Chapter 3
Aya
I sprawled on the couch, mug of coffee warming my hands, scrolling through my phone. A notification blinked: Clara. Or rather, Clara's post.
My former college partner-in-crime, the one I'd survived endless late-night lab sessions with, shared crumpled notes, coffee-fueled laughter, and solemn promises that neither of us would ever get married, was now glowing in a wedding gown.
I blinked. The caption says: "Guess miracles do happen. Married my best friend yesterday. Never thought I'd be here, but here we are. 💍❤️ #unexpectedblessings"
I laughed softly, coffee steaming in the morning sun. I could still hear Clara's dramatic voice from our internship days: "Marriage? Ugh. Never. Not me!"
Scrolling through the photos, her bright smile, the perfect fit of happiness, the man she now held hands with...I felt memories flicker: library nights cramming for exams, endless practice sessions with audiometers, our inside jokes about hospital cafeteria food. We had sworn over and over that independence was everything, that tying the knot would be a trap. And now… she had gone and tied herself up happily anyway.
A mix of amusement and an odd tug stirred inside me. Life didn't always go according to the vows you made. Even the ones you made with your closest friends. It wasn't envy, but just a reminder that plans could change. And sometimes, those surprises could be good.
I sipped my coffee, letting the morning sun spill across my face. "Never say never, huh, Clara?" I murmured, a small smile tugging at my lips. Somewhere beneath my comfort, a tiny curiosity sparked.
What surprises might be out there for me?
I set my mug down on the counter with a soft clink, shoving my phone into my bag. Clara's wedding post lingered at the edge of my mind. A tiny reminder of how wildly life could veer from expectation.
I shook it off, focusing on the day ahead.
The clinic was humming softly when I arrived, sunlight streaming through the blinds in neat rectangles across the floor. I inhaled the familiar mix of antiseptic, faintly sweet hand sanitizer, and lingering coffee.
Everything felt orderly. Controlled. Safe.
My first patient of the morning was already waiting. A teenage boy fidgeting in the chair, earbuds dangling around his neck. I crouched slightly to meet his eye level. "Morning, Leo. Ready to see if your ears are as sharp as your playlist?"
He cracked a nervous grin. I went through the motions. Audiometer calibration, gentle instructions, subtle encouragement. Each beep, each mark on the screen.
I loved this.
The rhythm, the precision, the quiet victories when someone understood something new about themselves.
Halfway through, my mind wandered briefly to Clara again. Married. Really. Didn't see that coming. I chuckled softly. We had sworn off weddings together, lab nights echoing with laughter and exaggerated vows to remain gloriously independent. That reckless, rebellious version of us, we had been unstoppable.
The door clicked, snapping me back. A parent peeked in, concern written on her face. I switched seamlessly to professional warmth, guiding instructions, and reassuring gestures.
I remained focused and reminded myself that I'm good at this.
I am made for this.
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By mid-morning, the flow of patients kept me busy. A toddler's delighted squeal, a shy smile, a parent's thankful glance. All these anchored me in the moment.
Grounded. Independent. Fulfilled.
Yet, at the edge of it all, Clara's post whispered a question I didn't have to answer aloud.
Could life surprise me, too? Not in the wedding way—not yet—but in ways I hadn't allowed myself to imagine in years.
I adjusted the headband on a patient, letting a soft beep fill the room. The rhythm of work pulled me completely to the present. I smiled, savoring the competence, the mastery, and the comfort in my chosen path. Still, in the quiet corner of my mind, curiosity lingered.
I adjusted the audiometer, momentarily forgetting the clipboard, as my next patient arrived. Mrs. Del Rosario, an elderly woman with silver braids and a mischievous glint in her cloudy eyes.
"Good morning, Mrs. Del Rosario," I said, crouching slightly. "How are we feeling today?"
"Oh, dear," she said, voice sharp yet playful, "life's too short not to explore everything… even the unknown."
I blinked. "Excuse me?" I asked, careful, professional.
She leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. "Yes…don't wait too long, child. Don't let the world pass by while you're counting charts and checking boxes. Go. See it all. Feel it all."
I smiled politely, unsure how to respond. The words weren't disrespectful, yet they pierced, true, and entirely meant for me. "That's…wise of you," I murmured.
My mind was already spinning.
Her gaze softened, tilting her head as if studying my soul. "Tell me," she said, "what makes you stop from seeing the whole world?"
I froze. What?
The question sliced through my usual calm. I opened my mouth, thought better of it, and then shook my head with a small laugh. "I… I don't know, Mrs. Del Rosario," I admitted.
Thoughts racing.
The guardian accompanying her stepped forward, apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Aya. She… she sometimes says things that are—"
I waved him off gently. "It's okay. No big deals."
As I guided Mrs. Del Rosario through the test, she hummed quietly, occasionally muttering about deserts she had never crossed, seas never sailed, friends lost and found. I noticed how unconstrained she was. Speaking freely because the usual filters weren't intact.
By the time she left, I lingered near the window, afternoon sun catching the edges of the blinds. Her words replayed in my mind.
"What makes you stop from seeing the whole world?"
I thought of the travel brochures tucked in my drawer, the outreach seminar Marco mentioned, the tiny spark of curiosity I'd been nursing quietly. Maybe it wasn't about charts, procedures, or perfection. Maybe it was about stepping out, embracing uncertainty, seeing what the world could teach me. Foreign, exhilarating, frightening.
For the first time that day, I let myself imagine leaving, not for duty or obligation, but for me. The thought lingered, warm and insistent, like a voice I hadn't known I'd been waiting to hear.
That evening, I sank into the sofa at home, kicking off my shoes and letting the quiet of my house wrap around me. The faint hum of the fridge, the clatter of a coffee mug, the city's distant buzz, and it was grounding.
It sounds so familiar.
And it feels so safe.
My phone buzzed. Marco. "Thought of you today. Any chance you're free to chat?"
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to ignore it, tuck myself deeper into routine, keep the day's unsettling reflections at bay. But curiosity won. "Sure. Call me in five."
The call connected. Marco's easy laugh filled the room. "Aya! How's my favorite busy junior audiologist?"
"Busy, yes," I replied with a smile, "but not too busy to be intrigued by the unknown."
He chuckled. "I take that as a yes to my little suggestion. Canada seminar, outreach programs…a chance to see the world beyond the clinic walls." He added, sounding like he's sure I will join the program.
I sank back, tracing the edge of the coffee table. Mrs. Del Rosario's words echoed sharply.
"What makes you stop from seeing the whole world?"
"I… I don't know," I admitted softly. "It's scary to leave everything I know behind, even for a little while." I softly sighed.
"Of course it is," Marco said gently. His voice is more serious this time. "But sometimes the things that scare us most are the things we most need to do. You're not leaving forever. You're exploring, learning, and growing." He encouraged.
I bit my lip, imagining stepping onto a plane, feeling the engines' hum, the thrill of a place unfamiliar, waiting to teach me something new. Cold winter breeze, foreign people and unusual environment, the quiet satisfaction of helping someone halfway across the world.
"And besides," Marco added, teasing, "I promise there will be coffee. Always coffee. Maybe a better coffee."
I laughed, tension loosening from my shoulders. "Alright," I said finally, more to myself than to him. "Maybe it's time to see the whole world… even if it's just a corner of it, at first."
The call ended, leaving me with a quiet, insistent thrill. That distant idea, cautious and hovering, was now tangible. I didn't have to decide everything today. I didn't have to plan the perfect future. I only had to take the first step.
I rose from the sofa, walking to my window. City lights shimmered like distant stars. For the first time that evening, I let myself feel the pull of possibility. Not duty, not obligation. Just curiosity, adventure, and that stubborn spark reminding me life was meant to be lived fully.
Maybe tomorrow, I thought, I'll look up flights. Maybe tomorrow, I'll whisper the words I haven't dared say aloud.
I want more. I deserve more. I want to be more.
For the first time in a long while, the world seemed wide open.
I sighed, resting a hand over my chest as if steadying the sudden rush of possibility.
Could I really do it?