The café smelled of fresh coffee and warm pastries, a brief oasis from the chaos of the city. Jay was scrolling through patient notes on her tablet, balancing a cappuccino in one hand. Her mind never truly rested—even in public, she was always half at work.
Across the room, an elderly man adjusted his glasses nervously, his hand trembling slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the tremor didn't stop. Patrons glanced at him with polite concern.
Jay's eyes flicked up instinctively. Something's wrong.
The man's breathing hitched, a shallow, rapid rhythm. He clutched his chest, his knuckles white. Panic was rising. Jay's heart skipped a beat—she recognized the signs immediately. Anxiety attack.
Without hesitation, she rose and crossed the café, calm and measured. "Sir," she said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "It's okay. Breathe with me. In… and out. Slowly."
The man looked at her, wide-eyed, fear written on every line of his face. "I… I can't… I…"
"Yes, you can," Jay said firmly, crouching to meet his eyes. "I'm a surgeon. Just follow my voice. In… two… three… four… Out… two… three… four…"
She guided him through the rhythm, her hands steadying his shaking shoulders. Patrons watched quietly, sensing her authority without needing to understand it.
Minutes passed, and the man's breathing began to normalize. He slumped slightly in relief, leaning on the table. "Thank… thank you," he whispered, his voice shaky.
"You're safe now," Jay said softly. "Just take it easy. Sit for a moment, have some water."
The man's eyes softened, gratitude and something unspoken passing through them. "You… you're very young. How… how do you remain so calm?"
Jay shrugged faintly, her professional instinct still dominant. "Practice. Focus. Panic doesn't help anyone."
He nodded, still catching his breath. Then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "Do you… by chance know my grandson, Mark Watson?"
Jay froze briefly—her mind cataloging the name. "Watson… yes, I've heard of him," she said carefully, keeping her tone neutral.
"He's… he's a good boy," the old man said, voice tinged with emotion. "I worry sometimes, but… he's made me proud. Thank you… for helping me."
Jay offered a small, professional smile. "It's nothing. Just part of my job."
As she gathered her things to leave, she caught a fleeting, proud smile from him—one that seemed to carry the weight of years and responsibility. Jay didn't know it yet, but in a quiet, unassuming way, this brief encounter had subtly connected her to one of the most untouchable families in the city.
And Mark Keifer Watson's grandfather had just met the youngest surgeon who might one day… challenge even him.