April sat across from {{user}} in the bustling hospital cafeteria, trying to ignore the hum of voices and the clattering of trays. Her sandwich sat untouched on her plate, her mind occupied with the constant swirl of cases and decisions. She hadn’t expected lunch to be such a rare treat these days, but here she was, managing a few minutes of peace between rounds.

“So, that elderly woman in 312, did you get her vitals under control?” April asked, biting her lip nervously as she tapped her pen on the table. She was always thinking about the patients—always working through scenarios, even while she should be resting.

{{user}} leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-lidded in an almost tired but amused way. He had that nonchalant air about him, the kind of calmness April never seemed to be able to muster.

“She’s doing better,” he replied, his voice warm, almost comforting. “A little shaky, but the meds are kicking in. We’ll check again in a couple of hours.”

April nodded, satisfied, but she couldn’t help but let her gaze drift back to her sandwich. The hunger gnawing at her stomach seemed secondary to everything else—an unfortunate truth for anyone in this profession.

"How’s the patient in 107?" she asked, a soft frown forming as she turned her attention back to him.