My phone reads 5:03 a.m.
I stare at it, still catching my breath.
Then the numbers flicker.
7:00 a.m.
My stomach drops.
"Shit—shit—shit!"
I scramble upright, grabbing my phone so fast it nearly slips from my hands. My heart pounds as I open the surgery rotation group chat, fingers trembling while I scroll.
There.
A message from Luna:"Hi everyone, tomorrow will be a haemorrhoidectomy procedure by Dr. Andrew at 9:00 a.m., so please come at least 30 minutes earlier. Thanks and goodnight."
I check the timestamp.
6:30 p.m.
Last night.
I exhale sharply, tension draining from my shoulders. "Thank God… I'm not late."
But the relief doesn't settle.
Not completely.
My thumb hovers over the screen.
Tomorrow.
The word sticks in my mind.
I swallow.
"Was it a dream?"
The room is quiet. Too quiet. Morning light spills across my bed, soft and warm, exactly the way it always does.
Everything feels normal.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the floor cool against my feet.
For a moment, I just sit there, listening.
Nothing. No whispers. No strange pressure. Just the distant hum of the morning.
I let out a quiet breath and stand, brushing it off.
"You're overthinking," I mutter to myself.
I head to the bathroom and flip on the light. It buzzes faintly before settling.
I pause, watching it for a second longer than necessary, then shake my head and lean toward the sink.
Water runs.
Cold.
I splash my face, grounding myself, watching droplets slide down into the drain.
When I look up, I freeze.
For a split second, I swear something moves behind me in the mirror.
I turn sharply.
Nothing.
Just my room. My bed, slightly unmade.
My bag slumped against the chair. Empty.
"Get a grip, Emma."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding and reach for my toothbrush.
Normal.
Everything is normal.
I glance back at the mirror.
My reflection stares back, a little pale, a little tired.
I take a cold shower to refresh my mind.
I space out for a moment, standing under the steady stream from the shower head, water beading and sliding down my skin.
For a moment, I don't move at all.
But I manage.
Somehow, I manage to go through the motions like a normal person this morning.
I get dressed, grabbing whatever sits on top of my wardrobe: a black Uniqlo nylon boxy half-sleeve shirt and matching black trousers.
I even forget to spray the perfume I always wear.
My stomach feels off, tight and uneasy, like it's already decided it wants no part in today.
I skip breakfast. I skip many of my usual routines. I leave my bed unmade, which I never do.
When I check my phone, it's already 8:05 a.m.
I frown. I don't usually take this long.
Mornings are supposed to be my favorite part of the day, the quiet walk, the soft light, the view along the way to the hospital.
Something to ease into the day. Not today.
Since I need to be there by 8:30 at the latest, I take the shortcut, cutting past the fountain.
As I pass it, my eyes catch something at the edge, a shadow.
I blink and turn my head slightly.
Nothing.
Just the water rippling under the morning light.
"Get a grip," I mutter under my breath, picking up my pace.
I walk faster, not quite running, just enough to outrun the feeling creeping under my skin.
I arrive at the hospital at 8:15.
Still plenty of time. Too much time, almost.
Inside, I head straight for the elevator and step in.
The ride up is uneventful.
The lights are steady, no flickering, no strange pauses.
Everything works exactly as it should.
Normal.
When the doors open, I step out onto level 5.
It's alive, but quiet, busy in a controlled way.
The space is wide and polished, pale floors reflecting the overhead lights.
Everything looks clean, almost too clean, like every surface has been wiped down with hospital-grade disinfectant too many times.
The air carries that familiar hospital smell, antiseptic with a faint trace of coffee drifting from somewhere deeper inside.
A long reception desk stretches across the center, smooth and white.
Two staff members stand behind it, speaking in calm, practiced tones as they check patients in.
The soft tapping of keyboards and the occasional ring of a phone blend into the background.
To the left, rows of metal-framed chairs hold a handful of people waiting.
A man leans forward, hands clasped tightly together. A young woman scrolls on her phone without looking up. Someone coughs quietly into a tissue.
To the right, a corridor branches off, lined with clear signs pointing toward different departments: Surgery. Radiology. Outpatient clinics.
Everything looks exactly how it should. And yet, something feels off.
I slow down, scanning the space. Where is Luna? She's always early.
Earlier than everyone. The kind of person who would already be here, probably checking notes or chatting like nothing ever fazes her.
I weave through the corridor, letting my eyes move from face to face.
Not her.
I check near the seating area.
Nothing.
Near the reception desk.
Still no sign of her.
A small knot tightens in my chest.
Maybe she went to the changing room already. Yeah. That makes sense.
But the feeling doesn't go away.
I pull out my phone and open our chat.
No new messages. No updates.
My thumb hovers over her name, hesitating.
Should I text her? Or call instead?
Before I can decide, a soft tap echoes behind me.
I freeze.
The sound is almost lost under the low hum of the surgical floor.
Tap..Tap..
I glance down.
The floor is spotless.
No one near me is wearing heels.
No one close enough to make that sound.
I swallow and take a step forward.
Step.
Tap..
My chest tightens.
Another step. Tap…
It's behind me.
Perfectly in sync. Slow. Measured.
I stop.
The sound stops too.
Silence presses in, heavier now.
I don't want to turn around.
Every fiber in my being tells me to stop.
But I turn my head anyway.
The lobby looks exactly the same.
People moving.
Nurses passing by in soft blue scrubs.
A receptionist offering a polite smile to someone at the desk.
No one looking at me.
I let out a small, shaky breath. "You're just tired. That's all."
I turn back quickly and freeze.
The elevator doors in front of me are already open.
I don't remember pressing the button. Inside, the lights are on.
Empty.
Waiting.
A soft chime echoes.
I hesitate for a second, then glance back across the corridor.
Still no Luna.
"She's probably in the toilet now," I murmur, more to convince myself than anything else.
I step inside. I want to check the parking area if Luna's car is there.
The doors begin to close.
Just before they shut.
Tap...
The sound comes again, right outside.
Then the doors seal.
Only silence…
Just my shadow reflecting from the steel wall..
l
But..