The conference room on the second floor of The Lily of Hope Oncology Centre was nothing like typical hospital spaces. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the long wooden table in natural light, casting warm reflections across the polished grain. A soft murmur of wind chimes drifted in from the terrace garden outside, a gentle background to the tension brewing within Dr. Lance Davis.
He stood at the head of the table, arms crossed behind his back, eyes scanning the stack of scans and reports spread before him like a battle map. He had reviewed them countless times, but today was different. Today, he would present them not to himself, but to his handpicked war council.
One by one, his colleagues filed in.
Dr. Priya Khatri, chief surgical resident, first—sharp-eyed and eternally chewing mint gum. Behind her, Dr. Ezra Finch, radiologist, perpetually overdressed and armed with coffee. Then came Dr. Noah Castillo, the Centre's anaesthesiologist and emotional compass, wearing a hoodie that read Calm Down, It's Just Surgery. And finally, Dr. Lin Yue, the integrative medicine specialist, who brought not only her sharp clinical mind but also a steaming flask of chrysanthemum tea for Lance, as she always did before major cases.
Lance offered a tight smile as they took their seats.
"Alright, everyone. Thank you for coming. I've scheduled this as a preliminary pre-op meeting for Patient L.S. A 24-year-old female presenting with an abdominal mass—biopsy confirms localized gastrointestinal stromal tumour. No signs of metastasis. Pre-op labs normal. PET scan clear. We are looking at a clean surgical margin situation, and with the right follow-up therapy, prognosis is excellent."
Ezra leaned back in his chair. "So .... an easy win?"
Priya flipped through the imaging and raised an eyebrow. "Classic case, Lance. I mean, I've seen worse at med school demos."
"It's a textbook resection," Lin chimed in, sipping her tea. "Do we really need a full strategy session for this?"
Lance ignored the chorus of casualness and tapped on the screen, bringing up the scan. "I want to approach this comprehensively. We're not just removing a lump. We're preserving long-term gut health, minimizing scar tissue, ensuring a quality of life post-op that doesn't involve chronic discomfort or trauma recurrence. And I want both pre-op and post-op integrative therapies included in the plan."
Noah raised a playful eyebrow. "You're acting like this tumour has a personal vendetta against you."
Lance's jaw tightened, and he didn't respond immediately. Ezra leaned forward, noticing the flicker of something more serious behind his colleague's steady gaze.
"Wait—don't tell me. It's her, isn't it?" Ezra said, grinning.
Noah caught on. "Ohhhh, is this the one he's always walking by in the waiting room? The girl who makes him pause mid-stride like a romance novel cover?"
"Guys," Priya laughed, "you're telling me we're all here for a consult because Lance is catching feelings over an easy GIST resection?"
Lin, ever calm, placed her hand on Lance's shoulder with a subtle squeeze. "Is it that girl—the one who came in with her father, Mr. Storm? She was the one who brought him to us when he collapsed two years ago, wasn't she?"
Lance finally met their eyes. There was a weight behind his voice when he spoke. "You don't understand. This surgery isn't difficult medically, no. But it's important. To me. I need it done right. Every step precise. Every margin clean. No errors. No risks."
"Okay, okay," Ezra said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We get it. You're going full Captain Intensity. But come on, you've pulled off more complex resections in your sleep."
Priya smirked. "What's next? You want scented candles in the OR?"
Lance exhaled through his nose, trying not to smile. "Just… show up on time. And no jokes in the OR."
"Oh, we're definitely joking," Noah said, already scribbling something on a sticky note. "I'm going to leave motivational quotes on your anaesthesia charts. 'True love conquers all—including tumours.'"
Despite himself, Lance chuckled. Just a breath of laughter—but it made the others freeze in delight.
"There it is!" Priya pointed. "A real human emotion from the great Dr. Davis!"
Lance shook his head and turned back to the scan, but his expression had softened. He needed their expertise. But he also needed their friendship. If anyone could help him change the script of fate, it was them.
* * *
Three Days Later
The morning air was crisp as sunlight spilled through the white awnings outside the Centre's east wing. Patients walked the garden paths, some with IV poles trailing behind them like metal shadows. It was a hospital, yes—but it didn't feel like one. Not in the traditional sense.
Inside Room 204B, Lily sat on the edge of her temporary bed, dressed in soft cotton pre-op pyjamas. Her legs swung slightly, not quite touching the ground. She glanced out the window at the flowering tree just outside, watching its petals tremble in the breeze. Her father sat in a cushioned chair beside her, hands clasped tight between his knees, and her Aunt Claire paced quietly in the corner, chewing her thumbnail.
"You're not going to be pacing when I wake up, are you?" Lily asked without turning.
Claire stopped mid-step. "I don't know how not to pace, honey. It's my default setting."
Lily smiled faintly. "You'll wear a groove in the floor."
"Don't tempt me."
The knock at the door was gentle, then the door creaked open.
Lance stepped inside, clipboard in hand, but dressed casually today—still professional, but softer somehow. No white coat, just a grey sweater rolled at the sleeves and soft blue slacks. The only giveaway that he was more than a visitor was the ID badge clipped to his hip.
"Morning," he said, voice calm. "How are we feeling today?"
"Like I'm being shipped off to war," Lily said. "Do I get a helmet?"
"You get anaesthesia," Lance offered. "It's like a helmet, but for your entire nervous system."
Claire snorted.
Mr. Storm stood and offered his hand. "Doctor Lance. Thank you again. For everything."
Lance shook it firmly. "It's my job. And my privilege. You raised a very brave daughter."
"She got that from her mom," Mr. Storm said quietly, his eyes misting.
There was a long pause, then Lance looked to Lily.
"Are you ready?"
Lily nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Good," Lance said. "We'll take great care of you. The surgery is scheduled to start in ninety minutes. You'll be in pre-op in fifteen. We've got the best team assembled, and everything's been reviewed three times."
"Three?" Claire asked.
"Four," Lance amended. "I lied to seem normal."
Lily gave a soft laugh. "You don't really do normal, do you?"
"Not my strong suit."
There was a pause.
"Do you always get this intense before surgeries?" Lily asked.
Lance's expression flickered. "No. Not always."
She studied him. "But this one matters to you?"
He met her eyes. "Yes. More than you know."
* * *
The lights were bright. The temperature was cool. The air was quiet but not silent—beeping monitors, the hush of respirators, the rhythmic wash of sterilized tools being arranged.
Lance stood at the head of the surgical table, gloved, masked, and focused. Across from him, Priya adjusted her scope and gave him a look over the patient's draped form.
"Easy terrain," she murmured.
Ezra's voice crackled in over the intercom from radiology. "All imaging checks out, boss. No surprises."
Noah, behind the anaesthesia curtain, gave a thumbs up. "Vitals stable. Dreamland achieved."
Lance glanced once at the monitor, then at the still form beneath the sterile blue sheet.
"Let's begin."
Every movement was precise. Measured. It wasn't just the surgery. It was the weight of every other surgery Lance had ever failed. Every other version of Lily he couldn't save. His fingers moved with the sureness of a man who had rehearsed this in dreams. The tumour was isolated quickly. No unexpected bleeding. No nerves compromised.
Two hours passed like seconds.
Then—it was done.
"Mass removed," Priya announced. "Margins are clear. Absolutely no spread."
Lance exhaled and looked at the clock. She was safe.
* * *
When Lily opened her eyes, it took her a moment to orient herself. Soft lighting. Clean sheets. A vase of fresh lilies on the windowsill.
"Hey," a voice said gently.
She turned her head slowly.
Lance sat beside her bed, holding a tablet, his eyes flicking up as soon as she stirred.
"You made it," he said. "You did great."
Lily smiled weakly. "Wasn't so bad."
"You slept through the whole thing."
"Like a lazy warrior."
He chuckled. "Your scans are clear. You're going to heal just fine."
She blinked at him for a long moment. "You were so serious about this. Why?"
He hesitated. Then, softly, "Because sometimes you only get one chance to get it right."
She didn't understand, not fully. But the look in his eyes quieted her questions.
For now.
"Try to get some rest, ill come by again to check on you," lance said as he started to walk back out of her ward.
* * *
Lily lay in the bed, propped slightly upright by pillows, her hair a little tangled from sleep. A pale blue blanket was tucked up to her waist, and an IV line threaded into the crook of her elbow. Her eyes fluttered open when she heard the door click.
"Still alive?" she croaked.
Lance chuckled, stepping into the room with a file in hand and two cups—one of chamomile tea, the other of something suspiciously green.
"Barely," he said, holding out the green cup.
She sniffed it, made a face. "That's not coffee."
"Nope. It's better. Herbal blend to help with the post-anaesthetic fog. Ginger, ginseng, and a few secret ingredients."
"I'm not drinking frog spit, Dr. Frankenstein."
He gave her a look. "It's organic."
"Organic frog spit?"
Lance raised an eyebrow. "Fine. Don't drink it. But when your mind's still mush tomorrow, remember I tried to help."
She took a reluctant sip and grimaced. "Tastes like regret."
They both laughed—a sound so light and unburdened it surprised even Lance. She was healing, not just in the body but somewhere deeper.
A knock interrupted their conversation.
"You didn't die. That's good," Dr. Kael said, poking his head in, grinning. Behind him, Dr. Lin and Nurse Ayesha followed.
Nurse Ayesha followed; her tone dry. "He means you're recovering well. Vitals look good. Incision clean. And yes, he's still dramatic."
"Coming from the man who started humming the 'Mission Impossible' theme during the laparoscopic camera insertion," Lance muttered.
"We brought the gang," Lin said, handing Lily a small vase of wildflowers. "Fresh from the healing garden. Thought it might liven up the sterile vibes."
Lily smiled. "Thanks. And for the record—he's way too intense to be anyone's boyfriend."
"Tell me about it," Kael said, slumping into the chair beside her bed. "The man treated your surgery like it was the second coming of the plague."
Lance sighed. "It was a routine laparoscopic procedure with careful vascular management. But the mass was adjacent to vital structures—"
"And you've done trickier resections in your sleep," Lin cut in. "We've seen it. You once tied off a bleeding artery while chewing sunflower seeds."
"Not true," Lance muttered.
Kael leaned closer to Lily and stage-whispered, "He kicked me out of the OR for breathing too loud. Said I was distracting the qi."
"Qi is real," Ayesha said, trying not to laugh.
"Thank you," Lance said, nodding at her.
"But you were still being ridiculous," she added.
They laughed again, and for a moment, it felt like any other case. Just another successful surgery, another patient on the mend.
But Lance's eyes darkened a shade when he glanced at the folder in his hand. He cleared his throat.
"Alright," he said. "Jokes aside, we just got the pathology results back from the biopsy."
The room quieted.
Lily looked at him, her smile fading. "And?"
Lance approached slowly, placing the file gently on her tray table.
"The surgery was a success. We achieved full resection with clear margins. There was no evidence of metastasis. Your recovery so far is going extremely well."
"But?" she asked.
"There's always a 'but' with you," Kael murmured under his breath.
Lance opened the folder and turned it so Lily could see. "The mitotic index was elevated. The tumour was categorized as intermediate-risk. Which means that while it hasn't spread, there's a slight possibility of recurrence in the next few years."
"Okay…" Lily said slowly. "So, what happens now?"
"We start a targeted therapy protocol," Lance said. "Imatinib. It's not traditional chemotherapy—it's oral, taken at home, minimal side effects for most patients."
"For how long?"
"One to two years."
The silence stretched.
"Two years?" Claire's voice came from the doorway. She'd slipped in quietly, holding her brother-in-law's arm. Mr. Storm looked thinner than usual, but he stood steady.
"That's a long time," Lily said, staring at the papers. "What does it even do?"
"It blocks the growth signals that allow tumour cells to return or spread," Lance explained. "It's precise. And it saves lives."
"Will it save mine?" she asked, eyes locked on his.
Lance's jaw tightened. "I believe it will. But I won't lie to you. It's not a magic bullet. It's a safeguard. A way to buy time. Time we'll use wisely—with scans, follow-ups, everything."
Claire stepped forward, wrapping an arm gently around Lily's shoulders. "Then we do it."
Lily glanced between them—her aunt, her father, the team of doctors who were somehow more than just doctors.
"Alright," she whispered. "But if I turn into a mutant or something, I'm blaming you, Dr. Frankenstein."
"I can live with that," Lance said.
* * *
Later that evening the ward had quieted again. Visitors had gone. Nurses dimmed lights. Lance remained, seated by Lily's bedside, the hum of machines soft in the background.
"You look tired," she said.
He shrugged. "Comes with the job."
"I thought you'd be happy. The surgery went well. You were laser-focused—like a Jedi."
"I was." He paused. "But there's something you don't understand yet."
She looked over, curious.
He leaned forward; voice low. "This wasn't just a surgery to me. I've lost patients to tumours like this before—before I had this knowledge. In other times. Other lives."
Her brow creased, not entirely sure if he was joking.
"Sometimes," he went on, "it feels like life gives you the same test over and over until you pass it. And this was the question I never got right."
She studied him. "You think fate's watching?"
"I know it is."
"And you think this time, you'll win?"
He exhaled slowly. "I don't know if it's about winning. Maybe it's just… not losing. Not again."
For a long time, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt thick with memory, even if she didn't know why.
Finally, Lily reached for the untouched green cup on her tray and took a sip.
"Still tastes like moss," she said.
He smiled. "You'll get used to it."