. Graduate top of my class, get into a good medical school, specialize in something prestigious, make my parents proud.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“Says the guy who trains six hours a day.”

“That’s different. I love hockey. It’s fun.” I fight my case, because it's true. I won’t do anything I don’t enjoy.

“Medicine will be fun once I’m actually practicing.”

“Will it though?”