Hana’s fingers trembled slightly as she peeled off the last of the rubber gloves, their wet powdery scent lingering in the air.

She let out a long, weary sigh, watching the sun dip below the horizon through the hospital’s sliding glass doors.

“Good job today, Hana,” she whispered to herself.

As Hana shuffled towards the exit, the weight of fatigue seemed to drag at her heels. Her shoulder bag bounced against her hip with each step, its contents evidence to the day’s trials: medical manuals dog-eared with colored papers sticking out of the side, a water bottle half-filled, and the comforting bulk of her lunchbox, now empty.

She was just steps away from the cool evening air when her phone buzzed in the pocket of her scrubs.

“Guess who?” came the vibrant chirp from the other end.

“Hey, Mira,” Hana replied, her tone warm.

“You better not be heading straight home,” Mira’s voice burst through the line, vibrant and irrepressible as ever.

“Mira, I’m—” Hana began.

“No ‘buts’, Miss First-Day-Survivor! We’re going to celebrate. Your favorite ramen awaits!”

Hana could practically see Mira’s grin. Despite the day’s toll, the corners of Hana’s lips twitched upwards.

“Are you sure? I mean, I am pretty exhausted,” Hana protested.

“Exactly! All the more reason to refuel with some good food and company. C’mon, Hana, don’t make me drag you there,” Mira cajoled, and Hana could imagine the playful wag of her finger, bangles chiming along her wrist.

A reluctant smile tugged at Hana’s lips, “Alright, alright. You win,” she conceded, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “But let’s make it quick, okay?”

“That’s the spirit! I just have to recheck these artworks in the inventory. So, I'll see you in... ten?”

“See you in ten,” Hana confirmed. She ended the call and stepped outside, where the evening greeted her with a gentle breeze.

Steam billowed around them as they settled into the narrow wooden booth, their knees nearly touching in the cozy confines of the ramen shop. Honeyed tea eyes observed the bustling environment, her fingers nervously twirling the sleek ends of her dark hair.

Mira’s laughter cut through the noise, as she gestured animatedly across the table.

“Okay, spill it,” Mira demanded, her voice as vibrant as her curly hair, which tonight shimmered with hues of azure blue. “How was day one on the battlefield of bandages and bedpans? “.

Hana exhaled slowly, the weight of her silver necklace charm feeling heavier than usual against her chest. “It was... overwhelming,” she admitted. “But I made it through without too much trouble.”

Mira leaned forward, her gold hoops catching the light, a symphony of bangles chiming with her movement. “I knew you’d crush it!” she said, her enthusiasm bordering on fervor. “You’re gonna be the best nurse they’ve ever seen!”

The compliment, swirled in Hana’s mind, stirring memories.

She was five again, lost in a memory sharp as the fluorescent lights above her hospital bed. The sterile smell of antiseptics mingled with the soft whimpers that echoed down the corridors. Hana, trapped in the past, felt the ghostly sensation of rubber gloves — similar to those she wore today — as they tried to soothe her quaking form. But every touch was an invasion, every question a demand she couldn’t fulfil.

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The walls had been a stark white, too bright against the tiny figure curled up on the bed. She had been so small then, her olive skin pallid under the fluorescent lights, her curls limp and lifeless. The room was silent except for the occasional beep of the heart monitor and the hushed footsteps of nurses outside the door.

The younger girl had drawn into herself, mute and terrified, flinching from any offered touch. Questions about her ordeal hung heavy in the air, unanswered. Her parents, fraught with worry, had been helpless in their attempts to reach her. And the police could do little but wait for the child to find her voice again.

“Where were you taken, Hana? Can you tell us what happened?” The inquiries were relentless, yet she said nothing. Her parents’ faces swam into view. They reached for her, but their hands only grasped at the empty air as she recoiled, her scream a silent siren midst the sterile white of the hospital walls.

The sun poured its morning warmth through the slits of the hospital blinds, casting stripes of light and shadow across the room where five-year-old Hana sat curled up on her bed. Her small frame was lost in the folds of the starched sheets, eyes wide and wary, watching the flurry of nurses with silent intensity.

“Hi! What’s your name?” a voice piped up, suddenly filling the stillness around Hana’s bed.

Startled, Hana looked up to see a girl standing at the foot of her bed. The newcomer seemed to radiate energy, despite the tube that looped around her ears and under her nose. Her smile was infectious, even as Hana’s heart hammered in her chest.

“I’m Mira!” the girl announced, undeterred by Hana’s silence. She perched herself on the edge of the adjacent bed, swinging her legs with a rhythmic beat that echoed faintly against the linoleum floor.

Hana eyed her warily, retreating further into the safety of her blankets. Mira, however, seemed oblivious to the invisible walls Hana had erected. She chattered away about the spaceship designs on her pajamas, the nurses who made funny faces, and the Jell-O that jiggled like dancing blobs. It was a nonsensical stream, yet it flowed over the room’s sterility, softening the sharp edges of Hana’s fear.

“Did you see the therapy dogs? They’re so fluffy! I bet they don’t know any tricks, though. Do you like dogs?” Mira asked, tilting her head curiously.

Hana, whose voice had been trapped behind the fortress of her trauma, found herself listening—really listening. Mira spoke of ordinary things, simple joys that felt like echoes from a life Hana could barely remember.

“Mom says I’ll get better soon. I just gotta be brave, like a superhero! Are you a superhero too?” Mira continued, her words punctuated by an enthusiastic nod.

As days turned into weeks, the constant hum of Mira’s presence wove itself into the fabric of Hana’s recovery. The girl’s relentless optimism acted as a balm, soothing the raw edges of her memories. And when the day came for Hana to leave the hospital, she realized that Mira’s voice had become an anchor, grounding her to a world she’d thought she’d lost.

“Promise you’ll call me, okay?” Mira had said, her hand waving frantically as Hana was wheeled out of the pediatric ward.

Hana had nodded, clutching the piece of paper with Mira’s scrawled phone number like a lifeline. As the hospital doors closed behind her, she knew that Mira’s friendship was the unexpected gift that had emerged from the darkness.

“Hey! Earth to Hana!” Mira’s voice pierced through the mist of Hana’s reverie. She waved a hand adorned with jingling bangles in front of Hana’s face.

“Sorry, what?” Hana blinked.

“Our ramen’s here!” Mira announced triumphantly, pointing at the steaming bowls with chopsticks poised for the first bite. “You zoned out there for a sec. What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Hana lied smoothly, twirling a sleek strand of hair around her finger—a nervous habit she couldn’t quite shake. “Just... it has been a long day.”

“Come on, you can tell me.” Mira’s expression softened, concern shimmering in her eyes as she leaned forward.

Hana offered a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her amber eyes. She shook her head, “It’s not important. Just old memories.”

“Fair enough.” Mira shrugged, but her piercing gaze held Hana’s for a moment longer. With an impish grin, she finally turned her attention to the meal. “Let’s dig in then! This is your celebration, after all.”

The clink of utensils and the soft slurping of noodles filled the air, a soothing soundtrack to the evening.

Hana abruptly confessed. “It’s just... talking about today made me remember when we first met.”

Mira reached across the table, her hand stopping midway, respecting the space between them. “That was a lifetime ago, wasn’t it?” she murmured.

Hana nodded, her fingertips tracing the rim of her bowl.

“You’ve come so far since then”, Mira continued.

“Thanks to you,” Hana said with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, remembering the relentless patience of the slightly older girl who had sat by her side, day after day, without ever forcing a word.

“Thanks to us,” Mira corrected gently. Their connection, forged in the silence of that hospital room, was unspoken but deeply felt

The waiter arrived with another round of steaming dishes, breaking the spell of the past. Mira’s face lit up again, and the moment of reflection dissipated as quickly as it had arrived. They returned to their meal, the flavors rich and comforting, and to their conversation, filled with plans and dreams.