Finding a way back to her!

Freen Sarocha had built herself a life of precision and success. After leaving Bangkok ten years ago, she had poured herself into her studies and eventually earned her place as one of the world’s most renowned cardiologists. Her hospital, the Sarocha Cardiac Institute, was her pride and joy—a sanctuary for healing hearts, run with the kind of meticulous efficiency that Freen was famous for. Patients flocked to her for her expertise, leaving with their lives saved and their hearts repaired.

But there was one thing Freen hadn’t quite mastered: *people.* To her staff, she was brilliant but baffling. Her responses were blunt, her demeanor was awkward, and her straightforward answers often left people scrambling to decipher her intentions. She wasn’t unfriendly—not intentionally, at least. She just didn’t see the point in pleasantries, preferring to communicate with brevity and logic.

It didn’t help that Freen’s only close confidant at the hospital was Heng, her former classmate turned administrator. Heng had a talent for translating Freen’s quirks into something approachable, often stepping in when patients or staff looked bewildered by Freen’s unfiltered remarks.

“Morning, Dr. Sarocha!” a nurse greeted cheerfully one day as Freen walked briskly down the hallway, her white coat swishing behind her.

“How am I supposed to answer that?” Freen replied without slowing down.

The nurse froze, blinking in confusion. “Uh…”

“Don’t bother,” Heng called out as he followed Freen, carrying a folder. “She meant to say ‘Good morning’ back. She’s just not great at people.”

“I’m excellent at cardiology,” Freen clarified, looking over her shoulder. “That should suffice.”

Heng chuckled, catching up to her stride. “Remind me why I’m the PR-friendly face of this hospital and you’re the enigma?”

“Because I don’t waste time on unnecessary communication,” Freen replied flatly, tapping on her tablet as she reviewed her next consultation.

“And that’s why people are scared of you,” Heng said with a smirk. “Oh, and speaking of unnecessary communication, the cafeteria staff said you only ever order jasmine tea. They’re wondering if you’re secretly a robot.”

Freen raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I prefer consistency. Robots are efficient.”

“Wow, Freen, *that’ll* clear up the rumors,” Heng teased. “You should let me pick your drink next time—spice up your mysterious reputation.”

“Don’t ruin my consistency,” Freen said matter-of-factly, brushing past him to enter the consultation room.

Heng grinned to himself, shaking his head. “She’s hopeless.”

Inside the consultation room, Freen faced a middle-aged patient who was staring nervously at his test results. Freen wasted no time delivering her analysis.

“You have two blockages—one in your left anterior descending artery and one in your circumflex artery,” she stated, her tone clinical and precise. “Both require surgical intervention. Questions?”

The patient hesitated. “Uh… should I go through with it?”

“That’s not a question,” Freen replied immediately. “That’s indecision.”

Heng, who had followed her inside, stepped forward with his signature charm. “Dr. Sarocha means yes, she highly recommends the procedure.”

Freen nodded. “Obviously.”

---

By lunchtime, Heng and Freen were seated in the hospital cafeteria, Freen with her jasmine tea and Heng with an array of sandwiches. He watched her sip her tea, his smile slowly creeping into a smirk. “So, you know how the new nurse on floor five is scared of you?”

“Why?” Freen asked, tilting her head.

“You told her ‘Good morning, keep it brief’ when she tried to introduce herself,” Heng replied, barely containing his laughter.

“I don’t see the problem,” Freen said, stirring her tea thoughtfully. “Introductions should be efficient.”

“Oh my gosh, Freen,” Heng groaned, burying his face in his hands. “She was just trying to be friendly!”

“Friendly doesn’t fix blockages,” Freen said with a shrug.

“And that’s why you’re the medical genius while I’m the socially competent one,” Heng said smugly. “You focus on hearts. I focus on keeping people from quitting their jobs because you scared them.”

Freen blinked, her lips twitching faintly. “You overestimate their ability to feel fear.”

Heng burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Freen, you’re incredible, but you’re also impossible.”

“Thank you,” Freen replied calmly, returning to her charts.

---

The day wound down as Freen finished her rounds, checked in with her surgical team, and completed a mountain of administrative paperwork. Heng popped into her office at the end of the day, holding two steaming cups of jasmine tea. “Great news! The local press wants to interview you about the hospital’s success.”

“No,” Freen replied instantly, not looking up from her desk.

“It’s not optional,” Heng said, setting the tea down in front of her. “It’s good PR.”

“I fix hearts,” Freen stated bluntly. “I don’t advertise them.”

“Which is why I’ll sit next to you and answer all the awkward questions,” Heng teased. “That way, they won’t run a headline that says, ‘Cardiology Genius or Secret Robot?’”

Freen paused, considering. “Acceptable.”

Heng laughed loudly, clapping her on the back. “That’s the spirit, Dr. Charm.”

---

That evening, Freen returned to her apartment, exhausted but satisfied. The quiet space was a stark contrast to the bustling hospital, filled with books and carefully organized decor. She changed into her comfortable clothes and brewed herself another cup of jasmine tea, the familiar aroma filling the air. Sitting down on her couch, she reached for a small wooden box tucked neatly on the coffee table.

Inside was a single photograph—Becky Armstrong, with her bright smile and sparkling eyes, taken years ago during their school days. Freen stared at the photo for a long moment, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of the frame. Becky was the one person who had ever truly understood her, who had seen past her awkwardness and logical exterior. She was the one who had grounded Freen in ways no one else ever could.

“I still think of you,” Freen whispered softly to the photo, her voice barely audible.

She set the photo back in the box and leaned against the couch, her gaze drifting toward the window. The bustling lights of New York flickered in the distance, a reminder of how far she’d come. But no matter how successful she was, no matter how many hearts she healed, a piece of her own heart still belonged to Becky—a bond she couldn’t explain but could never forget.