Chapter 2 — In the Anatomy Lab

Sylvia

The sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant greeted me as I stepped into the Havenwood University Anatomy Lab, a brisk reminder of the precision demanded in this space. The hum of the air conditioning blended with the quiet murmurs of students setting up at their stations, creating an atmosphere of focused intensity. My sneakers squeaked softly against the polished linoleum as I made my way to Station Four, my textbook hugged tightly to my chest like armor.

The lab was my sanctuary. Every detail—the gleaming steel tables, the pristine rows of microscopes, the anatomical charts pinned to the walls—represented order and purpose. Here, I could focus on the next task, the next goal, without distraction. I placed my annotated textbook on the table, its spine creaking faintly as I flipped it open to today’s chapter. The margins were dense with my precise notes, diagrams meticulously labeled in my neat handwriting. My fingers brushed over the edges of the pages, feeling the worn texture of the paper. This textbook wasn’t just a tool; it was a map of my dedication.

Rolling back the sleeves of my sweater, I pulled my notebook closer and began sketching a human heart. My pencil moved methodically, tracing the curves of the ventricles and arteries. The act was calming, almost meditative. In the chaos of everything—the weight of expectations, the endless grinding toward a future I could barely imagine—this was control. Perfection, at least on paper.

"Good morning, Sylvia," came a voice, warm but authoritative.

I glanced up to see Professor Carter standing nearby, her sharp eyes softened by a small smile. Her clipboard rested against her hip, and her fountain pen, with its intricate silver engravings, was tucked behind her ear. She always carried herself with quiet confidence, the kind I tried to emulate.

"Good morning, Professor," I replied, straightening as if on instinct.

She scanned the room, her gaze sweeping over the rows of students. “Another week, another dissection. How are you holding up?”

I hesitated, debating how much honesty to offer. "I’m fine," I said eventually, though even I could hear the hollowness in my voice.

Professor Carter tilted her head slightly, studying me in that way that made it feel like she could see right through the words. "Even the best surgeons know when to step back and catch their breath. Remember, Sylvia, it’s not just about reaching the top—it’s about making sure you’re still standing when you get there."

Her words landed with more weight than I wanted to admit. My dad used to say something similar: "You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders, Sylvie." But I did. I had to. There wasn’t room for mistakes or distractions—not when I had so much to prove, to myself and to everyone who believed in me.

"I’ll keep that in mind," I said, forcing a polite smile.

Professor Carter nodded, her smile faint but encouraging, before moving on to the next station. Her heels clicked softly against the floor, and the faint scratch of her fountain pen followed as she made notes on her clipboard.

I turned back to my sketch, but her words lingered, hovering just out of reach like a shadow. Breathe? It sounded so simple, yet impossibly indulgent. Shaking off the thought, I leaned closer to my notebook, the lines of the heart taking shape in intricate detail. A perfect diagram. A perfect plan.

The door swung open behind me with a grating creak, pulling me out of my focus. I didn’t look up—late arrivals weren’t uncommon in this class.

"Sorry I’m late, Professor," drawled a voice that sent a jolt of irritation straight to my chest. Smooth, self-assured, and frustratingly familiar.

Bronx Miller.

I gripped my pencil tighter as Professor Carter’s voice carried across the room. "Ah, Mr. Miller. So kind of you to join us. I trust you’ve reviewed the material for today’s session?"

"Of course," he replied, his tone easy, almost lazy.

There was a pause, the kind that suggested Professor Carter wasn’t entirely convinced. "Your partner is at Station Four."

My stomach dropped. No. Not him. Anyone but him.

"Looks like we’ll be working together," Bronx said as he strolled up to the table. His smirk was firmly in place, the kind of cocky grin that screamed trouble. He had a textbook in one hand, its pristine cover betraying its lack of use.

"Fantastic," I muttered under my breath.

Bronx dropped onto the stool beside me, leaning back with a relaxed confidence that felt entirely out of place in the lab. "You don’t look thrilled to see me," he teased, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

I didn’t dignify him with a response, instead flipping my notebook closed and pulling out the lab manual. "This is a serious course," I said, keeping my tone cool. "Not everyone has time to waste."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Who said anything about wasting time? I’m here to learn, just like you."

I cast a skeptical glance at his unopened textbook. "Sure you are."

"Absolutely." He opened the book with a flourish, flipping through the pages as if to prove me wrong. "See? I’m all about academics."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, willing myself to stay calm. "Let’s just get started. The faster we finish, the better."

He grinned, pulling a pen from his pocket. "So, do I get to learn how to save lives today, or just take notes?"

"Take notes," I replied firmly, sliding the lab manual toward him.

We fell into an uneasy rhythm. I handled the scalpel, carefully guiding the dissection with steady hands, while Bronx scribbled half-hearted notes. At first, his teasing comments grated on my nerves, but then something shifted.

“So, why does the heart have its own electrical system?” he asked, his voice losing some of its usual bravado.

I blinked, surprised by the question. "It’s called the cardiac conduction system. The heart generates its own electrical impulses to keep it beating, even outside the body."

He nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the exposed organ. "That’s... kind of incredible."

The genuine awe in his tone caught me off guard. For a moment, I almost forgot my irritation. "It is," I admitted, my voice softening despite myself. "The heart is one of the most resilient organs in the body."

Bronx leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. He asked another question, then another, each one more thoughtful than the last. It was... unexpected.

By the end of the session, the lab was quieting down, students packing up their supplies. I meticulously cleaned our tools, my movements deliberate and precise, while Bronx leaned back in his chair, watching me with an inscrutable expression.

"You’re pretty intense, you know that?" he said suddenly.

I glanced at him, frowning. "Is that a problem?"

He shook his head, his smirk softening into something almost sincere. "No. It’s... impressive."

The comment threw me off balance, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. I secured the lid on the supply tray, focusing on the mechanical task to avoid his gaze.

"Well," I said finally, "some of us have goals."

His gaze lingered on me, unreadable, before he stood and slung his bag over his shoulder. "See you next time, partner."

I watched him saunter out of the lab, the room suddenly feeling quieter, emptier. Gathering my things, I replayed the conversation in my mind. Bronx Miller was still a distraction I couldn’t afford, but there was something about him... something I couldn’t quite pin down.

As I stepped into the crisp autumn air, Professor Carter’s words echoed faintly in my mind: "Catch your breath."

I shook my head. There wasn’t time. And yet, as I walked across campus, I couldn’t shake the faintest flicker of curiosity. Maybe—just maybe—Bronx Miller wasn’t entirely what he seemed.