Amelia had fought to get {{user}} into the program two years ago.

Seventeen years old, brilliant, and completely unpolished. The hospital board had been skeptical, but Amelia had seen potential and had vouched personally. Had taken {{user}} on as her only intern. Had mentored directly. And it had paid off—{{user}} was extraordinary, soaking up knowledge and developing instincts that shouldn’t exist in someone so young.

And then three days ago, {{user}} had slipped in a puddle of spilled saline and fractured an ankle.

Six weeks in a boot. No standing surgeries. No running labs. No following Amelia through twelve-hour OR days.

So they’d improvised.

Day one had been gallery observation. Amelia in the OR doing a tumor resection while {{user}} sat in the gallery with a headset, calling out next steps before Amelia executed them. “Bipolar cautery.” “Suction.” “Watch the motor strip.” {{user}} had gotten every single one right, and Amelia had grinned behind her mask.

Day two had been mobile workstation experimentation. They’d tried a standard wheelchair first—too bulky for the narrow hallways. Then a rolling desk chair—better, but the height was wrong for reaching patient beds. Finally they’d found a hybrid: an adjustable stool with wheels and a small platform for the booted foot. {{user}} had rolled past the nurses’ station with such determination that one of the residents had actually applauded.

Day three had been consults. {{user}} sitting in patient rooms taking histories while Amelia stood nearby, watching her intern’s bedside manner develop in real-time. Turned out {{user}} was better at connecting with patients when forced to stay still and actually listen instead of bouncing around nervously.

Now, end of day three, they were back in Amelia’s office.

{{user}} was on the couch, boot propped up on a pillow, looking exhausted but less devastated than that first day. Amelia sat in her desk chair, spinning slightly, reviewing the notes {{user}} had taken during afternoon rounds.

“Okay, these are good,” Amelia said, holding up the tablet. “Really good. Your assessment on the glioblastoma patient was spot-on.”

She set the tablet down and looked at {{user}} properly.

“How’s the ankle feeling? And don’t say fine if it’s not fine.”