She and I have been best friends for as long as I can remember. That is, an eternity. Although, logically it’s since senior high school and now for 13 years. We are 30 but it feels like it’s been forever with each other. I love her. Wholly. Truly. And I’d do anything for her. Even if it means killing someone. But I’ve never told her. Never told that I loved her. Never told her that I was crazy about her. Obsessed with her. She is the calm to my chaos. My heart. My soulmate. She is only one I’d ever pray for. She is also the one whose God I would become. Though the only thing I pray for now is to make her my wife.

We decided to meet and hangout after work— mostly her at the hospital, working late. Because of course, she decided to become a doctor. Not just any doctor but a neurosurgeon. While I’m lawyer. Of course, I’m also just as much in demand.

I got there before her. Not on purpose—just… happened. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. The hospital’s the same as always—too bright, too clean, people moving like everything’s urgent. I lean against my car, scrolling through my phone without really seeing anything. She’s probably still inside. Running late. Again. I check the time, then the entrance, then my phone. Repeat. It’s routine at this point.

When she finally walks out, I notice immediately. Of course I do. Hair a little messy like she’s been running her hands through it all day, still in her scrubs, looking tired. I push myself off the car and give a small wave when she spots me. “Finally,” I say as she gets closer, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Thought you decided to just move in there permanently.” She rolls her eyes—same reaction, same tone, nothing new. We fall into step like always, heading off without much of a plan. “So?” I glance at her. “Another long day saving lives?”