The viva was over. I leaned against the corridor wall, staring at the floor, replaying every question I'd botched. The external examiner's cold eyes. The internal examiner's disappointed head shake. My stuttering disaster. What just happened? Am I going to pass?

  A burst of crying erupted from in front of board 1. A girl was sobbing hysterically, like the world had ended. I walked over to where Akki was standing, watching the drama unfold. "What happened?"

  "Huh, nothing. Just girly drama, you know. She answered every question perfectly, but stuttered slightly on the last one, which should have been flawless."

  I smiled weakly but said nothing about my own disaster, how I'd accidentally turned myself into a stutterer and probably failed spectacularly. Well, passing is what matters. What's the point of overthinking it? Let's not ruin the vacations ahead.

  I left the corridor and returned to my room, trying to shake off the dread clinging to my shoulders like a wet blanket.

  At noon, all three of us returned to our room. Murin's packing was already complete. Neat, organized, like everything he did. Akki was halfway done, folding shirts with the precision of someone who'd watched too many YouTube tutorials. But I was still staring at my messy chair, table, and bed. Huh, a lot of work to do.

  Actually, no. I didn't want to pack yet. Not when freedom was this close. I went to Akki's side and sat on his bed, blocking his packing. "Hey, stop packing now. Are you two really going home, seriously?"

  "What else? Want to eat more hostel food or miss the senior faces?" Akki said without looking up.

  "Nah... but we're going to miss the offers at that restaurant and the nightly hangouts. We can go home tomorrow. Let's have fun tonight. What do you say, Murin?" I winked at Murin, who didn't respond. "Oh, come on, or do you guys already can't wait to meet your girlfriends?"

  "Yeah, just like you," Akki shot back.

  Yeah, none of us had girlfriends. We never had time to make one. Murin had one in first year, but the girl ran away, saying he was too boring and that she couldn't understand the medical things he talked about. Poor him. Akki and I never even got that far. We were too busy memorizing drug mechanisms and pretending we knew what we were doing.

  I sat there stubbornly, refusing to move. "Seriously, one night. We've been killing ourselves all semester. Don't we deserve this?"

  Akki paused, holding a folded shirt. He looked at Murin, who was zipping up his bag with his usual calm expression.

  "What do you think?" Akki asked.

  Murin shrugged. "We can leave tomorrow morning. The train's at 11 anyway."

  Akki sighed, dropping the shirt back into his bag. "Fine. But you're paying for my pizza this time, Ashru."

  "Deal!"

  ? ? ?

  The restaurant was exactly what we needed. Dim lighting, slow-motion 90s music playing in the background, full of meaning, full of nostalgia. It was the kind of place that made you forget about viva exams and existential dread, at least for a little while. The prices sucked, but after surviving hell, a little expense didn't matter.

  We went inside and picked a window table. I picked up the menu, but Akki snatched it from my hands. "I'm getting the largest size," he announced.

  "You're getting medium and sharing," Murin said flatly.

  "I just survived two viva boards. I deserve large."

  I laughed, leaning back in my seat. "You know what? Get two larges. Let's actually celebrate."

  We ordered pizza, garlic bread, and cold drinks. When the food arrived, we attacked it like we hadn't eaten in days because we basically hadn't. Cheese stretched between slices. Akki talked with his mouth full, sauce dripping from the corner of his lips.

  "Don't talk while eating, disgusting," Murin said, but he was smiling.

  "You know what the external asked me?" Akki said, grinning through a mouthful of pizza. "He asked me to name five side effects of atropine. I named seven."

  "Show-off," I muttered, biting into my slice.

  We all laughed together. For a moment, everything felt light. We'd survived another round of academic torture, and now we had a few weeks of freedom ahead of us.

  Akki leaned back in his chair, arms spread wide. "You know what? This is the life. No professors. No seniors. No viva pressure. Just us, pizza, and shitty 90s music."

  "Don't forget expensive pizza," I added.

  "Worth it," Murin said quietly, taking a sip of his drink.

  We finished eating, paid the bill, and left the restaurant, walking back to the hostel under the dim streetlights. The air was cool, the night quiet except for our voices and occasional laughter. We talked about stupid things, random patients we'd seen, embarrassing moments during clinicals, Akki's ridiculous theory about why seniors were so sadistic.

  "They're not sadistic," Murin said. "They're just passing on the trauma they received."

  "That's literally the definition of sadism," I said.

  "No, it's tradition," Akki corrected.

  "Same thing."

  We laughed again, and for a moment, I felt genuinely happy. Like maybe med school wasn't so bad after all. Like maybe we'd actually make it through this alive.

  Suddenly Akki's phone rang. "Argh, it's my dad. Wait." He stopped and answered. "Hello? Yeah, finished... yeah, yeah..."

  Murin and I kept walking ahead, not wanting to eavesdrop on the family call. We were maybe ten or fifteen feet ahead, still talking, when we suddenly heard Akki scream. We both turned.

  Akki was on the ground, clutching his hand. Blood dripped between his fingers, dark and glistening under the streetlight. A man in a dark hoodie was sprinting away, Akki's phone clutched in his hand.

  "AKKI!" Murin sprinted back.

  I didn't think. My legs just moved. I ran toward the man. "Hey! STOP!"

  The man looked back once and ran even faster. I chased but I wasn't athletic or built for this. I was just a med student who skipped sports and ate junk food and spent more time memorizing pharmacology than exercising. But adrenaline pushed me forward, burning through my veins like fire.

  The man turned into a side street. I followed, my lungs screaming, my legs burning. I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. The man spun around, and I saw the knife.

  It came at me too fast. I jerked back, and the blade slashed through the air, missing my face by inches. I felt the wind of it. The man swung again.

  I kicked out desperately, my foot connecting with his knee. He stumbled, and the knife clattered to the concrete. I lunged for it, but the man was faster. His fist came out of nowhere, slamming into my stomach. I doubled over, my vision blurring, and swung wildly back. My fist hit something (his face, maybe) and he stumbled backward.

  Then he planted both hands on my chest and shoved with everything he had. I flew backward, completely off balance, my arms flailing uselessly, straight into the road.

  A scooter rounded the corner. I heard the engine roar, the screech of brakes. The driver tried to stop, but it was too late. The scooter clipped my side, hard enough to spin me around. My feet left the ground. The world tilted and my head hit the curb. Then everything went dark.

  Murin's head snapped toward the sound. He saw the scooter. The driver, wide-eyed and panicking. And Ashrahan lying in the road, blood pooling dark and thick under his head.

  "ASHRU!"

  ? ? ?

  "...check the pressure..."

  "...give 5% dextrose..."

  "...why haven't you done the cannula yet?..."

  The cold hit me first, like I'd been dropped into ice water. I couldn't move or speak. Couldn't even feel my fingers. But I could hear everything. Footsteps running and the mechanic sound, Beep. Beep. Beep.

  "His vitals are dropping"

  "BP is 90 over 60"

  "Pulse is weak"

  Someone pressed something against my head. I knew they were applying pressure, maybe to stop the bleeding, but there was no pain. Why can't I feel it?

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "We need to stabilize him now!"

  My eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but I fought to open them, just enough to catch glimpses: bright lights overhead, faces moving quickly in white coats. And then... something else.

  A flicker of blue light. Right in front of my face. Or maybe inside my vision? I couldn't tell. It looked like... numbers? Letters? Shapes?

  Was that a pulse oximeter reading? No, too bright. A penlight? But no one was holding anything near my eyes.

  The glow pulsed once. Words tried to form, swimming in and out of focus like oil on water.

  What... is that...? My vision darkened at the edges.

  "He's losing consciousness again!"

  "Ashrahan? Ashrahan, stay with us!"

  The glow flickered one last time. Then everything went dark, again.

  ? ? ?

  I opened my eyes slowly. The ceiling was blue.

  Blue? Had they turned on some blue light? Was I jaundiced from being hit by a scooter?

  That didn't even make sense, but my brain was scrambling for explanations.

  I squinted harder. There was something written on the ceiling; glowing faintly against the blue background. The letters floated, shifting slightly, like they were alive.

  What... the hell is that? I blinked harder, trying to make it go away. It didn't.

  Am I hallucinating? Did I hit my head that hard? Or is this some new diagnostic screen they're testing?

  "Ashru?"

  My eyes shifted to the side. Murin was sitting in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward, his face full of worry and exhaustion. Dark circles under his eyes. Hair messy. He looked like he hadn't slept.

  "You're awake," he said, relief washing over his face.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was dry. I swallowed once, winced at the soreness, then croaked out, "...Murin?"

  "Yeah. It's me." His voice cracked slightly. "You scared the shit out of us, you idiot."

  I wanted to laugh, but my chest hurt. I settled for a weak smile instead. "...Blue ceiling?"

  Murin frowned, confused. "What?"

  "The... ceiling... it's blue."

  Murin glanced up at the plain white hospital ceiling, then back at me. "...It's white, Ashru."

  "White?"

  "Yeah. White."

  My eyes widened slightly. "Did I... maybe damage my liver? Developed jaundice?"

  Murin stared at me. "...What?"

  "Jaundice causes yellow vision. But mine's blue, so maybe it's... reversed jaundice?"

  "Reversed! Ashru, that's not a thing!"

  "Or maybe I hit my head so hard my bilirubin turned into... blue-irubin!"

  "Okay, that's it. I'm calling the neurologist." Murin stood up quickly, genuinely worried now. "Just stay still. Don't move."

  "Wait, I'm fine—"

  But Murin was already out the door. I sighed and stared back at the blue ceiling. A new line of text appeared.

  I stared at it. What?

  Sildenafil? That's... Viagra. Why the hell would I—

  I couldn't believe what I was reading. I just stared at it like an idiot, my brain trying to process what the hell was happening. Is this real? Am I dreaming? Did I actually die and this is some weird afterlife where floating text roasts me about Viagra?

  The door swung open. Murin came back in, followed by a tall man in a white coat, wearing glasses and carrying a clipboard. He had that calm, professional expression that all neurologists seemed to have, like nothing could surprise them anymore.

  "He said everything looks blue to him," Murin explained quickly. "And then he started talking about jaundice and... reversed bilirubin or something."

  The neurologist nodded, walking toward the bed. "Visual disturbances after head trauma aren't uncommon. Let's take a look."

  He stopped. I was lying there, staring at the ceiling, muttering under my breath. "...sildenafil... cyanopsia... blue vision... unlock feature..."

  The neurologist's eyebrows rose. Murin blinked. "Ashru?"

  The doctor stepped closer. "Mr. Ashrahan?"

  I didn't respond. I was still staring upward, reading the floating text that only I could see.

  The neurologist exchanged a glance with Murin, then cleared his throat. "Ashrahan. Can you hear me?"

  I snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. I turned my head toward him. "Huh? Yeah. Yes, sir."

  The neurologist studied me carefully. "Your friend said you're seeing blue. Is that correct?"

  "Uh... yeah. Everything has this... blue tint."

  "I see." He made a note on his clipboard. "And you were just saying something about sildenafil?"

  My face went blank. Oh no. "I... what?"

  "Sildenafil," the doctor repeated, his tone neutral but pointed. "You were muttering it just now."

  Murin's eyes widened. "Wait! Sildenafil? Isn't that—"

  "Viagra," the neurologist said flatly. He looked directly at me. "Blue-tinted vision, or cyanopsia, is a known side effect of sildenafil. Did you take any medication before the accident?"

  My brain scrambled. "No! No, I didn't—I wasn't—why would I—"

  "It's a legitimate question," the doctor said calmly. "Sometimes students experiment with substances, especially during stressful exam periods. Sildenafil is sometimes misused as a performance enhancer—"

  "NOT THAT KIND OF PERFORMANCE!" I blurted out, my face turning red.

  Murin was trying very hard not to laugh. His shoulders were shaking. He'd turned away, pressing his fist against his mouth.

  The neurologist remained professional. "So you're saying you did not take sildenafil?"

  "NO! I don't even—why would I—I just got hit on my head!"

  "Understood." He made another note. "But the fact that you specifically mentioned sildenafil and cyanopsia suggests you're aware of the connection. Are you experiencing any other symptoms? Headache, dizziness, nausea?"

  "Just the blue thing! And the—". I stopped myself. Don't mention the floating text. Do NOT mention the floating text.

  "And?" the doctor prompted.

  "...and a headache. A normal headache. From the concussion, maybe."

  The neurologist nodded slowly. "I'm going to run a few tests: check your pupils, visual fields, cognitive function. We'll also do a toxicology screen just to rule out any substances."

  "I didn't take anything—"

  "It's standard procedure," the doctor said firmly. He pulled out a penlight. "Look straight ahead."

  I obeyed helplessly.

  The doctor shined the light in my eyes. "Pupils equal and reactive. That's good." He moved the light left, right, up, down. "Follow the light."

  I followed.

  The blue glow of the system interface stayed fixed in my vision, text hovering just above the doctor's head like some kind of augmented reality nightmare:

  Oh my god, it's narrating the exam.

  "Any double vision or blurred vision?" the doctor asked.

  "No."

  "Good." He stepped back, making notes. "The blue tint is unusual, but it could be a temporary neurological effect from the trauma. We'll monitor it. If it doesn't resolve in 24 hours, we'll do an MRI."

  He turned to Murin. "Keep an eye on him. If he starts acting confused, vomits, or the vision gets worse, call me immediately."

  "Got it," Murin said, his voice still strained from holding back laughter.

  The doctor looked back at me one more time, studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. I'll have the nurse draw blood for the tox screen. Rest for now."

  He left and closed the door behind him. Murin slowly turned to look at me. I groaned and covered my face with my hands. "Don't."

  "Were you really—"

  "NO."

  "Then why did you say—"

  "I DON'T KNOW, OKAY? My brain is broken. Leave me alone."

  Murin bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. "This is going in the group chat."

  "Murin, I swear —"

  "'Did you take Viagra?' 'NOT THAT KIND OF PERFORMANCE!'" Murin mimicked, grinning wide now.

  I groaned again and stared back at the ceiling, wishing the bed would just swallow me whole. The system text blinked.

  Oh, NOW you tell me. And was that last part necessary?

  I closed my eyes and sighed deeply. This was going to be a long recovery.