The weeks following Sophie's acceptance into the fellowship were a whirlwind.
She was caught between preparing for her departure and living in the moment. I watched her try to squeeze every last drop out of her remaining time with us—taking photos of ordinary days, dragging James and me to her favorite hangout spots "just one more time," and making lists of things she wanted to do before leaving. It was like watching someone pack up not just their belongings, but a whole era of their life.
Meanwhile, James and I had entered a strange, quiet rhythm. Ever since his confession weeks ago, we'd been navigating the beginnings of our relationship—slowly, gently. There was no rush, no labels, just a careful understanding growing between us like a sunrise: quiet but certain.
But life, as it always does, decided that calm couldn't last forever.
It started with the lab rotations—the final assignments before graduation. I'd been placed in one of the most prestigious research labs at the hospital, one that came with not just pressure but brutal hours. I was thrilled… and terrified.
My supervisor, Dr. Hailey Quinn, was brilliant but demanding, the kind of person who expected perfection but never raised her voice. Instead, she wielded disappointment like a sword.
"You'll either learn to swim, or you'll drown, Charlotte," she said on my first day, her eyes scanning me like a file. "But I have a feeling you're not the drowning type."
I hoped she was right.
The stress was immense. I barely had time to breathe, let alone socialize. My sleep schedule was a joke, my coffee consumption could kill a horse, and I started forgetting small things—like eating, or texting James back.
One evening, I came back to the dorm, dropped my bag, and flopped onto my bed like a felled tree. Sophie was sitting at her desk, half-packed suitcase open, headphones around her neck.
"Rough day?" she asked.
I groaned. "If I see one more blood culture, I'm going to cry."
"You probably should. Crying helps."
I laughed weakly and turned my face to the pillow. "I don't want to cry. I want sleep. And… maybe a hug."
Sophie climbed onto my bed and hugged me tight from behind. "You're doing amazing, Charlotte. You're just tired."
I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of her words and her presence settle my nerves. "You're leaving soon."
"I know."
There was a long silence. Then she said, "Promise me we won't fall apart after I'm gone."
I pulled her hand and squeezed it. "We won't. We're rooted too deep."
And I believed that.
But not all storms come with warnings.
The next day, I found James waiting outside the hospital lobby. He looked… off. His shoulders were tense, his smile strained.
"Hey," I greeted him cautiously.
"Can we talk?"
We walked to a quiet bench under a tree that had just begun to bloom. He didn't say anything for a minute, just stared at the petals.
"I'm proud of you," he began. "Really. You're crushing this lab work."
"But?" I asked.
He sighed. "I feel like I'm losing you. I don't want to be one more thing on your to-do list."
His honesty hit me like a splash of cold water.
"James," I said gently, "this isn't about you being a task. I'm just… juggling so much. I don't want to fail."
"I know," he whispered. "I just miss you."
I reached out and took his hand. "I miss me too, sometimes. But I promise I'll find a way to balance it all. With you. With everything."
He nodded, his expression softening. "I'm not going anywhere."
Neither was I.
Later that week, Sophie and I sat outside the coffee shop with warm drinks and cold hands. Her departure date was officially set.
"We're all growing," she said thoughtfully. "Different directions, same roots."
"I guess that's what becoming unforgettable means," I replied.
"Exactly," she smiled. "We never really disappear. Not to the people who matter."
I looked at her—my best friend, my sister in every way but blood—and I knew we'd be okay.
Whatever came next, we were ready.