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Chapter 75 - Hello, New York

The air was different in New York.

Faster. Louder. Sharper. It wrapped itself around Charlotte the second she stepped off the train at Penn Station, swallowing her in the hum of conversation, honking taxis, and rolling luggage wheels that never stopped moving.

"This is it," she whispered, gripping the handle of her suitcase a little tighter. "No turning back now."

Her apartment was smaller than she imagined. A glorified shoebox with a window that overlooked a brick wall and a heater that sounded like it was always on the verge of exploding. But it was hers. All hers.

She stood in the middle of the room, dropped her suitcase, and took a deep breath.

"Okay, New York. Let's do this."

Orientation week at Manhattan Medical Center was a blur. Polished hallways, endless clipboards, and names she couldn't remember yet. Everyone seemed to walk like they were late for something—even when they weren't.

Charlotte quickly realized she was no longer the smartest in the room.

She sat through case reviews where people threw around terms she barely understood. The other interns introduced themselves with confidence and credentials that made her jaw drop.

A girl named Priya had already shadowed a world-class neurosurgeon. Ben, from Chicago, had published in a journal at twenty-one. And then there was Charlotte—freshly graduated, heart still sore from goodbyes, and trying not to drown in imposter syndrome.

But she didn't crumble.

Instead, she kept a journal. At the end of each night, she wrote:

Day One: I'm here. I didn't run. That counts.

Day Two: Learned something new. Still alive. Progress.

Day Three: My attending smiled at me. I think it was a smile. Might've been a twitch. Counting it anyway.

Her confidence wasn't instant. It was a slow, quiet thing. The kind that brewed under the surface like tea steeping in hot water.

What surprised her most was how quickly her past came back to help her.

She noticed a nervous patient flinch before getting their blood drawn and instinctively started humming, the same way Sophie once had to calm her down. The patient smiled.

She recognized a fellow intern sitting alone at lunch and sat next to them without thinking, remembering all those times she sat in a cafeteria corner, praying to disappear.

She answered a difficult question during rounds with a shaky voice—but she got it right.

The attending looked at her. "Good work, Miss Samson."

She nearly cried.

Back in her apartment, she kept in touch with Sophie and James regularly. They had a group chat titled The Unforgettables—Sophie's idea, obviously. James had taken to sending her motivational quotes every morning, some sincere, some ridiculous.

"Today's wisdom from James: 'Confidence is not walking into a room thinking you're better than everyone. It's walking in not having to compare yourself at all.' Also, drink water."

"Update: I burned my eggs. Sophie is judging me from across the table."

Charlotte laughed aloud, reading his texts after a long day. The ache of missing them was always there—but so was the joy of knowing they were just a message away.

One night, she FaceTimed Sophie just to vent.

"I feel like a fraud," Charlotte muttered, lying on her narrow bed. "Everyone's so accomplished. I don't belong here."

Sophie tilted her head and stared at her through the screen. "That's nonsense."

"I'm serious."

"Then let me remind you. You belong here more than anyone, Charlotte. You didn't get here by luck. You fought tooth and nail to be where you are. And you're still rising."

Charlotte smiled faintly. "I wish you were here."

"You don't need me to hold your hand anymore. But I'm always in your corner."

After they hung up, Charlotte stared at her ceiling and whispered to the shadows:

"I can do this. I will do this."

Her first patient alone came at the end of week two—a small, frail woman named Mrs. Feldman who had no family to visit her and spoke in half-whispers. Charlotte sat by her bed longer than she had to, listening to her talk about her late husband, her garden, and her secret love for crossword puzzles.

When she brought her a book of puzzles the next day, the woman's eyes welled with tears.

"You remind me of my daughter," she said softly.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Charlotte replied, squeezing her hand.

As she walked back down the hall, her ID badge swinging from her coat pocket, Charlotte allowed herself a smile.

She was no longer invisible.

She was seen.

She was becoming unforgettable.

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