The air in the library was dense with caffeine, ambition, and the silent panic of a hundred med students staring down the barrel of finals week.
Talia tapped her pen against the table rhythmically. It had been an hour since she'd actually read a word, though her textbook remained open on "Neuroanatomy of the Limbic System." Ezra sat beside her, buried in notes, highlighters uncapped and dangerously close to his sweater sleeve.
"How are you still alive?" she whispered, tilting her head toward him.
"Years of conditioning," Ezra mumbled, eyes not leaving the page. "Also, this oat latte is now 60% of my blood volume."
Talia grinned, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Remind me again why we signed up for this torture?"
"Because we were delusional and had overinflated ideas about helping people."
"Right," she said, slumping forward. "Let's add martyrdom to our list of clinical skills."
Ezra chuckled softly and reached under the table to squeeze her knee. "Break in ten?"
"Five. Or I'm revolting."
"Revolting is what happens when you try to eat dorm cafeteria eggs."
She laughed—a real one, full and loud, drawing a glare from a nearby student. Ezra just winked and turned back to his notes.
That night, they walked home under a sky smeared with stars and frost. The streets were mostly quiet, the kind of stillness that made you feel like you were the only two people left in the world.
Ezra's fingers brushed against hers. She caught them, interlaced, and didn't let go.
"Do you ever think about what comes after this?" she asked, voice soft.
He glanced at her. "Med school?"
"Yeah. Us. Life. You know, the scary stuff."
Ezra was quiet for a moment. "Every day. And not just because I'm neurotic."
She smiled. "So you've imagined what? A little apartment with too many books and matching mugs?"
Ezra hesitated, then laughed. "That... and maybe a dog that hates me but worships you."
Talia's heart skipped. "You want a dog?"
"I want whatever future has you in it."
She stopped walking.
Ezra turned to face her, blinking in confusion until he noticed the expression on her face—something between overwhelmed and terrified and entirely in love.
"You're serious," she whispered.
He nodded slowly. "I know we're young. And broke. And exhausted. But... I think about it. I think about you. With me. Still. Always."
Her throat tightened. "You didn't used to talk like this."
"I didn't used to believe I deserved it."
Talia exhaled, her breath turning to vapor in the cold air. "Okay. But just so you know, if we get a dog, he's not allowed on the couch."
"Deal. But the bed's fair game?"
"Obviously."
They kept walking, slower now, like the snow underfoot had shifted something in the world around them. Like time was waiting patiently for them to catch up.
At home, the apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the radiator. Ezra made tea. Talia kicked off her boots and curled into the couch, wrapping herself in the knitted blanket his mother had sent them last fall.
When Ezra sat beside her, she rested her head on his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath the cotton of his t-shirt.
"Sometimes I get scared," she said.
"Of what?"
"Of loving you this much. Of the idea that something could mess it up."
Ezra pulled her closer. "Me too. But that's why we talk. That's why we try. That's why we're not like... them."
Talia didn't have to ask who them was—her parents, his ex, all the fractured stories they carried in their bones.
"I want a future too," she murmured. "But I'm still figuring out how to trust it."
Ezra nodded against her hair. "We'll figure it out together."
She looked up at him, then, eyes searching. "Even if we end up in residencies a thousand miles apart?"
"We'll make it work."
"Even if I screw up sometimes?"
"You're allowed to. I'm not going anywhere."
Talia leaned up and kissed him, slow and deep, like the world was finally quiet enough to hear her heart speak.
And maybe it was.
That night, in the dark of their shared bed, as the wind whispered outside and finals loomed like shadows on the wall, Talia reached for Ezra's hand.
"I'm still scared," she said.
He squeezed her fingers.
"That's okay," he whispered. "Just don't stop choosing me. And I won't stop choosing you.