Chapter 102 Similar Faces
Sloane's POV
He suddenly snapped back to reality, looking a bit flustered as he raised his hand and quickly wiped away the moisture at the corner of his eye with his fingertip. A bitter, apologetic smile appeared on his face. "Sorry, I lost my composure. It's just... you look a lot like someone I used to know."
The sadness in his eyes was so intense that I couldn't bring myself to ask any more questions.
He quickly changed the subject, regaining the professionalism and composure of a master in his field, and began asking me some technical questions about nerve damage repair.
Every single question hit the nail on the head—tricky and profound.
I pulled myself together completely and explained my insights and clinical experience one by one. We talked about everything from the latest nerve induction techniques to approach selection for difficult skull base surgeries. The more we talked, the more appreciation showed in his eyes.
"Remarkable, truly remarkable!" He didn't hold back his praise, looking at me with the surprise and admiration of someone who had discovered a rare gem. "Sloane, for someone your age to have such a solid theoretical foundation and unique insights is really impressive."
Facing the senior's compliment, I showed no hint of pride, just smiled modestly. "You're too kind. I still have a lot to learn."
My humility seemed to please him even more.
He looked at me, pondered for a moment, then suddenly extended an olive branch I never saw coming.
"Sloane, I can see you have exceptional talent in neurosurgery," he said, looking at me intently with a serious tone. "Would you be willing to become my student and study neurosurgery with me systematically?"
My heart skipped a beat. I could hardly believe my ears.
Becoming Professor Brandon's student was an opportunity that countless top medical students around the world dreamed of.
And now, this opportunity had just landed in my lap, completely out of the blue.
My deeply buried love for neurosurgery was fully awakened in this moment.
Without any hesitation, I met his expectant gaze, bowed deeply, my voice filled with barely contained excitement and joy.
"I'm willing, Professor."
I said those words with solemnity and reverence.
The delight on Professor Brandon's face hadn't faded yet when it was replaced by a layer of seriousness.
He looked at me with unprecedented gravity. "Sloane, the path of neurosurgery is much harder than you imagine. It requires not just talent and passion, but also an extreme test of physical strength and energy. You..."
His gaze paused for a moment on my flat belly. I knew exactly what he left unsaid.
"Professor, please don't worry." I met his scrutinizing gaze with a firm tone, without any hesitation. "I can handle any hardship. What I could handle before, I can handle even better now for the sake of my child."
My determination seemed to move him. The worry in his eyes gradually faded. He nodded heavily, as if making some kind of resolution, and patted my shoulder. "Good, good child! My legacy will finally have a successor!"
Receiving such high praise from him, the excitement in my heart nearly overflowed.
We exchanged contact information. The way he looked at me always carried a complex emotion I couldn't quite describe—like relief, yet also like he was seeing someone else through me.
After saying goodbye to Professor Brandon, the joy in my heart could no longer be suppressed. I turned and grabbed Jessie's hand. "Come on, to celebrate my successful apprenticeship, today's my treat. Order whatever you want!"
"Awesome!" Jessie cheered and affectionately linked her arm with mine. "I want a feast!"
We laughed as we walked toward the exit of the medical station. After a few steps, I felt something and instinctively looked back.
Professor Brandon was still standing in the same spot. He wasn't talking to anyone, just watching me from afar.
It was an extremely complex look—the affection of an elder for a younger person, the joy of discovering a treasure, but underneath all that, there was also a thick, unresolvable reluctance and sadness.
The feeling was strange, like a father looking at his daughter who had been lost and found, but was about to leave on a long journey.
My heart inexplicably ached from that look, but the feeling passed in an instant.
I figured he was just reminded of that person from the past who resembled me, so I didn't think much of it. I smiled and waved at him, then turned and left with Jessie.
Since I was still pregnant, Jessie didn't let me spend money. We just ate the simple dinner provided by the medical station together.
Seeing the dark circles under my eyes and my exhausted appearance, she forcibly pushed me back to that small rest room.
"Sloane, you need to get some good sleep. Your face is as white as paper." She instructed with concern. "Professor Reagan and I can handle things here. Don't push yourself."
I was indeed exhausted to the limit. Almost the instant I touched the bed, my consciousness sank into endless darkness.
I dreamed of that car accident again.
The piercing sound of brakes tore through the sky, the car body rolled violently, and icy seawater rushed in frantically through the shattered windows.
I was trapped in the deformed seat, the bone-chilling cold and suffocation gripping me tightly.
"Grayson!" I desperately called his name, my voice insignificant against the roaring water.
It was him—he recklessly smashed the window and pushed me out of the sinking car. I watched helplessly as he was swept away by the rapid undercurrent, disappearing from my sight in an instant.
"Don't go! Grayson!"
I cried out heart-wrenchingly, struggling in the icy seawater, but could only watch as the darkness that had swallowed him gradually dragged me into the abyss of despair.
Just as I was about to give up and let myself sink, a familiar yet cold voice suddenly rang out in the chaotic dream, clearly calling my name.
"Sloane."
I whipped my head around.
In the dream, the Grayson whose face I could never see clearly slowly turned around.
That blurred face gradually became clear in the water's reflection, finally coming into focus.
It wasn't Grayson.
That refined, elegant face with gold-rimmed glasses was now covered with a terrifying layer of frost.
It was Harrison.
I jolted upright in bed, gasping for air, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead and back.
The bone-chilling seawater from the dream and Harrison's frost-covered face alternated in my mind, making my heart race.
I raised my hand to my wildly beating heart, trying to calm down, when the sound of a harmonica—intermittent, distant, and tinged with melancholy—drifted in from outside the window.
The melody was familiar, like a thin thread pulling at memories buried deep in my heart.
Grayson also liked playing the harmonica. On those late nights when I woke from nightmares, he would always sit by my bed and play soothing tunes for me.
An indescribable sense of loss welled up in my heart. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I simply threw on a jacket, got up, and decided to go for a walk.