Alia looking stunning above.

ALIA

The clinic staffroom was a sanctuary amidst the chaos, a place where time seemed to slow down, if only for a moment. Alia Kohli found herself pressed between her colleagues, Hunter and Andrew– only one of whom she actually got along with. After five years of toiling in med school, two years of foundation training and another additional three years of specialty training to be a general practitioner, she had finally landed her dream job in a renowned private hospital. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of various cuisines, each dish telling a story of hurried mornings and last-minute meal preparations.

They gathered around the small well-worn table that had borne witness to countless meals and conversations just like this one to enjoy the brief interlude in their demanding day. Much like every other day, Andrew's contributions were limited to dismissive nods and the occasional weary smile as they shared stories from their morning. And as the conversation meandered from professional aspirations to the latest clinic gossip, he perked up in interest, always ready to meddle in other people's lives.

Widening his eyes in earnest, Hunter begged, "Come on, tell me at least one scandalous thing that happened at their wedding!"

He was, of course, referring to Chris and Kiara's wedding as Alia huffed, "You know I can't. It was lavish and beautiful and they are perfect together."

"Well, duh. Those two would make spectacular babies."

"Right?"

"Also, didn't they get married in an actual castle?," she nodded as he excitedly switched to a new topic; "Oh, did you run into Casanova at the wedding?"

"Who?"

"You know, the insanely attractive but stick-up-his-bum stranger that decided to be a jerk to me?"

She blushed, knowing exactly which insanely attractive stranger he was talking about but not wanting to address it, "Uh, no."

Embarrassingly, Alia's heart galloped unsteadily at the mere mention of Trevor as she tried to compose herself before Hunter caught a whiff of her lies. The man could be clueless but one thing he never failed at was reading her. Having been her closest ally all through med school, their foundation years, specialty training and now GP careers, saying he knew her well would be an understatement. Given that they both shared the same backgrounds as north Indians born and brought up in a foreign country, their parents had also grown to build a friendly relationship regardless of the distance.

He smirked, poking her cheek, "Why are you turning red then?"

Swatting his hand away, she rolled her eyes, "Because I remembered how your little face looked seconds away from bursting into tears at Trevor's behest. That's what I call a natural disaster."

"Trevor... so he's unforgettable, huh?"

"For all the wrong reasons."

"You lie."

"I truth!"

With his cashmere jumpers and slicked back hair, Andrew looked every bit like the pompous asshole he was as he snorted, "So do you get like a closet full of expensive clothes and fast cars for being Kiara Mathew's best friend?"

Blood boiling at the horrible insinuation, Hunter stepped in before she said something she regretted, "No, you poop. I know you probably haven't experienced much affection but that's just what best friends do."

Oh, had Alia forgotten to mention that her best friend was broken? Hunter had this stupid rule against swearing, which she would've been fine with if he hadn't found the most absurd words to replace them with. His personal favourite being various interpretations of faeces, ranging from 'diarrhoea poop' to 'doodoo head'.

Andrew leered at him, "What are you? Retarded?"

Not missing a beat, Hunter simply plastered on a condescending smile as quipped, "Bless your heart, Andy. You still haven't managed to master common decency."

Laughing at the expense of Andrew, the light-hearted banter went on for a few more minutes until their break had drawn to a close. Separating to their respective rooms, each doctor prepared for the battle ahead as droves of patients continued swarming into the clinic. Five more hours and they would be free to leave.

The golden hues of the setting sun filtered through the blinds, casting a warm serene glow across the cluttered office as Alia leaned back in her chair with a soft sigh of relief. The clock on the wall ticked steadily towards the close of another long day, a silent testament to the hours spent within these four walls. Her last patient had just left, their words of gratitude still lingering in the air as a gentle reminder of why she chose this path.

Desk a chaotic symphony of medical journals, patient files and coffee mugs, each item was a note in the melody of a day in the life of a GP doctor. It had taken Alia twelve gruelling years to reach here but she was only just starting to get into the groove of her daily routine. She glanced at the reminder notifications for documentation still awaiting her attention, the inevitable end-of-day ritual that stood between her and the promise of a quiet evening snuggled in bed. With a determined breath, she straightened her spine and began to organize the files, methodically processing each one with practiced efficiency.

The office, usually buzzing with the energy of back-to-back appointments, now settled into a tranquil silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of paper or the soft click of the computer mouse. Alia found comfort in this silence, a rare moment of solitude in the otherwise hectic pace of her profession. As she worked, her mind wandered to the diverse array of patients she had encountered throughout the day– a young boy with a sprained ankle, an elderly woman managing her diabetes, a stressed college student needing mental health support. Each story was a thread in the intricate tapestry of her career, a career devoted to healing and support.

As the last rays of sunlight faded, replaced by the artificial glow of overhead lights, Alia submitted the final notation with a sense of accomplishment. She powered down her computer, the screen's light dimming as if in acknowledgement of the day's end, and stood up to stretch her arms overhead, feeling the satisfying release of tension. A quick glance around the office confirmed that everything was in order, ready for the challenges of tomorrow. She grabbed her coat and bag, flicking off the lights as she exited, the click of the door lock echoing a final note of closure.

Outside, the world had transitioned into the peaceful embrace of evening. Alia took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs with a rejuvenating energy. As she walked towards her car, her thoughts drifted to the simple pleasures awaiting her at home– a warm meal and the promise of rest. Today, like every day, had been a testament to her dedication and compassion as a physician. And tomorrow, she would return, ready to face whatever challenges came her way, guided by the unwavering commitment to care for her community. For now, though, she allowed herself to embrace the quiet satisfaction of a day well spent, the journey home a gentle transition from the world of her patients to the sanctuary of her personal life.

The studio's mirrored walls stretched endlessly, reflecting a world of relentless ambition. Here, amidst the polished wooden floors and the faint scent of resin, both sanctuary and refuge merged. The evening moonlight peeked through the tall windows, casting a silver glow as shadows danced with the rhythm of the day. Alia stepped into this realm, where time bent to the will of music and movement, as she begun her the ritual of stretching. Body unfurling like an angel trumpet in the shade of the evening moonlight, her muscles whispered tales of the today's toils and tomorrow's promises. The sound of the slumbering city hummed a gentle backdrop to the symphony of her movements. Her reflection stared back at her, a constant companion and critic, eyes filled with the same fiery passion that fuelled her soul.

The music started, a familiar melody that wrapped around Alia like a lover's embrace. Her feet moved instinctively, tracing patterns on the floor that she had walked a thousand times before. Yet, each step felt like a discovery, a new verse in the poem of her life. The world outside faded away, leaving only the beat, rhythm and echo of her heartbeat in this sacred space. With every turn, leap and extension, she shed layers of doubt, fear, and hesitation.

The dance was a conversation, a give and take between Alia and the music. It was a journey of transformation where every movement was a word, every sequence a sentence and every performance a story told using her body as the pen. As the music built, so did the intensity of her dance. Her body moved with a mind of its own, a vessel channelling emotions too vast for words. Joy, sorrow, love and loss all found expression in the fluidity of her limbs, the arch of her back and the expressiveness of her hands. This dance was her voice.

But as the final notes lingered in the air, a bittersweet feeling enveloped Alia. In these moments of pure expression, she found herself alone with her art, a solitary figure in the mirror's embrace, forever chasing the elusive perfection that danced just beyond reach.

As Alia cooled down, stretching her weary limbs and allowing her breath to slow, she reflected on the day. The studio, once again, became just a room with mirrors but she was transformed. She weaved another thread into the tapestry of her life with each dance, one that was uniquely hers as a story told in the language of movement. A breeze blew through the doorway, casting a chill across the quiet studio as she gathered her belongings. The hairs on the back of her neck stood and she could've sworn it felt as if someone was watching her. Stepping out into the silent city, she blended with the night and walked down the lonely streets to the warm comfort of her apartment.

Curled up on the sofa, lost in the fantastical world of overly attractive teenage vampires and werewolves, Alia hummed softly in delight as she took her first bite of dinner. She cherished these moments of solitude, a rare commodity growing up in a house where privacy was as elusive as silence. Suddenly the phone that lay forgotten amidst a pile of cushions shattered the tranquillity with its insistent screeching. She glanced at the screen, her heart sinking a notch as she recognized the familiar name flashing across– Mumma. With a resigned sigh, she set her plate aside and turned off the TV, bracing herself for the conversation ahead.

Voice laced with cautious warmth, she greeted, "Hello!"

Her mother's voice filtered through, tinged with a mix of concern and reproach, "Aloo, it's been so long since we've heard from you! Nowadays you never have time to call."

Grimacing at the mocking nickname, Alia massaged her forehead as the makings of a migraine crept up on her. Aloo, directly translated to 'potato' in Hindi, was the name her parents had chosen to 'affectionately' indirectly tease her about her weight. Like most normal children, she had never seen an issue with her own appearance but this changed very quickly as the years went on. She had mistakenly assumed it was safe to hungrily scarf down aloo parathas* in the presence of her parents. Wrong. That one action fuelled the next two decades of diet plans and weight loss interventions. There were times she sat on the bathroom floor crying because that was the only time she could lock her doors, the only time she was permitted any privacy.

Trying to infuse her tone with reassurance, she sighed, "Maa, I called you the day before."

Words tumbling out in a familiar cascade of worry and unsolicited advice, her mother droned, "Yeah, yeah, but how have you been eating? Weight still okay? Papa said he can call you in the mornings if you need someone to wake you up for a run."

Alia could almost see her father in the background, nodding along, ready to chime in with his own brand of concern. The conversation unfolded as it always did, a well-rehearsed play where her assurances were met with more questions, more advice and the ever-present shadow of their worry. It was a dance of love and concern but one that left little room for her to lead.

She tried to interject, her voice a blend of patience and hesitant resolve, "No, it's okay. I've been eating healthy and running an hour every morning. I'm doing that yoga workout you sent me every evening too."

When that wasn't satisfying enough, her mother continued to pry, "What about your studies?"

As the call dragged on, Alia found herself navigating the delicate balance between gratitude for their love and the desire for independence. She offered them carefully curated snippets of her lift to ease their worries without inviting further scrutiny. Eventually the conversation wound down, ending with a series of reluctant goodbyes and promises to call more often as she hung up the phone. A relieved huff escaped her lips as the silence of her apartment wrapped around her once more. The call had been a reminder of the tightrope she walked and yet in the quiet aftermath, she found a renewed sense of determination to carve out her own path, bolstered by the knowledge that despite everything, their intentions were rooted in love.

With a soft smile, Alia returned to her TV series, immersing herself once again in forty minutes of pure entertainment as she stuffed her face. And in that moment, she was content, the stressful phone call a mere memory forgotten in the back of her mind.

*Aloo paratha: north Indian dish of wholewheat flatbreads stuffed with a spiced potato filling 

Absolutely adore Alia so I hope you guys feel the same about her!