The hospital loomed against the pale sky, a sterile giant dwarfing the few scattered cars in the parking lot. They mirrored my exhaustion, each one seeming to droop under the weight of a long journey. The air held the crisp bite of dawn, laced with a faint antiseptic tang and the promise of a busy day. Settling onto a cold metal bench, I reveled in the pre-dawn quiet, the calm before the inevitable storm of patients, doctors, and fellow interns. New month, new faces, same old routine.

Retreating to a quiet corner of the parking lot, I clutch my phone in my hand, the urge to connect warring with my introverted tendencies. 

Somehow my tendencies always win in the end.

 A new message pops up in the Sierra Verde group chat, a stark contrast to their usual bravado and hang over woes. My fingers hover over the screen. A text from Jason asking me if I wanted to go drinking with them after the shift. Part of me wanted to join them, to experience that camaraderie. But the thought of the crowded bar, the forced conversation, the pressure to be social, sent a wave of dread washing over me. There wasn't a strong excuse for not wanting to go, and admitting to being antisocial felt...well, awkward. Easier to pretend I hadn't seen the message.

With a defeated sigh, I tuck my phone away. Here I was again, the new intern, adrift in a sea of unfamiliar faces. A familiar ache settles in my chest, a phantom limb of a friendship long lost. Casey Tran. Why did he always come to mind in these moments of solitude? Daydreaming about high school wouldn't bring him back, and a recent Instagram stalk yielded nothing but strangers with the same name.

Just another Tuesday, I thought, forcing a wry smile. All alone. And this time, no more Casey to save me. In the grand scheme of things, this wasn't a tragedy. Like a solitary star in the vast expanse of space, I was born alone, and perhaps destined to return to the silence the same way. Think of it as practice, Em, I told myself, a mantra for the countless times I felt adrift in a social sea. Things could be a whole lot worse.

Suddenly, a facetime notification pierced the quiet. It was Patrick, my ever so dramatic cousin--no, nephew. I answer the call reluctantly.

"Girl! Finally," Patrick exclaims with a theatrical flair, waving at the camera. I wave back, trying to match his energy.

"Heyyy, girlypop," I reply, hoping he doesn't catch the monotony in my voice.

"So... how was your trip?" he asks, excitement bubbling just beneath the surface.

"It was fine. Spent the entire day cleaning the bathtub. It had mold."

"Ew." Patrick scrunches up his face, then quickly shifts the conversation. "By the way, did you tell my mom—"

"About where you were last Friday?" I cut him off, raising an eyebrow.

"Emmmm—" Patrick stammers, looking guilty. "How could you???"

"Relax, I didn't tell Auntie Mela about your 'boyfriend' or your newfound alcoholism," I say, using air quotes. "Besides, you're 21 now; you can do whatever you want."

"Not my boyfriend, but oh my god, I was so worried—" Patrick starts, his voice tinged with relief.

"Seriously, Pat, I get it," I smile, cutting him off before he can launch into one of his dramatic monologues. "You're young and handsome. Go kiss as many boys as you want."

He grins. "Thanks, Em. You're my favorite aunt."

I groan. "Ugh. We agreed not to call me that."

"Why not? You and Mom are cousins, so that makes me your nephew," he argues, mock seriousness in his voice.

"There's a 20-year age gap. I'm more like your cousin than anything."

"Sure, Auntie," he says, his tone resolute.

"Then as your auntie, I should tell Melanie the real reason why her son is having trouble pooping."

"Gasp—you wouldn't!" Patrick gasps, feigning horror.

"Should I text her right now?"

"No!" he pleads, his voice softening.

We both share a chuckle. Somehow, talking to Patrick always lightens the mood.

"So, let's talk about you," Patrick starts.

"What's there to talk about?"

Suddenly, his face shifts to one of annoyance. "That asshole. James."

I shuffle awkwardly in my seat. "What about him?"

"He's not still bothering you, is he?"

I bite my lip and avoid Patrick's gaze.

"Seriously? I'm gonna kill him—"

"It's nothing serious. He's just stalking me using a fake account again."

"What a fucking loser," Patrick sneers. "The next time he pulls that shit, I'm kicking him in the ribs and taking you clubbing with me."

I chuckle at the thought. "You know I hate loud places. But thanks."

"You're going with me. I'm not letting you hide away like last time."

That catches me off guard. "Last time"? I scratch my head, but before I can ask what he means, Patrick continues.

"You'll have fun, I promise! You'll socialize, maybe make some friends. Enjoy life for once," Patrick suggests enthusiastically.

"But I am having fun," I insist, my voice tight. "I like how my life is going right now."

"Do you really mean that? Or is that just what you tell yourself because it's easier to be alone?" Patrick challenges, striking a nerve I wasn't ready to deal with.

"Not hiding. Just antisocial," I mumble more to myself than to Patrick.

"Yes, hiding," he counters, his voice full of concern. "You hid in your room when Grandma got sick. You hid in your room for weeks after you failed your exams. And when James cheated on you, you hid in your room. I had to kick the door down just to see if you were still alive."

The air grows heavy between us before either of us speaks again.

"Patrick," I finally break the silence, my voice low, "what is this really about?"

"I'm talking about the time you were hospitalized—your suicide attempt. I never want that to happen again."

His words hit me like a freight train, dredging up memories I'd rather forget. Two years ago, when James' mom fell into a coma, I ended up failing two classes. I was too busy helping him with his emotional needs, only for him to cheat on me. No one knew I was struggling. I was too good at hiding it. Until one day, I no longer felt in control—so I wanted to feel like I was, just a little bit.

So I attempted suicide. Nobody knew what I was up to. All I remember is dozing off as Patrick broke the lock to my bedroom door.

It wasn't a successful attempt. Obviously, since I'm still here.

"I know I haven't been that social lately. But things with James... they were complicated. He took a lot out of me."

"Em, you were practically his maid," Patrick says bluntly, without any sugarcoating. "He never loved you, only what you did for him and how you made him feel."

"I know—"

"That's why you can't just hide away forever," Patrick presses on. "You deserve better than that. You deserve friends who actually care about you."

Another silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken emotions.

"Look," Patrick sighs, his tone softening, "I'm not saying you have to turn into me. But maybe... maybe you could try hanging out with the interns today? It's a new group, a fresh start. Who knows, you might actually find someone you click with."

"I'll do it tomorrow," I concede, hesitantly.

"Tomorrow?" Patrick repeats, his voice laced with disbelief. "Come on, Em, don't make me beg. Just text them you'll be there."

I stare down at my phone, the group chat icon mocking me with its familiarity.

"I'll hang out with them some other time, I promise."

"Tell you what. Let's make a deal," he offers, his voice taking on a sly tone.

"What deal?"

"If you make at least one new friend this month and introduce them to me, I'll... finally tell my mom that I'm gay."

A beat of surprised silence follows Patrick's declaration. My jaw drops, the playful banter momentarily forgotten.

"Whoa, Patrick," I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you serious?"

"Think about it, Em," he continues, his bravado faltering slightly. "You get a new friend, I get a weight lifted off my shoulders. Win-win, right?"

The weight of his words settles on me. Patrick isn't just extending a lifeline; he's seeking his own rescue. And as he reaches out to save me from drowning, I realize I have the power to offer him solace in return.

A slow smile spreads across my face. "Deal," I declare, my voice firm with newfound resolve.

"I'll give you till the end of the rotation."

"Oh, trust me, it'll be easy," Patrick boasts, a hint of his usual theatrics returning.

"Anyway, I've got to go now. Class. Talk to you later."

"Alright. Bye, Pat."

Click.

A new friend, huh? I wasn't so sure I'd be able to find a new friend in less than two months. But after that exchange, I knew I had to try.

Sometimes, the most unexpected things can blossom into something beautiful.

The words of that eccentric old lady at the rest stop echoed in my brain for the rest of the day..