The technician's fingers were warm and steady, the file whispering against Jane's nail in soft, rhythmic strokes. Scritch. Scritch.
The faint scent of acetone and rose lotion hung in the air, cloying but not unpleasant.
Jane kept her hands still on the velvet cushion, her shoulders rigid, as the final nail took shape—a perfect, rounded curve.
Mia leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin propped up like a foreman inspecting a construction site. Her eyes narrowed, head tilting left, then right.
"Shorter."
The technician paused, her hand hovering. "This length is already quite short, miss. Any more and—"
Mia nodded slowly, tapping her chin with one manicured finger. "Perfect then."
Jane shot her a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched so high it nearly disappeared into her hairline. "You are enjoying this way too much."
Mia sank back into her chair, crossing her legs with a satisfied swish of fabric. "I'm investing in your future happiness." She winked.
Jane let out a long, dramatic sigh that puffed her bangs upward. "My future happiness did not ask for a manicure."
The technician gave a soft, sympathetic smile the kind reserved for reluctant customers and wiped Jane's hands with a warm, damp cloth.
The towel smelled of lavender. She patted each finger dry with careful precision. "All done."
Jane lifted her hands, turning them over in the pale afternoon light filtering through the shop's window.
The nails were neat. Clean. Blunt. She flexed her fingers, watching the light catch the clear gloss. For a moment, she said nothing.
Then, quieter, almost to herself: "…Okay." She curled her fingers into her palm, then spread them again. "They look nice."
Mia clapped once, sharp and victorious. "Excellent."
Jane grabbed her bag from the floor, the strap rough against her bare shoulder. "This conversation ends here." She stood, her chair scraping against the tile with a low skreee.
They pushed through the glass door, and the campus heat hit them immediately the thick, golden warmth of late afternoon, carrying the distant hum of lawnmowers and the syrupy sweetness of blooming jasmine.
Students streamed past in clusters, laughter and fragments of conversation swirling like leaves. A boy on a skateboard clattered by, wheels grinding against the pavement.
Mia nudged Jane's shoulder, her elbow digging in just enough to be annoying. "So."
Jane's head dropped back, her groan audible over the ambient noise. "No."
"You haven't even heard the question." Mia's voice was sing-song, teasing.
"I already know the question."
Mia grinned, wide and unrepentant. "What are you wearing tonight?"
Jane blinked, her step faltering. Her sandal scuffed against the concrete. "…Tonight?"
"Your date." Mia drew the word out like she was savoring candy.
Jane's mouth opened. Closed. Her cheeks flushed just a flicker of heat, barely visible and a small, traitorous smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she could stop it.
Mia jabbed a finger at her face. "There it is again!"
Jane ducked her head, trying to hide behind a curtain of hair. "It's just dinner."
"That's what dates are." Mia bumped her hip against Jane's, forcing her to stumble sideways.
Jane chewed her bottom lip, her eyes scanning the path ahead. "I didn't bring anything special."
Mia gasped like Jane had just confessed to a crime. Her hand flew to her chest. "We are fixing that."
Jane raised a brow, skeptical. "Fixing what?"
"Your outfit." Mia said it like it was obvious, like Jane had suggested wearing a trash bag.
"I have clothes."
"Dorm clothes." Mia wrinkled her nose. "Sweatshirts and jeans you've had since freshman year."
Jane crossed her arms, the movement tight and defensive. Her newly short nails pressed into her own bicep. "They're normal clothes."
Mia grabbed her wrist—gently, but with purpose—and started dragging her down the street. Her grip was warm and insistent.
Jane dug her heels in, her sandals slipping slightly on the pavement. "Where are we going now?"
Mia pointed ahead, toward a small boutique with a striped awning and mannequins in the window wearing flowy tops and tailored trousers. "To the boutique near campus."
Jane laughed, a short, surprised burst that escaped before she could contain it. "You're acting like I'm going to a wedding."
Mia stopped so abruptly that Jane nearly collided with her. She turned, her face suddenly serious, her voice dropping an octave. "Jane. This is your first real date with a rich doctor who owns a hospital."
Jane blinked, her grin faltering. Her stomach did a strange little flip. "…When you say it like that, it sounds intense."
Mia nodded, slow and grave. "Exactly."
Jane rubbed her forehead, her fingertips pressing into the space between her brows.
She could feel the faint headache starting the good kind, the one that came from trying not to smile too much. "You're dramatic."
"And you love me for it." Mia was already walking again, tugging Jane along.
"Just something simple," Jane warned, her voice carrying a note of finality.
Mia glanced over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. "We'll see."
Back at the hospital, the air was cool and sterile, laced with the sharp tang of antiseptic and the distant beep of monitors.
Sophia closed another patient file with a soft thump and leaned back in her chair.
The leather creaked beneath her. For a moment, the office was a cocoon of quiet just the hum of the fluorescent lights and the faint tick of the clock on the wall.
She checked the time.
3:10 PM.
Her fingers drummed against the desk—a light, restless tap-tap-tap. The pad of her thumb traced the edge of the wooden surface, back and forth, back and forth.
Clara appeared in the doorway like she'd been summoned, a knowing smile already curving her lips. "You're checking the clock."
Sophia didn't look up. Her gaze stayed fixed on the numbers glowing red. "I am managing my schedule."
Clara strolled in, her heels clicking against the linoleum, and leaned against the edge of Sophia's desk. The wood groaned slightly under her weight. "Your date is after work, right?"
Sophia let out a quiet sigh, the air leaving her lungs in a controlled stream. "You are very persistent."
Clara shrugged, one shoulder lifting lazily. "I'm curious."
Sophia finally closed the folder, aligning its edges with the corner of her desk. "I'm picking her up after her classes."
Clara's grin widened, stretching across her face like sunrise. "You're picking her up."
"Yes." Sophia's voice was flat, but her fingers had stopped drumming. They rested, still, against the folder.
Clara placed a hand dramatically over her heart, her eyes going wide and mock-solemn. "Our cold, untouchable Dr. Harris is officially soft."
Sophia gave her a flat, unimpressed look—but her jaw tightened, just slightly. "I am not soft."
Clara pointed at the clock, her nail tapping against the glass face. "You checked the time three times in the last ten minutes."
Sophia's lips parted. Her gaze flickered to the clock, then back to Clara. She opened her mouth. Closed it. A faint flush crept up the back of her neck, barely visible above her collar. "…Did I?"
Clara nodded, proud as a teacher with a star student. "Yes."
Sophia leaned back in her chair again, the leather sighing beneath her. She pressed her palms flat against the armrests, her rings cool against her skin. "She has class until late afternoon."
Clara crossed her arms, her bracelets clinking softly. "And you're counting the minutes."
Sophia didn't deny it this time. Her eyes dropped to the clock again, unbidden. 3:12 PM. Her thumb traced the armrest's seam.
Clara's voice softened, the teasing edge fading into something warmer. "Good."
Sophia glanced up, her brow furrowing slightly. "What?"
Clara shrugged again, but there was no mischief in it this time. "You deserve something good too."
Sophia didn't answer immediately. She looked down at her hands—steady, capable hands—and thought of Jane's fingers curling around hers that morning.
Thought of the soft, surprised warmth of Jane's lips against her cheek before she'd dashed off toward class, her laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind.
Something warm settled in her chest. Unfamiliar. Heavy in a way that didn't hurt.
She glanced at the clock one more time.
3:13 PM.
Clara laughed, the sound bright and unguarded. "I rest my case."