something something about samira mohan being affirmed that her empathy is her strength. inspired by my moodboard, which places her in a rural medicine fellowship post the ptmc ed.
a/n: there's something unhealed within myself after i saw the ending of the season finale, and this was my own goodbye to a character i saw myself in.
Your new roommate reminded you of a cat.
When you signed up to let the town’s physician program sublease the empty room in your home for a doctor who would work a fellowship at the nearby hospital, you imagined that you would find a built-in friend.
Someone to laugh with and bond with.
Instead, you somehow got put with Samira Mohan, the literal manifestation of a cat.
She would disappear for double shifts, which you weren’t even sure was legal with the hospital, and was always the first to leave and the last to come back. When she would come back, she would walk straight into her room without greeting you, take a shower, and then sleep everything off. You weren’t even sure that she ate, with her side of the fridge being empty most days, and the pantry was full of grab-and-go foods, something that you thought a future physician would know wouldn’t fill them up.
But Samira Mohan was an oddity to you, always working for something and to prove something. She seemed to be burning the candle at both ends, and that worried you, especially since caretakers and providers often burn out from the constant giving of empathy when they never pour into themselves.
That was the last thing you wanted for your roommate, even if you hardly knew her.
Which is how you found yourself in your current situation, outside Samira’s door, with your hand poised over her door.
It had been nine hours since she got back from her shift at the hospital, and you knew that she had off after asking the other residents who frequented the limited number of going-out spots that your small town had. You had quickly learned that fellows had the option of taking weekends off, but for some reason, the one who lived in your house seemed hell-bent on spending every hour in that sanitized grey prison.
“Samira?”
You knock on the door, lightly, as to gently wake her up if she was sleeping, leaning against the doorframe. The door swings open, revealing a very tired Samira, clad in an oversized shirt and pajama shorts, her curls tied into a knot at the top of her head.
“Oh-hi!”
She blinks, as if she’s hallucinating seeing you. It probably didn’t help that you had already gotten ready for the day ahead, dressed in a sweater and baggy jeans, with your small bag thrown over your shoulder.
“Hi…”
You start, smiling gently at her as you play with the rings on your fingers,
“I was actually wondering if you wanted to go to the farmer’s market nearby? They’re having a thrift day with clothes, and there’s usually fun drinks, food, and of course produce and stuff too, if you wanted to go…”
You catch yourself, not wanting to sound like you were rambling, rubbing your palm over the back of your neck.
Samira pauses, pressing her lips together as her eyes widen,
“Y-you’re inviting me?”
She points to herself as you chuckle gently, nodding with a smile,
“Yeah, Samira, I’d love for you to come. I can drive, since I know that you’re not used to driving around yet.”
Samira nods again, eyes softening,
“I’d love to come, actually. Give me ten, and then I’ll get dressed?”
You nod, walking over to the dining table and grabbing her water bottle, a plain steel one, and yours, a colorful Owala that one of your friends had brought you from the large city mall nearby, saying it reminded them of you and your house decor. You fill both of them with water, since the water fountains near the market weren’t reliable in colder weather, as the pipes will freeze over.
You turn around when you hear Samira’s door close, seeing her in jeans and a zip-up, a tote slung over her shoulder,
“Oh, good, you’re ready! Love the tote by the way.”
You skip over to Samira, pressing the water bottle into her hands before skipping out the screen door, where she hears your old Honda turn on, skittering behind you as she slides in. You hum gently to the Clairo that fills the car’s speakers, drumming your hands to the beat as you follow the small roads,
“So…have you been to any of the farmers’ markets?”
“Oh- not really, I’ve been pretty busy with the fellowship.”
The blinker of your car chimes as you turn into the small ground where the market is held, parents with their kids, toddling around in overalls and totes. There were boutiques lined up on the field, with bright pieces begging you to pick them up. You turn off the car, smiling at Samira before hopping off,
“Oh, you’ll love it! Worst comes to worst, you’ll come home with some fruit that you can bring to your shift! If you need help cutting anything, I could totally do it when I prep my meals, it’s no hassle-”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
Samira’s question sounds carefully crafted, probably having been rehearsed several times in her head before it came out. You pause, getting back into the car, your smile fading as you look at her,
“huh-?”
“I’ve been in my room most days, and I barely acknowledge that you exist. Why are you being nice to me?”
She looks at you, brown eyes narrowed. You press your lips together, shrugging,
“Because I’m worried about you. You don’t take the weekends off as the other fellows do, and I know because I asked.”
“And?”
You stop, turning to look at her, eyebrows raised,
“That’s not normal, Samira.”
She scoffs, her hand wrapping around the cuff of her sweater, tracing the fabric,
“I’m just working on my career, and then when I'll become an attending, then I’ll start taking breaks.”
Your hands release from the wheels, landing in your lap,
“And that’s what, two more years? You’ve been going pedal to the metal for what? 12 years now?”
She nods, as you breathe out, looking at her brown doe eyes,
“Samira, there’s no need to go so…fast. You seem like a brilliant, empathetic physician, and the other fellows can’t seem to shut up about how you’re talented and have a bright future ahead of you.”
Something in her eyes softens, her shoulders dropping,
“They do?”
You exhale softly,
“They do. Truly, I can’t pick up my check from the department without hearing about you. But you need to think about yourself, and your ability to give if you have nothing left to give. There’s no harm in slowing down, Samira, I promise the world won’t punish you for it.”
She looks at you, eyes sheening over with water softly,
“There’s no harm in….slowing down?”
There was something heavier behind that statement, something you could feel in the air in the car. You nod, opening the door and swinging one of your feet out of the car,
“Your strength seems to lie in your empathy, and the time you spend with the town. Utilize that, or not, your choice.”
You close the door, walking down to the market, smiling to yourself when you hear the door to your car open and shut behind you, Samira’s shoes padding on the grass,
“Hey wait up!”
