"I really needed this."
"Always," Clara and Chloe echoed together.
As the call ended, Jillian sat for a while longer, letting the quiet sink in—not lonely this time, but peaceful.
Today Jillian woke up feeling lighter than ever. She walked in the research cardiology wing, coffee in hand, her ID clipped neatly to her coat. Her steps were calm, practiced. But inside, her thoughts hadn't quite settled from the night before.
"Dr. Jillian," one of the junior researchers greeted with a bright smile. "Morning! The test samples from the ventricular repair trials just came in."
"Thanks, Yuna," Jillian replied, taking the folder and flipping through it with quick precision. "Let's run them against the baseline data from last week. I want to compare the clotting response closely."
"Yes, doctor."
She continued down the hallway toward her lab, greeting a few colleagues along the way, but not stopping long enough for questions. Her mind focused as always—but flickered now and then.
In her office, she set her coffee down and glanced at the small digital photo frame on her desk. It was rotating through memories—her and Clara at graduation, Chloe holding up a misspelled congratulatory cake, and a snapshot of her grandmother outside the hospital garden.
The screen paused a second longer than usual on that last photo.
Jillian exhaled slowly, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail and got to work.
There was research to review, reports to finalize, and a case conference by noon.
Whatever her heart had whispered last night—it would have to wait.
Inside the lab, stacks of data sheets lined Jillian's desk, and a large monitor displayed magnified heart tissue samples pulsing in slow-motion overlays.
She leaned over the table, scribbling notes as Yuna and another colleague, Dr. Kai, examined the recent results from their regenerative patch trial.
"We're seeing better conductivity across the graft," Kai said, pointing to the readings. "But it's still unstable during simulated stress tests."
Jillian nodded, brows furrowed in focus. "We need to reduce the inflammatory response. The moment the heart is under strain, the patch starts to weaken.
What if we try adjusting the hydrogel concentration?"
Yuna's eyes lit up. "You mean infuse it with anti-inflammatory agents directly within the scaffold?"
"Exactly," Jillian said. "It might help the patch blend more seamlessly into the host tissue. Less rejection, better healing."
Kai rubbed his chin. "We'd need clearance to run another batch."
"I'll handle it," Jillian said, already reaching for her clipboard. "Let's schedule a test by the end of the week. I want this prototype ready for peer review."
As her team got to work, Jillian turned slightly toward the window overlooking the hospital courtyard. Her mind was alive, not with distraction this time—but purpose.
She was in her element here: innovating, solving, healing.
The world outside could be unpredictable. But in this space, where hearts were mapped in graphs and hope was coded in cells, Jillian felt steady.
Hours passed in a blur of testing, recalibration, and data analysis. Jillian barely noticed when lunch came and went—her focus sharpened like a blade.
The hydrogel revision had been synthesized, applied to a test model, and run through three simulations by mid-afternoon.
Yuna came rushing into the lab, tablet in hand, eyes wide.
"Dr. Jillian —it worked. The graft held."
Jillian spun around from her microscope, heart skipping. "Show me."
The data was clear: significantly lower rejection markers, stronger tissue integration, and most importantly—sustained rhythm response during stress simulations.
Jillian stared at the screen for a moment longer than necessary, her expression unreadable.
Then she smiled.
"Run the tests again," she said, standing straighter now. "If we get consistent results, we can prepare a formal submission to the medical journal."
Dr. Kai stepped in, having overheard. "Word will get around quickly once this gets published. You're pushing boundaries, Jillian."
"I'm just doing my job," she replied modestly, though a flicker of pride lit her eyes.
Later the following day, a message landed in her inbox from the Dean of the Medical Research Council. Congratulatory. Curious. Inviting her to present her findings at a national innovation symposium in Beijing next month.
Jillian stared at the screen, lips parting slightly.
Another invitation. Another stage.
But this one wasn't about the past. It was about the future.
After her long, successful day, Jillian heads home. The high of her breakthrough slowly fades into a quiet evening. She decide to cook something simple.
In the kitchen, the soft hiss of boiling noodles and the quiet hum of a jazz playlist could be heard. Jillian stirred her pot slowly, her mind still halfway in the lab, replaying data points and potential next steps.
Dinner was quick and quiet—just enough to settle her nerves. Afterward, she curled up on the couch, flipping through an old leather-bound research notebook.
Scribbled formulas, faded diagrams, and fragments of ideas filled the pages—a glimpse of who she used to be and how far she had come.
Her laptop rested on her thighs, glowing faintly. Sleep took her before she could shut it down.
The sharp ring of her phone jolted her awake.
Groggy, she reached for it, blinking at the caller ID.
Dad.
She hesitated, then answered.
"Hello?"
"Jillian," came Harlond Smith's familiar voice—measured, always with a hint of authority. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"You did," she said, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he said quickly. "But I need you at home. There's... something happening."
She stayed quiet, her heartbeat slowing.
"I'm arranging a marriage," he continued, "for Celeste. You'll need to be here for it."
A pause. Heavy. Weighted.
"For what?" she asked, guarded.
"To support your sister. It's a big step for our family."
Jillian stared at the dark screen of her laptop, mind racing. Support. That word again. But had anyone ever supported her choices?
"I'll think about it," she said softly.
"Don't take too long," her father replied. The line clicked off before she could say more.
She sat in the silence of her apartment, the glow from the screen casting shadows on her face. Her sister's future was being traded, like a move on a chessboard.
And once again, she was being pulled back into a world she thought she'd outgrown.