The moment Ziana stepped into Avalon Teaching Hospital, it felt like her body remembered everything before her brain could even process it.
The noise. The smell. The rush. People moving like they were being chased. Avalon didn't breathe slowly. Avalon breathed fast, like it was always fighting for someone's life.
She walked through the corridors in her scrubs. Nurses passed her like she was invisible. Doctors walked with files, speaking in medical terms like they were rapping.
A patient's family was crying somewhere down the hallway.
Ziana swallowed.
Yeah… I'm really back.
She reached the theatre changing room and paused at the door. For a second, she just stood there, her hand on the handle, feeling her heart beat a little too loud.
She pushed the door open.
Inside, it was the same old chaos.
Scrub suits hanging. People changing quickly. Theatre caps everywhere. Someone arguing about gloves.
A familiar voice suddenly shouted—
"Eh! Look who is here!"
Ziana turned.
A short nurse with sharp eyes and a loud mouth stared at her like she'd seen a ghost.
"Anita," Ziana said, already smiling.
Anita rushed toward her and grabbed her shoulders. "Ziana Gee! You came back and didn't tell us properly? So you think you're Beyoncé now?"
Ziana laughed. "I didn't even land properly, I was tired."
"Tired my foot," Anita scoffed. "You people who go abroad always come back with attitude."
Ziana rolled her eyes. "I don't have attitude."
Anita stared at her.
Ziana stared back.
Then they both burst out laughing.
Another nurse walked in and paused. "Wait… is that Ziana?"
Ziana nodded. "Yeah."
The nurse squealed and came for a hug. "Girl you disappeared! We thought you got married there and forgot us."
"Married… it's a long story?" Ziana said, laughing. "I was suffering with school."
Anita clicked her tongue. "Don't lie. Abroad men are sweet."
Ziana shook her head. "Not sweet enough."
They all laughed again.
Ziana felt her shoulders loosen. The anxiety she'd carried for a whole week started melting away slowly. Theatre people were crazy, but they were her kind of crazy.
Then suddenly, the door flew open.
A young intern ran inside like his life depended on it.
"Emergency!" he shouted.
The room went quiet instantly.
"Laparatomy incoming," the intern continued, breathing hard. "Male, mid-thirties. Suspected internal bleeding. They're bringing him up now."
Anita clapped her hands once. "Okay, okay! Everybody move!"
The theatre changing room turned into a storm.
People started tying caps, wearing masks, pulling on scrub suits. Ziana's heart jumped but her hands moved automatically, like muscle memory.
She tied her scrubs. Adjusted her cap. Washed her hands.
She didn't even think. She just flowed.
Within minutes, she was walking into Theatre Two.
The air inside was colder. Sharper.
The lights were bright enough to expose every thought in your head.
Ziana stepped toward the scrub sink and started scrubbing, calm and focused. The sound of water running was steady, soothing even.
Around her, the theatre team was already preparing.
The anaesthetist was setting up.
The circulating nurse was bringing in more instruments.
The suction machine was tested.
The cautery was checked.
Everything was moving fast, but controlled.
A patient was wheeled in—his body limp, blood staining the sheets, oxygen mask on his face. His chest rose and fell quickly like he was fighting to stay here.
Ziana's eyes narrowed.
This is serious.
"BP dropping," the anaesthetist called.
"Get me a second IV line," another voice said.
"Crossmatch ready?"
"Where is the surgeon?"
That question hung in the air.
Ziana rinsed her hands, stepping back from the sink, and dried them.
She glanced toward the theatre door.
And that's when it opened.
The room shifted.
Not loudly, not dramatically… but in a way she could feel.
A man walked in.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Scrub suit already on, cap low on his head, mask hanging around his neck.
He didn't rush.
He didn't look confused.
He walked like he had all the time in the world… even though someone was literally dying.
His eyes swept over the theatre like he was reading a book.
Then he spoke, voice deep and calm.
"Status?"
The anaesthetist responded immediately. "RTA, suspected intra-abdominal bleed. BP 80/40. Tachycardic."
He nodded once, already pulling on gloves.
"Okay. Let's open."
Ziana stood by the instrument trolley, waiting.
The circulating nurse leaned toward her and whispered, "That's Dr Maleek Chol."
Ziana didn't react much, but her eyes stayed on him.
So this is Chol.
She'd never seen him before. Or maybe she had, and just forgot. Avalon had too many doctors.
But something about him stood out.
His presence was heavy. Like he didn't need to speak much for people to listen.
He stepped to the scrub nurse.
"Scalpel," he said.
Ziana handed it over smoothly.
Their fingers brushed for half a second.
Her skin warmed instantly like she'd touched fire.
She blinked, annoyed at herself.
Relax, Ziana. It's just a hand.
He didn't look at her, just took the scalpel and made the first incision.
The moment the abdomen opened, the tension in the room doubled.
Blood.
Too much.
"Suction," Chol said.
Ziana handed it immediately.
He worked with speed and precision, his hands moving like he'd done this a thousand times. Calm, clean, no panic.
The resident assisting him was sweating already.
"Massive haemoperitoneum," the resident muttered.
Chol didn't even flinch. "Pack all quadrants."
"Gauze."
Ziana passed it.
Her eyes stayed sharp, following every movement. Her body remembered the rhythm of surgery. The quiet teamwork. The silent understanding between scrub tech and surgeon.
It felt good.
It felt like home.
Then someone spoke from the other side of the table.
"Dr Chol, you came late."
Ziana glanced up slightly. Bold person.
Chol's voice didn't change. "I wasn't late. I was on another emergency."
The anaesthetist chuckled. "You always say that."
The resident laughed nervously. "He's lying. He was probably eating."
Chol finally spoke with a hint of amusement. "If I was eating, would I come here and save your patient?"
The room laughed softly, even with all the blood on the table.
Ziana didn't laugh, but her lips twitched.
Then the circulating nurse, Anita, said loudly, "Dr Chol, you're too calm. One day you'll shock us."
Chol replied without looking up. "You people like drama too much."
Anita scoffed. "We like life. This patient is almost leaving us."
Chol's eyes narrowed slightly. "Not today."
The words came out quiet, but firm.
Ziana felt something shift in her chest.
Not today.
Like he was commanding death itself.
The resident leaned closer. "Dr Chol, we need more suction. There's a splenic injury."
Chol clicked his tongue. "Of course."
Then he did something nobody expected.
He stepped back slightly, nodded to himself, and looked at the circulating nurse.
"Put on music."
Everyone paused.
Even Ziana froze for a second.
Anita blinked. "Music? In ex lap?"
Chol looked at her, expression blank.
"Anita," he said slowly, "before this patient dies, let's at least make the atmosphere nice."
The theatre burst into laughter.
Anita shook her head. "You're mad."
Chol shrugged. "I'm serious."
Anita walked to his phone near the corner. "Fine. Since you're the boss."
She connected the phone.
A second later—
Afrobeats blasted through the theatre.
A loud, energetic beat filled the room.
Ziana's eyes widened behind her mask.
The resident laughed. "No way!"
The anaesthetist started bobbing his head slightly. "Okay okay… I see you."
Even the circulating nurse started moving her shoulders.
Ziana tried to ignore it… but her foot tapped once unconsciously.
Chol glanced at her for the first time.
His eyes were dark. Sharp. Calm.
He looked at her like he was finally noticing she existed.
Then he spoke.
"You're new."
Ziana lifted her chin slightly. "I'm not new."
Chol held her gaze for a second, then nodded like he accepted the challenge.
"Then you should know," he said, voice low, "in my theatre… we work with energy."
Ziana's eyebrows raised. "Energy?"
He returned to the table, hands moving again.
"Yes," he said. "The patient feels it."
Ziana almost laughed.
The patient is unconscious, sir.
But she didn't say that.
Instead, she passed him another instrument.
And for the first time since she came back home…
Ziana felt something. Not fear. Not anxiety. Something else. Something like excitement. And maybe, just maybe… Trouble