Chapter Text
“New Amsterdam inspired medical progress… access to those who couldn’t find help anywhere else.”
Leyla drew a breath, inaudible through the door, but Lauren knew it was there.
“When I first came into this hospital, I was a doctor who had come to the United States, chasing a promise that this country wears like a badge of honor. Come to find out, that badge hid a complex system designed to keep people like me on the street. So much so, that I was asked to start over because of nationalist policies.
“Every country has its own standards to practice medicine. That’s understandable. But to insist foreign trained doctors rewind careers because they gained skills in environments that don’t share the same DNA as the American medical system rails against the promise you make to all those seeking freedoms and better lives. Washington, New York, and soon, California, recognize this.”
Her tone was obscured by purpose, paced, and polished. But earnest. Always earnest. It struck a balance that would inspire discomfort, and Lauren smirked because she knew Leyla wanted it that way.
“These three states have created waivers or expedited residency programs for foreign-trained doctors. But New Amsterdam, the inspiration for medical progress across the United States, has done little to show these programs work, or that they are worth replicating. The last time this hospital accepted a foreign-trained doctor as a resident was in 2003. Since adopting Washington’s models in 2024, New Amsterdam has taken 0 steps to recruit foreign-trained doctors pursuing US certifications, to implement an expedited residency program in-house, and hired only one doctor who went through Washington’s system. Me.
“I applied to be a resident here in 2021. At the time, I told myself it was a long shot because I knew Khyber Medical University would struggle to compete with some of the best medical schools in the world, many of which are here. But I had years of experience, high-pressure, technically challenging, skill-cultivating experience that even the top graduates did not have. The Dean of Residents, who is no longer with New Amsterdam, apparently made a note in my application. ‘Foreign. No.’ That note was found in 17 applications.
“Our current medical director understands prejudice. He confided his experiences in me. He shared the investigations he’s made into this hospital’s exclusionary actions. He’s creating this Equity Board because he knows what it’s like to be literally written off because of color, background… who you are. He’s been persistent about my participation. And he’s been patient and compassionate because my journey as an immigrant has not been simple. Whenever I’ve thought about having a conversation about this, life has gotten in my way.
“Until a month ago.
“A month ago, I settled my mom into my old apartment after months of fighting for her immigration, grieving the loss of my father, missing my job and the patients I’d worked so hard to be there for. Missing the woman I loved. I settled her in. I unpacked my Nani’s bangles, which had been through wars and across borders. And I looked around the dinner table at my mom, my partner, and her sister. Everything was settled.
“I want to rest - I do. But I can’t disrespect the opportunities I’ve been given and the responsibility I believe everyone has to pass on those chances. So, with approval from the board, I’m offering to head an initiative with a charge to create five expedited residency slots for foreign-trained doctors in 2026. New Amsterdam needs to continue to inspire progress.
“We need to be a place where people can go from surviving to settling in.”
Hand on the doorknob and ear pressed to the thick oak that kept her out of the boardroom, Lauren listened intently as Leyla’s voice came to a confident close. She had every impulse to bust in and pull her into a kiss. This was a practice run, but it was perfect, and quiet awe was all that held Lauren steady, smiling down at her still feet.
“How was that?” Leyla asked, sounding almost out of breath, “Was the pacing okay?”
“Great, actually,” Ben’s voice came out of the silence, “You’re a fantastic speaker and a pleasure to interpret. And really thoughtful for suggesting a run-through. I’m quick on my feet, but it’s nice to come prepared… even if Dr. Wilder’s read all your notes.”
“Don’t give me credit for that. I’m just taking Elizabeth’s advice,” Leyla had begun shuffling through some papers, drawing Lauren closer to the door, desperate to go in but not wanting to interrupt.
She’d spent the last month watching Leyla’s gears turn faster and faster as she gradually moved things from the apartment she’d surrendered to her mom. When she wasn’t working, Leyla was stooped, crowded by boxes, over her computer. Or they were all gathered at Beth’s, which had a bit more elbow room, sharing their experiences in program planning and pitching inclusive ideas to stubborn board members. It felt similar to the coup to overthrow Fuentes. A weird college cram for finals.
“Karen gave me some questions the board might ask, if you want to go over those?”
There was a pause in the room. Lauren wondered if Ben thought this was unnecessary since Leyla was a patient and steady speaker. She’d seen him keep up with one of Max’s addresses on the move, walking backward so Beth could see his interpretations. Leyla was calm and prepared, but Ben was uncommonly kind. He probably got that this wasn’t just about giving him a run-through.
This was Leyla’s first major presentation to the board, a board made up of some progressive advocates, but enough wealthy racists to make this initiative controversial.
“Um, I think we have time, so shoot,” Ben was smiling - Lauren could hear in a tone that walked on the curb between colleague and friend. And as Leyla rounded into another part of the prep, Lauren dropped her hand from the doorknob, intent on giving her space to finish what she was doing.
“Mm, chōṭā rukha, you look so nosey right now.”
Lauren lifted her head from the door and glanced back, even though she was certain who was talking to her, and found Raim standing there with her hands in her pockets. She was just shaking her head in playful judgment, warmly standing out in the gray, harshly-lit hall.
Blinking wearily, Lauren placed her slowly, having never seen Raim at the Dam before.
“Hey,” Lauren muttered with a soft smile, “My shift is over, so I thought I’d come listen.”
Raim tilted her head in a tender curiosity, a mannerism she’d passed to Leyla.
“How many times have you listened to her practice for this?” the question was purely asked, a slightly awestruck twinkle in Raim’s eye as she studied Lauren. It felt fair, like even as Leyla’s mom who adored her, she didn’t expect anyone to be quite this supportive. Raim knew that ever since Floyd approached Leyla with this idea - yet again - Lauren had been an unwavering sounding board.
It didn’t feel unusual to Lauren. It was the kind of partner she wanted to be.
“I guess it just doesn’t get old,” Lauren shrugged, “Knowing she’s going to change things… seeing her do it. She’s amazing.”
Lauren expected a little smug smirk in return for what she just said, a mother’s confidence that her daughter was clearly amazing and this was no revelation. But instead, Raim just looked incredibly humbled, dark amber eyes engulfing the notion set in front of her like a contented flame. And she just nodded.
Drawing a hand from her pocket, Raim pinched her bottom lip between her pointer and her thumb, blinking and clearing her throat. It seemed the equivalent of Lauren pinching the hem of a shirt or coat. A processing tick for when emotions came barrelling into the room unexpectedly.
Two people making the most of their second chances.
“Raim?”
“Hm?” she took a steadying breath and gradually regained her trademark composer, but Lauren had seen something she’d only heard about through Leyla.
She stepped forward without another word and offered Raim a hug.
Raim didn’t react right away, but swayed back a little in reception. Lauren didn’t blame her pause on anything but quiet surprise.
“You’re the reason she has the mindset to do this,” Lauren whispered. She hoped it made sense. Raim hadn’t been there when Floyd asked Leyla to do this before. She wasn’t there the night of the gala. Leyla hadn’t been ready. In fact, she had been a little annoyed that Floyd wanted her to fix a system that had screwed her over, and uncomfortable with the prospect of being the face of something. She didn’t like to stand in front of others, she didn’t like to be the focus of others’ judgments, even if the judgment wasn’t of her directly.
Some things would always follow her, and Lauren had to temper her annoyance with Floyd last night when she rolled over to find Leyla staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.
“Hey,” Lauren whispered, reaching out in the dark to take Leyla’s hand.
Leyla mustered a quick smile in the shadows.
“No one’s going to force you to take this on,” Lauren had said this before, weeks ago when Floyd had approached her about the idea yet again. To be fair to him, though, he had waited a few months after Leyla got back. But still, she didn’t want Leyla to feel like she owed him this initiative because he gave her a job or something.
“I think my mom made it very clear to everyone that no one can force me to do anything,” the pillows rustled as Leyla turned to look at Lauren, and for the first time since it happened, Lauren didn’t cringe to remember the dinner.
“To be fair, Floyd wasn’t there,” she teased, “He might still be a little confused.”
“Mm,” the faded Christmas lights from the community garden floated up and caught the gleam in Leyla’s eyes, “I guess we’ll have to have another family dinner, then.”
Lauren felt the laugh long before it was heard, like a wave starting far out in the ocean, and it came in a burst, echoing around the small room. She rolled into her pillow to muffle the sound in the interest of avoiding complaints from her next-door neighbor as Leyla chuckled in a soft return.
Stomach aching with amusement, Lauren eased into a contented smile, turning to find Leyla staring at her over the rolls and folds of cotton threads and feathers. She felt mirrored by the expression she was met with.
Sheets rustled with steadying breaths.
Tired traffic blew its horns into the night.
The ceiling creaked with the footsteps of the upstairs neighbors. Apparently, Lauren’s attempts to quiet herself didn’t work as well as she’d hoped. Ted would glare at her the next time they passed each other in the hall.
“Despite Floyd’s - enthusiasm …” Leyla began slowly, breaking the soft pattern of a night’s soundtrack with something beautiful, “I don’t feel forced, or even mildly inconvenienced. I feel… ready. What’s the point of fighting so hard to get somewhere if you’re not willing to turn around and put your hand out for the next person?”
Lauren lifted her head with each word she listened to until her view was unobscured.
Just Leyla.
“What?” Leyla’s stare swept over Lauren’s face as if she hadn’t looked at her like this a million times before.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Lauren whispered, lips resting against Leyla’s.
A knowing smile met her, a soft but unrelenting confidence there. They could question themselves in front of everyone - in every arena - but not here. Not with each other, where belief was unconditional and persistent.
“Yes ma’am,” Leyla’s words were lost in their smiles and kisses, drifting behind the patterned soundtrack of the evening with the stresses and burdens of tomorrow.
Raim’s dark eyes darted about Lauren’s face, kind but fiercely calculative, as scrubs blurred by behind her.
“It wasn’t doing, but thank you,” she lifted her hand and brushed Lauren’s cheek in passing, “She’s always been this woman, just… strengthened by adversity and an unapologetic will to love.”
As the last word trailed off on the coattails of a prideful sigh, Raim swung her purse around, and the flex of her eyebrow stirred something youthful and flustered in the pit of Lauren’s stomach.
“Which brings me here, after trekking you down,” she huffed, “You’re not very easy to find in here, and your security is not very good. You would think they would do a better job after one of their chiefs hid a woman in the supply closet for weeks… undetected.”
Lauren took part in Raim’s stern amusement, chest warming to the subdued tick at the corners of the mother’s lips. Karen had given her that exact look years ago when she caught Lauren in an absurd truth and Leyla in a heartfelt lie. Neither of them had faced any repercussions. Maybe this generation just shared in omnipotent genius.
“I started thinking about Vanessa’s invitation tonight,” the pause, as Raim took out a postcard and displayed it for Lauren, sent thistles rolling up the back of her neck, “It felt so formal for our Saturday night dinners. And I noticed it’s at a very nice restaurant in Midtown. Yelp says they have excellent Pakora. We’ll see. But I started to get the feeling that we might be celebrating something, or that maybe someone’s being incredibly sweet by trying to host a traditional magni.”
“I-”
“Or this is just to celebrate Leyla’s new program. But that felt strange, because she hasn’t even presented it to the board yet. They could vote it down. Are you all that confident?”
Lauren blinked, forcing herself to swallow as Raim continued hypothesizing.
She was musing.
She was grinning.
And Lauren couldn’t seem to get an audible interruption off her tongue, so she plucked a pen from her scrubs and snatched the invitation from Raim’s fingertips. Pressing it to the wall, Lauren scribbled an image seared into her brain during a plane ride, a set of six boxes, filled in just as they had left them - rings and trees carefully placed until a single move remained.
As Lauren withdrew her pen, a box left blank, Raim fell into a contented silence.
“My next move is in my bag,” Lauren offered quietly, passing back the postcard, one play still left, “It’s not…I hope it’s…” She sighed in wistful amusement, seeing Leyla’s eyes in her mind, how they met in their reflections “...It’s subtle.”
Raim took the card between her fingers delicately. She nodded, seemingly to herself.
“Hm,” her smile softened from a musing grin to something obscure and wistful, “Is it?”
Lauren’s chest twisted, immobilizing her heart as Raim tucked the invitation away and stared at her. She saw the things Leyla had told her about in that stare. They were eyes that held the scorched earth with nurturing affections that inspired saplings of beauty. It was the unrelenting, unconditional love that persisted through the most hostile seasons.
“Magnis are… an event, almost a display,” Raim explained, “So many traditions like to make such spectacles out of these moments. We cling to them because in these big steps, traditions offer some sense of certainty. But… there are times when certainty is the facade to obligation. You and Leyla… you have true certainty. It’s quiet and beautiful. You don’t need to be subtle. I will never tell you or Leyla to be as such. But I saw in that smile just then - I see it every day - you two blossom in the hushed comfort of each other.”
Raim took up Lauren’s chin, and Lauren settled into her palm as her heart fell back into a familiar, comforting rhythm.
“This moment doesn’t need a tradition’s reassurance. It belongs to you and Leyla. The only thing you need us for is to celebrate with you after,” Raim’s prideful gleam had returned, shimmering beneath what Lauren could have sworn were tears as she turned away, “If that’s what you want, we’ll be at a restaurant… seeing how good their pakora really is.”
The knot in Lauren’s chest unfurled as Raim let a few tears go. They rolled down her cheeks with a sense of dignified obedience.
As she strode away, wisdom lovingly doled, Lauren dropped her stare from Raim’s squared shoulders. She grinned at the pen in her hand and peeled off to the locker room.
Her heart should not have been so steady.
Her hands should not have been so still.
But as she finished changing… as she tucked a gray velvet box into her pocket - the box that wasn’t empty, she just felt the unfettered confidence of everyone around her. It was always there because this was no surprise. The moment Lauren gathered a handful of withered leaves off the floor of her living room, the promise was made.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” Lauren called, stale hospital air nudging her into the crisp evening where Leyla waited.
Lauren found herself just as awestruck to see Leyla, standing amongst the holiday-lit trees, staring upward like she was wondering when snow would fall.
The last few years, the last few months, had changed Leyla in such fine ways, ways Lauren considered herself uncommonly grateful to witness. Sure, there were the subtle lines and quiet streaks of gray. They all had those. But there was also her , standing alone, distractedly looking up at the sky, enjoying the cold of November.
Lauren approached slowly, glancing up she guessed because she didn’t want to miss the way Leyla saw things.
“How are you feeling about it?” Lauren asked - an honest question that didn’t prompt her to reveal how she had eavesdropped. But glanced sideways, knowing.
“Ready,” she said with a breath.
And Lauren believed her. How could she not?
“So…?” Leyla dropped her attention from the sky, and Lauren felt pleasantly captured in her gaze. She felt eagerly awaited.
“So?”
“You said you have plans?” there was a lilt in her voice, something knowing and almost amused like she didn’t quite believe such plans existed. Maybe this was all a ruse just to be alone. Lauren couldn’t put something like that past herself.
Lauren swallowed and broke eye contact necessarily.
“Don’t get too excited,” she muttered.
Leyla didn’t say anything, wearing a quiet smile as she stepped forward and wrapped herself around Lauren’s arm. Lauren closed her eyes, leaning into the soft kiss Leyla placed at her temple as her hands smoothed down Lauren’s arm. That subtle, seemingly absentminded touch, through layers of gloves and coats and sweaters, sent shock waves up Lauren’s arm and into her chest. She was touching her. She was really there. It almost seemed silly that something so common felt brilliantly new to Lauren.
“But your plans are exciting,” Leyla grinned against Lauren’s cheek.
Pulling back, Lauren studied that smirk and narrowed her stare, seeking out that trait she so clearly shared with Raim.
She knew. Whether she knew there was a ring crafted especially for her now nestled in Lauren’s coat pocket, or just knew that Lauren snapped like a twig last week when she watched Leyla sit with a highlighter in her mouth, palms offered up like canvases as Raim taught Nessa basic mehndi, Lauren couldn’t tell. But it didn’t matter. This couldn’t be a surprise, and after all the time, patience, work, it shouldn’t have been.
Leyla deserved certainty… promises that followed through. So did Lauren.
“What?” Leyla’s voice slipped through the fog, bringing Lauren back to realize she was tottering on the curb’s edge, hand up for a cab.
“Nothing, I just-” Lauren’s feet wove as Leyla leaned into her wearily, “I was just thinking about something Mātā jī Raim said.”
“Hm,” Leyla chuckled beneath her breath, “I was just thinking about something Vanessa said.”
Lauren cast Leyla a dubious stare, wanting to ask, but she didn’t. There were a hundred beautiful circles where they all orbited around each other now, and at some point - someday - maybe they’d each share what was said. But for now, it was them.
Just them.
As the cab pulled up, sloshing hastily through that afternoon’s rain congealed by the brisk winter air, Lauren wove her fingers with Leyla’s. She warmed them in her lap, settling in against the warm leather seat and offering the driver the address of a very nice restaurant in Midtown, hoping Leyla wouldn’t notice how her fingers flexed when the driver asked what the occasion was.
If she did, she pretended not to.
“That’s a very nice place,” the driver nodded, keeping up a conversation with himself when Lauren didn’t answer, “You should try the pakora there. Very good.”
The two women scoffed in secret to each other, perhaps both seeing Raim’s skepticism in their minds.
“We will,” Leyla offered politely. This made the driver smile.
Seeming to accept their quiet, the driver toggled with the radio volume as he nudged his way into traffic, and something easy began to play.
Leyla ducked her head into the crook of Lauren’s neck and warmed her, the soft scents of shampoo pressed against Lauren’s cheek. She must’ve dealt with an invasive procedure today, unable to let the stench of the OR cling to her - not even to wait for the comfort of her own shower. Either that, or she knew.
She knew that the plan was more than just family dinner, or even stopping for pizza on the home.
But she didn’t say anything as the cab rolled away from their streets, holiday lights strung up in trees and windows flickering passed Lauren’s peripherals. She turned Leyla’s hand over in her own and smiled at faded henna, tracing her thumb over Nessa’s abstract work.
“It was nice to see her do something artistic,” Leyla murmured over the low hum of the radio, “I know she’s had trouble finding her style after the accident.”
Lauren lifted her cheek from Leyla’s head, watching her unfurl her left hand and hold her palms open like a book. The pages told very different stories… one free and wild, and the other - Raim’s pattern - a meticulous trellis from Leyla’s wrist to her fingertips.
She was smiling at them both as if the mismatched prints had been exactly what she asked for.
Without a second thought, Midtown’s glow getting lost in a blur as they crept closer to the restaurant, Lauren pulled Leyla’s hands to her lips.
“Leyla?” she muttered in the patterned palm.
Leyla quirked her head curiously as she met Lauren’s stare, and there was such tenderness, even in the shadows and red light from the meter and neighboring cars, it made it harder to make sense.
“I didn’t know how to do any of this. Honestly, I didn’t think I would ever have to - want to. But loving you… I just feel like that deserved some big, amazing moment. Because you’re this amazing person who deserves a million moments that remind you how true that is. I just thought I should try to do something that represents all of this… how much I’ve always loved you and always will… but that’s so stupid because that’s what the rest of my life is for. Three boring dishes, homemade cards, and abstract traditions.”
“Abstract traditions,” Leyla repeated under her breath.
As the cab eased to a standstill in front of the restaurant, the driver paused the meter and said nothing, grinning patiently as he plucked a pack of cigarettes from the middle console. He slid out and leaned with his back against the door, taking his time on a drag.
Beyond him, the restaurant windows glowed and hummed, the tight space packed with familiar faces. Lauren scanned the shapes, the crutch dangling from her sister’s arm and the lanky figure wrapping his arm around her. His animated signs bounced off of his sister’s, and Beth ducked with laughter as Roxana’s broad shoulders shook with amusement.
Lauren leaned towards the window as she caught sight of the bundled braids beside Raim, and the pocketed-hand slouch of a boyish, blue-eyed doctor.
So much love.
“ Sudara… ” a tender two-handed grasp closed around Lauren’s wrist, a loving plea for steadiness and focus. And as Lauren turned back to find Leyla staring at her with patient amusement and pure admiration her eyes lost clarity beneath sudden tears.
Lauren took a slow breath as Leyla pulled her close, reaching into her pocket for the ring - a smooth band of white gold that hugged an inlay of wood stripped delicately from a now eleven-foot tree. The ring Leyla would tie to the drawstrings of her scrubs as she led surgeries and taught residents seeking a fair shot. The ring she’d run her thumb over absentmindedly while she read on the couch, or did paperwork in her office, because it was a touch when Lauren wasn’t right there to touch her.
“Everything is right,” Leyla whispered, resting her forehead against Lauren’s, “Vanessa, my mom, our jobs, our home… us… We’re here. This is an amazing moment.”
“So marry me,” the words slipped out with quiet, loving intention as Lauren followed Leyla’s pattern of everything that was right.
Lauren watched Leyla’s mouth flicker with a smile as a tear skirted the corner of her lips. With a sigh, she ran her hands from Lauren’s wrists up her arms and warmed Lauren to her core. And as Lauren lifted her stare, she found herself caught in a demure expression.
“Are you asking me to be your wife?” Leyla asked.
She’d take it. Lauren saw the willed consideration in her onyx eyes and flexed brow as she patiently fidgeted with the final move. Leyla didn’t care about the ring, the same way she hadn’t cared about the ice. She cared about what they wanted, what they imagined for themselves and each other. Lauren saw the yes perched on her lips, the same way she’d seen the kiss perched there years ago in the kitchen.
“Yes,” Lauren whispered, the words leaving her lips in confident simplicity as she blinked away tears, desperate to keep the woman she loved in focus.
Leyla knitted her brow amidst a stifled giggle and assured nod.
Lauren dipped into the gentle sweep of Leyla’s thumb as it brushed her cheek dry and warm, her voice coming like velvet through the sharp November air.
“Yes,” Leyla said, the answer grazing the surface of a kiss, “I will.”
Lauren began to finagle with the ring box, and Leyla’s embrace followed close behind before gently letting her fuss and care. Holding her hand, Lauren’s chest ached with the air around her, so real and intoxicating, she couldn’t breathe enough of it at once as she gave Leyla the ring.
Yes. It was subtle. And it was certain.
She smiled at how the wood, carved gently from their tree and crafted lovingly by an artist, hugged Leyla’s finger. It’d be expansive by the end, winding itself deep into their hearts, reaching out to cradle flower beds of families and fights, triumphs and tears. But for now, in a little ring and a certain, quiet moment, a giant eight-foot tree finally had its chance to start small.