The surgical ward is unusually quiet for this hour—an illusion of calm that I know won’t last. The sound of my pen against the patient’s chart fills the silence as I finish noting the latest test results. Across from me, Kaveh leans against the counter, arms crossed, his brows furrowed in thought. He’s been staring at the angiogram for the past five minutes, his expression shifting between concern and frustration.

“He’s not a suitable candidate for a bypass,” I state, closing the file with a decisive snap. “The occlusion is too extensive, and given his comorbidities, his survival chances post-op would be abysmal.”

Kaveh exhales sharply, pushing a hand through his hair. “Then what? Just send him home with a handful of medications and hope for the best?” His voice carries that edge it always does when he’s emotionally invested. I knew he would take this case personally the moment he saw the patient—a fifty-seven-year-old architect with a failing heart.

“Not ‘hope for the best,’” I correct, keeping my tone even. “We optimize his medical management, consider high-risk PCI if interventional cardiology deems it feasible, and—”