Ten years ago, the color of my bandages wasn't white it was the color of my impeccably pressed doctor’s coat. I wasn't a ghost back then. I was a man who believed he could save the world with a scalpel... until I understood that some cancers wear the masks of Heroes.

  That day, sunlight flooded the hospital corridors, a warm light that even seemed to marvel the birds perched on the windowsills. It was a peaceful day. I loved my work; I loved the smell of disinfectant and the laughter of my colleagues in the breakroom.

  "Tanashi!"

  The cry came from Mila, a midwife with long brown hair who was practically running toward me. I turned away from my coffee to face her.

  "Yes? Mila, what’s going on?"

  "Come, it’s urgent. I need to talk to you," she said, out of breath, looking strangely nervous.

  My colleague sitting across from me shot me a mischievous look. He sketched a smile, whispering:

  "You two aren't hiding something from us, are you?"

  "What are you talking about?" I replied with a small laugh as I stood up.

  I followed Mila through the maze of corridors. Her pace was fast, too fast for a simple administrative question. My smile gradually faded.

  "Mila, what is happening?" I asked as we arrived in front of the intensive care wing.

  "I think there’s something wrong with the new patient," she whispered without looking at me.

  "You think so?"

  I opened the door to room 304. The daylight hit the bed with full force. The patient was a high school girl with hair of a deep, almost electric blue. She was sitting up, her gaze lost through the glass, contemplating the beautiful day with a melancholy that I didn't yet know how to interpret.

  Mila leaned close to me and whispered in my ear, her voice trembling slightly:

  "Mr. Tanashi... this girl is showing symptoms and signs that show she is..."

  "She is what?"

  "That she is… pregnant."

  "What?!" I exclaimed, the shock making me recoil a step.

  My cry had shattered the silence of the room. The high school girl slowly turned her head toward us. She didn't seem frightened, nor ashamed. On the contrary, she offered us a smile of angelic sweetness an innocence that chilled my blood given what Mila had just said.

  "Ah, you scared me," she said in a crystalline voice. "I didn't see you come in."

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  I stood there, mouth agape, unable to utter a single word. My medical mind searched for a logical explanation, a medical file, a name... but her gaze was so pure, so void of any darkness, that the revelation hit me like a physical blow.

  "Hello," she added, radiant.

  I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose a mechanical gesture to mask my unease and regained my professional composure.

  "Ahem..." I coughed to clear my throat. "Well, hello. I am Doctor Tanashi."

  "Tanashi? It’s a pleasure to meet you!" she smiled with a disconcerting spontaneity. "I’m Ariane."

  She didn’t look like a patient in distress. She radiated a light I had never seen in this hospital room before.

  "Hello, Ariane. I’ve been informed that you are... pregnant."

  "Affirmative," she replied in a clear tone, without a shred of hesitation.

  That confidence rattled me. She was so young, still in high school, yet she wore this news like a crown rather than a burden.

  "How old are you?" I asked seriously.

  She answered with a small smile:

  "I’m seventeen."

  I continued:

  "Have you informed any of your relatives?" I asked, scrutinizing her face.

  She shook her head, making her blue locks dance.

  "No, not yet."

  "And… your boyfriend, who is he?"

  She brought a hand to her lips, amused.

  "That... is a secret."

  "I see. I’m sure you have your reasons. And... the father? Does your boyfriend know?"

  She shook her head again with that same imperturbable smile.

  "Not that, either."

  Beside me, Mila handed me the ultrasound file. It was a girl. The fetus was already two months into development. Everything seemed physically normal, but something was off. Ariane stared at me with large eyes filled with an innocence so pure it became frightening. She was far too calm. A high school girl, alone and pregnant, should be crying, or at least trembling. She, however, seemed to inhabit another reality.

  "Do you… wish to keep it?" I whispered, with all the caution in the world.

  "Yes." Her answer sprang forth immediately, clear and certain.

  "I see," I said, caught off guard by the speed of her response. Her choice had been made long ago.

  Silence fell over the room once more, disturbed only by the chirping of birds outside. I quickly scribbled a few lines on a notepad before tearing the sheet off with a sharp snap.

  "Come see us if you need any advice; we will be here for you. You’ll need to come regularly for follow-ups. And above all, ask me directly before taking any medication. Here is my personal number... in case of an emergency."

  I handed her the paper. She took it, looked at it for a moment, and then raised her azure eyes toward me.

  "Thank you, Doctor!" she said, beaming.

  I left the room with Mila, my heart heavy with a foreboding I couldn't explain. I didn't know yet that by giving her that number, I had just signed the end of my quiet life.

  Night had fallen over the hospital when my shift ended. My eyes burned with fatigue. The elevator was late, as always. When the doors finally slid open, she was there.

  Ariane. Alone. Her blue hair undone, sliding over her shoulders.

  She startled upon seeing me, then her face lit up that same angelic smile, almost misplaced at ten o'clock at night in a deserted hallway.

  "Doctor!"

  "You should be in your room," I said, stepping inside.

  "I couldn't sleep. So I walked."

  "Alone?"

  "Yes."

  She didn't add "as always." But I heard it anyway.

  The elevator hummed into motion, a low drone in the evening silence. Her fingers brushed her stomach through the thin fabric of her nightgown a mechanical, almost tender gesture.

  "Today, I felt her move," she whispered without looking up.

  I didn't answer. I had explained this phenomenon hundreds of times. But never to someone like her.

  "It’s strange," she continued.

  "Like a butterfly. Right there, deep down."

  She placed her hand flat against herself.

  "She’s trying to say hello to me."

  The doors opened. Ground floor. She stepped out, light, almost ethereal.

  "Good night, Doctor."

  I remained motionless. The doors closed in front of me. I didn't go down. I went back up to my floor. I wasn't sleepy anymore.