Chris sighed deeply. If he was drained, the just-concluded meeting had heightened it. He checked his wristwatch: 10:00 a.m. Now, he wished the meeting had not ended, as the thought of a Monday and another week of attending to patients was enough to drive him crazy.
He hesitated, waiting for each person to leave the boardroom. The sharp smell of antiseptic hit his nostrils and he remembered he had patients to attend to. He would if he had the strength, but if not, he would return to his office and commit to what he naturally loved; reading the biography of prominent architects.
Doctor Eliora came by the table, her smile big enough to melt a troubled heart.
“A kobo for your thoughts, Doctor Chris?” She sat beside him with curious eyes.
Doctor. It rang a different bell today. Chris knew it wouldn't take long again, the title would fade into thin air. He was working towards it, only waiting for the right time. Maybe he needed to remind Doctor Eliora of the same saying every day.
“Don't call me Doctor Chris. I am Chris. Just Chris, please.” Chris remembered saying every day.
“A medical doctor on internship.” she would throw back at him. Last week, she was ready for him. “Come to think of it, Chris, you're never fascinated by this position. You have no idea how happy I was when my dad told me he'd secured a place for me here. This is your family hospital, yet you seem distant here. Well, who knows with rich kids—”
“This isn't about being a rich kid here...” Chris interrupted, but paused too, refusing to speak any further. He maintained a gaze that said there was more — the same gaze he had now as he sat distant that Doctor Eliora thought he was losing his senses.
She slapped the desk with her palm.
“Chris!”
He snapped back to consciousness instantly.
“I've been calling your name!”
She stood up, her face red.
“I... I...” Chris was trying to speak but she was meters away.
Sighing, Chris stood up as well. He was used to Eliora snapping at every slight chance. He hung his stethoscope around his neck and headed out of the boardroom.
Back in his office, Chris packed his stuff into a satchel. Doctor Eliora returned to the office, her eyes red and teary. Chris, however, did not budge.
“Are you leaving because of what I said?”
Silence.
“I'm sorry, Chris. See, I just wanted you to see the bigger picture in this. Two doctors getting married and—”
“The only picture I see now is you giving me more reasons to believe that I don't belong here. And get this right into your head: I can never marry you!”
He was done packing. He dumped the stethoscope and hand sanitiser on the desk, his lab coat on the swivel chair, and stormed out, leaving Doctor Eliora dumbfounded.
The drive from Lagos to Benin City felt unending for Chris. He sat by the window, tears blurring his vision, as familiar places receded into the distance. He was leaving behind home — the life his parents gave him — to the one he chose for himself. Maybe architecture wasn't just a choice, maybe it was destiny.
A call came in from his Father. He expected it — and he was ready.
“Son, where are you? Your mother said you left with your belongings and you didn't go with your car.”
Chris laughed dryly. A tear fell from his eye, but he didn't care. “That car was gifted to me the day I rounded up medical school, just as you so desired. I don't need it anymore. Now I'm going to pursue what my heart yearns for.”
He wiped some tears from his eyes. He flashed back to a year ago, when a special party was hosted in the parlour because another doctor had been added to the lineage of doctors. But when he tried to imagine what it would look like to receive an award as the best architect in the country, he didn't find himself flanked by his parents. He was by himself with his awards and only a fulfilled smile. For now, it hurt, but maybe someday, even with a broken heart that'd remind him of his rebellion, he'd understand what that fulfilled smile meant.
“I thought you dropped out of architecture when I worked your automatic transfer to medicine?” Chris’ Father finally voiced, after being lost for minutes.
“No, Dad, I didn't. I deferred the admission since I had one more year to wrap up architecture. But you wouldn't know because you thought you raised a fool. Did you ever wonder how easy it was for me to agree to medicine after many years of fighting with you? Well, I had a plan. I'm a certified architect. Beyond that, my design has been recognised by FM Contemporary Architects in Benin City. So this is a stepping stone for me.”
The call ended, but the weight of their conversation stayed thick in the atmosphere. Chris knew he would not call back. His father must see that architecture was life for him.
All images were generated with ChatGPT
