Page 37 of Love You Like That

There was silence again. That shit was heavy. “So… I guess this is it?” she asked softly, sadness coloring every word.

“Yeah,” I said, voice rough with the weight of goodbye. “I guess it is.”

“I wish you the best, Ezra,” she whispered gently. “You deserve everything beautiful this life can give.”

My heart squeezed painfully. “You too, Yaya. Don’t settle for less.”

She exhaled shakily. “Goodbye.”

“Take care.”

The line went quiet, and I stood there on that crowded New York sidewalk, staring at the phone as if it held all the answers to the emptiness suddenly opening in my chest. After a long moment, I slid it back into my pocket, pulling my Beats headphones back onto my head, letting the heavy bass drown out the ache.

I stepped forward, deeper into the city, deeper into the future. But even as my feet moved forward, my heart stayed behind, tangled with hers.

T h ee l e v a t o rd o o r sslid shut with a soft chime, sealing me inside a box of shiny chrome and fluorescent lighting. I clutched my portfolio to my chest with my heart pounding louder than the quiet hum of the cables. The numbers ticked upward slowly and I stared at my reflection in the mirrored walls, trying to breathe through the emotion still caught in my throat.

I’d just gotten off the phone with Ezra and it felt like we’d said goodbye for real this time.

I blinked hard, willing the tears not to come. Not now. Not here. This interview was everything I’d worked for, everything my parents had pushed me toward for years. I couldn’t afford to fall apart when I was this close to the finish line.

Surprisingly, I'd made it through NCLEX without dropping a tear on the exam keyboard. But the echo of his voice, the weight of what we’d just said hung over me like a thick, invisible cloud. It didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like a loss.

The doors opened onto the 19th floor, and I stepped out into a sleek, modern waiting area. Everything was white and glass with soft lighting. A receptionist smiled at me politely as I approached.

“Hi, I’m Yavanni Sinclair.”

“Welcome,” she said smoothly, checking me in on her tablet. “Have a seat. Director Halloway will be with you shortly.”

I nodded and sat down, smoothing my skirt and silently reciting calming affirmations in my head.You are prepared. You are capable. You are worthy of this opportunity.But even as I tried to ground myself, my brain kept drifting back to Ezra. His voice. His pain. My own.

Before I could spiral again, a tall Black woman with short, silver curls and bright, intelligent eyes stepped out of the glass double doors.

“Miss Sinclair?”

I stood quickly, nerves sparking. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Come on in.”

Her office was minimalist and bright, with a full view of the city skyline behind her desk. She gestured for me to sit, then took her own seat with a warm but commanding energy.

“I’m Dr. Halloway. I’ve read your file thoroughly, and your recommendations were impressive. Let’s talk, shall we?”

And we did. I answered every question clearly, calmly as we discussed my clinical rotations, pediatric case studies and philosophies on family-centered care. I spoke about the emotional toll of working in trauma, how I’d developed resilience and empathy and how I saw medicine not just as treatment but as trust.

Dr. Halloway asked sharp questions but nodded often. She took notes. She smiled when I talked about a patient I’d bonded with who used to call me “Sunshine Nurse.”

After forty minutes, she closed the folder and leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. “Miss Sinclair… I think you’d be a wonderful fit here. You’re thoughtful, composed, and passionate. That’s the kind of energy we need in our pediatric unit.”

My breath caught. “Thank you. I... wow.”

“When you receive your exam results in the mail, I’ll have HR send your offer package by the end of that day. We’d love to have you.”

I stood slowly, trying to keep my composure, though my chest was swelling with a mixture of pride and bittersweet disbelief. “Thank you so much, Dr. Halloway.”

“You earned it. I look forward to seeing you on the floor.”

I stepped out of that office with my heels clicking confidently against the tile, my head held high. It should’ve felt like the best day of my life. And part of it did. But another part of me felt hollow.

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