1. Strike A Match

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I curse my hands for slightly trembling as I run them over the skirt of my knee length maroon dress with chiffon sleeves, smoothing it out. I'm going to be a neurosurgeon for crying out loud, I can't have my silly little nerves affect me this much.

But today is a big day, I remind myself. A life changing day.

I huff out an impatient, anxious sigh, assessing and knit picking my reflection in the mirror, noting the changes my body has gone through these last four years. My face seems more defined, despite the fourteen pounds I've gained since undergrad. My natural golden skin has only gotten a half a shade darker, despite living in the California sunshine. But I guess that's my fault, I spent too much time inside studying instead of soaking up some rays. Lastly, I note how much older I look. Most likely due to stress, but I don't exactly look like my 80 year old grandmother just yet. I at least pull it off, looking more mature and wiser. At least that's what I tell myself.

But there's something off...

I stare long and hard at my reflection before looking around the bathroom counter, finding nothing that sparks my intuition. Opening up the medicine cabinet, the first thing I spot is my contact lens case and solution, and it all clicks. I take the small case out of the cabinet and set it on the counter before walking into my bedroom to grab my signature thick rimmed glasses off the night stand. I carry them back to the bathroom and wash my hands before removing my contact lenses, putting on my glasses instead.

There.

Now I feel more like me.

Ever since the second grade, I've had to wear glasses—since my eyesight is pure and utter crap. I've been wearing glasses all my life because contacts always sort of freaked me out, but I had to suck it up once I reached medical school. Once I hit rotations in the operating room, that sometimes lasted hours on end, I decided to ditch my glasses for contacts because my glasses would sometimes start to slip off my nose or they'd frequently fog up with the mask, no matter how hard I tried. Though I despise contacts, they have made working in the OR easier. 

Plus, wearing contacts sort of makes me feel like Superman. By day, in contacts, I'm in the OR helping save lives, while at night, and on my rare days off, I'm like seemingly mere mortal Clark Kent in my beloved thick rimmed glasses.

Running my fingers through my dark shoulder length curls one last time, I can't help but smile at my reflection in the mirror. Smile at the brilliant and resilient woman staring back at me. I've worked my ass off my whole academic career, all the way from kindergarten to med school, to get to this moment. And I'll be damned if it doesn't go how I always dreamed it would.

A soft rap on the bathroom doorframe tears me away from my thoughts, and I turn to see my momma standing in the doorway. She's also dressed up for the occasion, wearing a forest green dress with quarter length sleeves that complements her warm, golden skin tone. She gives me a soft, meaningful smile, already knowing I'm freaking out in my head. "Ready?"

I let out a shaky breath, flashing her a weary smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."

She extends her hand out to me and I instinctively place my hand in hers, savoring her touch and physical comfort.

Since moving away to college for both undergrad and medical school, I haven't been able to see my family much. Especially when I moved all the way to the west coast for med school. At least in undergrad I was only a five hour drive away from home—four and a half if I sped—so I could go back home every once in a while. But med school only allowed me to go back home and visit my family on major holidays. So to say I've missed my momma would be a huge understatement. And I'm super grateful her and my daddy were both able to fly out to be with me on my special day. Not that they'd ever miss it for the world.

She pulls me close, grabbing hold of my other hand and squeezing it. "Delilah Kareena Harper, I am so proud of you," she states, her voice soft but so strong and proud, pricking tears in my eyes. "You've become the woman you always dreamed of, and no matter what happens today, no matter where you end up, you're going to be the best neurosurgeon the world has to offer."

I try my best to swallow past the lump in my throat, but my voice still comes out strained. "Thanks, momma."

She gives me a tight smile, and I can tell she's trying to hold back tears of her own. "I want to give you something," she whispers, letting go of my hands. She reaches for the small, dainty gold ring on her right hand, sliding it off.

My throat grows uncomfortably tight. "Momma, n—"

"Shhh," she hushes me, already knowing I'm going to object. "I want you to have it," she insists, grabbing my right hand and sliding the little gold band with a tiny ruby in the center on my ring finger.

I admire the ring before twisting it around my finger with uncertainty. My daddy gave this ring to my momma years ago when they first started dating. He bought it for her on their third date at a small stand at a market where they first met in India. She's originally from India while my dad is from the states. He was studying abroad in India and claims it was love at first sight when he found my momma—even though she rejected him multiple times before he broke her down and actually scored a date with her.

It's a long running joke that my momma rejected my daddy so many times because she thought he was just some horny American college boy trying to find a fling to keep him occupied for the semester. Little did she know he was actually head over heels for her and he'd eventually worm his way into her heart with his undeniable charm and wit (his words) and she'd eventually end up marrying the weirdo and moving with him to a whole new country to start a family.

While the ring is simple, it's beyond beautiful and makes me think of my parents perfectly imperfect and humorous love story. My momma used to catch me sneaking into her jewelry box all the time as a kid to admire the ring, and I'd make her tell me her and daddy's love story every time. She had always promised to give me the ring when I was older, I just didn't think today would be the day.

"Momma," I say, and she gives me a warning look, daring me to protest. "Thank you."

She kisses my cheek before grabbing my hand to lead me out into my tiny apartment living room where my daddy is sitting on the couch, pretending not to be wringing his hands in anticipation. Once we have everything, we run down stairs to the parking garage and jump in my car.

*

I lead my parents through one of the many academic buildings I've come to know like the back of my hand over these past four years. We walk down the long stretch of hallway before finding the correct auditorium, a sign outside the door welcoming us to McCord University's Match Day Ceremony. Butterflies instantly swarm my stomach, everything becoming that much more real.

I peek inside the auditorium, finding people still setting up. Reaching into my small cross body purse, I pull out my phone to check the time. Forty-five minutes early. In true Delilah Harper fashion.

One of my many personality traits is being punctually early. To class, to appointments, to functions, and especially to Match Day. While it may have only been a ten minute drive over here from my apartment, you never know when the world is going to throw you a ten car pileup or doomsday-apocalyptic situation of some sorts. Therefore, it's always good to have a totally sensible and reasonable forty-five minute time cushion. You know, because doomsday-apocalyptic situations typically include flesh eating zombies and whatnot that are certain to cause a traffic delay.

"Looks like we're the first ones here," my dad comments, a teasing lilt to his voice. He knows and loves to mock my Arrive Unnecessarily Early Policy.

"Not quite," a deep voice rumbles from behind us, smooth and rich. There's also a teasing, amused lilt to his voice.

Of course. I don't even have to turn around to know who that voice belongs to.

Bradly Gallow: A.K.A. the biggest pain in my ass.

Since day one of medical school, Brad and I have made some sort of silent agreement to be sworn mortal enemies, the both of us fighting to be at the top of our class. Throughout these past four years, we've both been neck and neck, putting in the most hours while managing to kick and kiss all the appropriate asses. We're both gunning for the same highly competitive residency, and I'll be damned if he gets picked over me.

"Oh, hello," my father says, surprised that there would ever be someone to beat his daughter at being early. He sheepishly runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair, now embarrassed that his teasing about me being the first to show up is invalid.

Reluctantly, I turn around and I'm immediately embraced by the cool, clean, delicious scent of Brad's cologne. I have to tilt my head back to look up at him, and I silently curse myself for not wearing heels today. But I feared—and as my luck would have it—I'd end up falling and busting my ass if I tried walking up and down the auditorium steps in anything other than flats. Hell, I'm so jittery I may even trip in flats.

"Delilah." My name rolls off of Brad's tongue as soon as my brown eyes meet his.

I cross my arms tightly over my chest, hating that I always have to look up at him because he's so freaking tall. Heels would have only helped so much. "Bradly."

A small, triumphant smile graces his full lips, knowing he's already got me agitated. "I'd like for you to meet my parents; Dr. Kalani Gallow and Dr. Anthony Gallow," he says, gesturing to his left where I realize two other people are standing approximately seven feet behind him.

Of course both of his parents are doctors, I think, somehow managing not to roll my eyes.

Politely, I turn to the middle aged man and woman, flashing them a smile. They look nice enough, and it's no surprise that they're both gorgeous and well-polished. "Nice to meet you."

Brad is nearly the spitting image of his mother, with the same naturally tan skin and dark wavy hair. They have similar facial structures and the exact same rich brown eyes and long, dark lashes. Both of his parents are a few inches shorter than him so I'm wondering where on earth he got the height from. His father has fair skin, gracefully graying blonde hair and brown eyes. He stands not even an inch taller than his wife, who's in sensible one inch heels, and the more I look, Brad and his father have the same bone structure. But Brad is definitely his mother's child.

"Are you going to introduce me to your parents?" Brad asks, with a hint of a condescending tone. If I could smack him across his stupidly pretty and chiseled face—I would.

Before I can even start introductions, my dad jumps in. "James Harper," he introduces himself a little too enthusiastically, sticking his hand out to sworn public enemy numero uno.

Brad steps forward, purposely brushing his arm against mine as he reaches out and shakes my father's hand. "Bradly Gallow, sir."

When Brad pulls back, he purposely brushes my arm again, and I glance down to catch his tan, taut, and just the right amount of veiny, forearm. Because he has the sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

Damn him.

I bite down on my back teeth to maintain my composure and try my best to ignore the feel of his radiating body heat because he's standing so close to me. If my parents and his parents weren't here right now, I'd take a purposeful, large step back. Maybe even push him.

Brad turns to my mother, giving her that brilliant, easy going smile of his. "And I'm guessing you're Mrs. Harper?" he says, extending his hand out to her next.

She smiles, and I can see it plain as day on her face that she's falling for his charm, and I want to scream at her to keep it together, woman! I know he seems cute, momma, but don't fall for it.

Bradly is the definition of tall, dark and handsome. But he's also the definition of a complete and utter jackass.

I'll never forget the first day I met him at orientation for med school. I was the first to arrive and he was the second. He was so confident and smug, introducing himself as if he were Mark Zuckerberg. Although, I have a feeling Mark would have been much more humble. Then, he had the audacity to eye me up and down, like a piece of meat, and tell me if we both needed a refresher in anatomy before classes started, we could review together later that night in his bedroom. And when that line absolutely did not work on me he used it on the next girl that came along. That was automatically red flag number one.

Red flag number two was that he wore a full blown navy suit to orientation and shoes—ironically the same shoes he's wearing today—that probably cost more than my rent. And they're ugly shoes! They remind me of loafers my eighty year old grandpa would wear to a special occasion, but somehow, Bradly still manages to make them look fashionable. Like he's a damn GQ model or something.

Red flag number three is that his name is actually Brad. I mean, come on. Brad is basically the male equivalent of a Karen. 

But unfortunately, despite his devastatingly good looks and stereotypical air-headed frat boy name, he's actually unbelievably intelligent. I found that out on the first day of classes when he managed to beat me at blurting out the right answer to the first question our professor ever asked. He could tell I was shocked and even impressed that he beat me to it, and I think that gave him an enormous sense of satisfaction, because I think he was still ticked I refused to sleep with him. Since that moment, I think he decided to make my life a living hell by trying to compete with me in everything. But then again, I am very competitive by nature so maybe I egged him on. Either way, it's been all out war ever since.

"Priya." My mother places her hand in his, shaking it.

"Nice to meet you, Priya. I have to admit, I almost mistook you as Delilah's sister." He smiles his most charming smile, the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Vomit. I want to vomit. The projectile kind. Everywhere.

I also want to knock every one of his perfectly straight, pearly white teeth out—but one thing at a time. 

My mother giggles. Giggles. Like, almost full on school girl giggles.

Traitor!

"Well, looks like we're all a bit early. How about we go grab some coffee?" My dad suggests, not even fazed by Brad's comment to his wife. "I saw a small coffee cart and some tables when we walked in."

Is my family all just a bunch of traitors?

"That sounds wonderful," Kalani says graciously, looping her arm through her husbands.

Both of our parents begin to walk towards the direction of the coffee cart, instantly chatting like they're all long lost friends. My feet stay rooted to the floor as I blink at the back of their heads, trying to wrap my head around all that just happened.

Beside me, Brad clears his throat and I snap my eyes in his direction. He gives me an almost knowing smirk and stretches out his arm, gesturing for me to follow them. With a huff, I reluctantly follow, Brad right behind me.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And just like that, Delilah is the star of her own story and her journey begins. May she shine brighter than the sun! lol

Hi, friends! I know most of you are here from the original story: The Scars of Anatomy, but if you are new, hello and welcome! This is a spin-off from TSOA and it's not essential that you read the original story first but please know this may contain some spoilers.

I'm so excited to begin this journey and hope you are all as excited as I am for Delilah!

Also, I thought it was only appropriate that I drop this first chapter on March 18th (the third Friday in March) which is actually Match Day! To all that matched today, congratulations!!! I hope you are happy and excited with your match and I wish you all the best! You did it! Go out there and change the world and be the best doctor you can be❤️

See you very soon for the next chapter,

Nicole


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