Chapter : 3 Aria

“How are you feeling today, princess?” I asked, offering a small, measured smile as I stepped closer to the bed.

Lily’s eyes lit up instantly. Eight years old. Fragile heart. Stubborn spirit. None of it showed in the way she grinned at me.

“I’m doing good! Only—can you tell Mom to give me ice cream? She says it’s bad, but looks—I’m fine!” She threw her arms up dramatically, as if presenting undeniable evidence.

I crossed my arms, playing along. “Hmm… that is a very strong argument.”

“I know, right?” she said proudly, sitting up straighter. “And I didn’t even cry today when they gave me medicine. Not even a little bit.”

“Oh really?” I raised a brow, stepping closer. “Not even a tiny tear?”

She pinched her fingers together. “Maybe this much.”

“That’s still impressive,” I said, nodding seriously—as if she’d just achieved something remarkable.

She beamed.

I reached for her chart, but my attention stayed on her—not just professionally. Skin tone normal. Breathing steady. But there it was—faint fatigue around her eyes. Subtle. Easy to miss.

I didn’t miss things.

“Did you eat properly today?” I asked.

She made a face. “Hospital food is boring.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I ate…” she paused, thinking, “…some of it.”

I gave her a look.

She sighed dramatically. “Okay, fine. I ate everything. But I didn’t like it.”

“Good. You don’t have to like it. You just have to eat it.”

“That’s unfair,” she muttered.

“That’s life,” I replied calmly.

She studied me for a second, then narrowed her eyes playfully. “You sound like my mom.”

“That’s because your mom is smart.”

“She doesn’t give me ice cream,” Lily shot back immediately.

“Ah,” I nodded slowly, “then maybe she’s too smart.”

She giggled.

For a moment, the room felt lighter.

Too light.

I had to be careful with that.

I stepped closer, checking her pulse, adjusting the blanket around her with quiet precision—never drawing attention to it.

“So,” I said casually, “what’s the plan after you get out of here?”

Her eyes lit up again. “Cartoons. All day. And I’m gonna make Mom sit with me and watch—even if she says no.”

“Very ambitious.”

“And,” she leaned in, lowering her voice like she was sharing something classified, “I’m gonna eat ice cream in front of her so she regrets everything.”

A quiet breath left me—almost a laugh.

“You’re dangerous.”

“I know.”

I studied her again.

Not as a child.

As a patient.

As a risk.

As something fragile.

“Well…” I tilted my head, pretending to think. “You do seem okay. But I’ll need to run a few tests tomorrow. Just to confirm.”

Her face dropped instantly. “Tests?”

“Nothing scary,” I reassured her. “Just to make sure your superhero heart is behaving.”

That worked.

“I have a superhero heart?”

“Of course,” I said without hesitation. “It’s just… a little dramatic sometimes.”

She smiled.

“And if everything looks good,” I continued, lowering my voice slightly, “I’ll let you go home. Cartoons included… and I might even convince your mom to allow some ice cream.”

Her eyes widened.

Hope—pure, bright… and dangerous.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“And maybe…” I added, watching her carefully, “…a cheeseburger?”

She gasped. “No way.”

“Yes.”

She stared at me like I had just rewritten her future.

Then her eyes narrowed. “You’re not lying, right?”

“I’m a doctor,” I said calmly.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t lie,” she shot back.

I paused.

Fair.

“…I don’t lie to important patients.”

She considered that seriously. Then nodded.

“Okay.”

I held out my pinky. “Promise.”

She looked at it like it meant something.

Like it bound something.

“Wait,” she said suddenly. “Add fries.”

“Fries?”

“Yes. With ketchup.”

“You’re negotiating now?”

“Yes.”

I exhaled softly, feigning defeat. “Fine. Ice cream, cheeseburger, and fries… if you follow everything I say.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

Her tiny finger wrapped around mine.

“Cheeseburger promise.”

I tightened my hold—just slightly.

“Cheeseburger promise.”

As I pulled my hand back, she didn’t let go immediately.

“Doctor Aria?”

“Yes?”

“You’re my favorite doctor.”

Simple words.

Too simple.

Something shifted—quiet, controlled, unwelcome.

“I’m your only doctor here,” I replied lightly.

She shook her head. “Even if there were more, I’d still pick you.”

I held her gaze a second too long.

Careful.

“Then I guess I’ll have to make sure I don’t lose that position.”

“You won’t,” she said with certainty.

I adjusted her blanket one last time.

“Get some rest, okay?”

“Okay… but don’t forget the promise.”

“I won’t.”

“I’ll remember,” she warned.

“I know you will.”

I turned to leave.

“Doctor Aria?”

I glanced back.

“When I get better… will you still visit?”

A pause.

Measured.

Controlled.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I will.”

She smiled, satisfied, curling into her pillow.

I stepped out. The door closed softly behind me.

The warmth lingered. For a second. Then—Control returned. Because attachments like that… They don’t just heal. They weaken. And I couldn’t afford that. Not here. Not now.

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