Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Gray City
The cardiac monitor released another sharp, rhythmic beep.
Steady.
Predictable.
Alive.
Mateo Mercado glanced at the screen before adjusting the patient’s IV line with practiced hands. Twelve hours had already stretched into sixteen, and somewhere around the fourteenth hour, time had stopped making sense.
“BP is improving,” a junior nurse whispered.
Mateo nodded.
“Good. Keep the noradrenaline where it is for now.”
“Yes, Senior Mateo.”
He hated when they called him that.
It made him sound older than thirty-four.
Older than he felt.
Older than the man who once believed he would only stay in London for one year.
Just one.
Six years later...
The hospital had become more familiar than his own apartment.
“Mateo!”
He turned as Dr. Ahmed hurried toward him, clipboard tucked beneath one arm.
“You’re still here?”
Mateo looked at the wall clock.
“Oh.”
“Oh?” Dr. Ahmed laughed.
“You finished thirty minutes ago.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot your shift ended?”
“It happens.”
Dr. Ahmed shook his head.
“You Filipinos are impossible.”
Mateo chuckled.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. But even superheroes need sleep.”
“I’m no superhero.”
“No?”
Ahmed folded his arms.
“Tell that to Mrs. Collins.”
Mateo looked toward Bed Seven.
The elderly woman smiled weakly when she noticed him.
“There he is,” she whispered.
“My favorite nurse.”
Mateo walked over.
“How are we feeling today?”
“Better... because you’re still here.”
“You only say that because I bring the good tea.”
“You make terrible tea.”
“I know.”
“But you smile while making it.”
Mateo laughed.
“I’ll work on improving the recipe.”
“No,” Mrs. Collins said softly.
“Keep the smile. Forget the tea.”
His laughter faded.
Those words...
People remembered smiles.
Not achievements.
Not overtime.
Not exhaustion.
Just kindness.
“Mr. Mercado?”
He looked toward another bed.
A teenage patient raised a hand.
“Can I ask something?”
“Sure.”
“Why are you always here?”
Mateo blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“I came in yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“You were here.”
“I was.”
“I woke up this morning.”
“You were still here.”
“Mhm.”
“My mum said nurses go home.”
“They do.”
“So...”
The boy tilted his head.
“...where do you live?”
Several nurses nearby burst into laughter.
Mateo rubbed the back of his neck.
“I promise I have an apartment.”
“Do you?”
“I think so.”
“You think?”
“Well...”
He smiled sheepishly.
“I haven’t seen it much lately.”
The ward erupted in chuckles.
Emily, another nurse, approached carrying paperwork.
“Mateo.”
“Hmm?”
“You have exactly three options.”
“I’m listening.”
“Go home.”
“Okay.”
“Sleep.”
“Reasonable.”
“And stop accepting everyone’s extra shifts.”
He shrugged.
“Someone has to.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“And who looks after you?”
Silence.
Emily sighed.
“Exactly.”
An hour later...
He finally removed his blue NHS ID badge.
His shoulders instantly felt lighter.
Not by much.
Just enough.
The locker room was nearly empty.
He changed into a charcoal hoodie and jeans before staring at his reflection.
Dark circles.
Tired eyes.
Hair that needed cutting.
His father would have laughed.
“You look like you’ve wrestled ten carabaos.”
Mateo smiled despite himself.
He could almost hear his father’s booming voice.
Then another memory followed.
A smaller voice.
“You should smile more.”
Sophie.
He immediately shook the thought away.
“No.”
Not today.
Not after six years.
Outside...
London greeted him with rain.
Of course.
It always seemed to rain whenever he had time to notice the weather.
He zipped his jacket.
The cold slipped through anyway.
A passing bus splashed water onto the pavement.
“Brilliant.”
A man beside him laughed.
“Welcome to London.”
“I’ve been here six years.”
“And you’re still surprised?”
“I keep hoping.”
The stranger grinned.
“That’s your first mistake.”
Mateo boarded the Underground.
Packed.
As always.
Someone apologized after bumping into him.
Another passenger buried themselves in a novel.
A little girl stared curiously at him.
“Mom.”
“Hmm?”
“Why does that man look sleepy?”
The mother looked embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry.”
Mateo smiled.
“It’s okay.”
He answered the little girl himself.
“Because I stayed awake helping people.”
The girl’s eyes widened.
“You’re a doctor?”
“Nurse.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“My teddy needs a nurse.”
“I can help after work.”
She giggled.
“You’ll probably still be at work.”
Her mother burst out laughing.
Mateo joined in.
Kids.
Always honest.
His station arrived.
The walk to his apartment took exactly eleven minutes.
He knew because he had timed it hundreds of times.
Eleven minutes.
One convenience store.
One bakery.
Two traffic lights.
Three pigeons that somehow looked identical every single day.
Routine.
Predictable.
Safe.
His apartment was on the third floor.
Small.
One bedroom.
One sofa.
One tiny kitchen.
One balcony overlooking rows of brick buildings beneath a sky permanently painted gray.
He tossed his keys into a bowl.
Silence greeted him.
No television.
No music.
No family.
Just...
Silence.
He opened the refrigerator.
Milk.
Eggs.
Orange juice.
Leftover pasta.
Half a bottle of ketchup.
Typical.
His phone buzzed.
“Mama.”
A smile instantly appeared.
He answered.
“Ma.”
“Anak!”
Her cheerful voice filled the apartment.
“You’re awake!”
“I just got home.”
“You sound tired.”
“I always sound tired.”
“You work too much.”
“I know.”
“When are you visiting?”
Mateo leaned against the counter.
“Soon.”
“You’ve said ‘soon’ for three years.”
“I know.”
“Your sisters miss you.”
“I miss them too.”
“Your niece thinks you’re living inside Big Ben.”
He laughed.
“That’s oddly specific.”
“I showed her London on television.”
“So naturally she concluded I live inside the clock.”
“Exactly.”
“Tell her...”
He smiled.
“...I’m renting one of the gears.”
His mother laughed so loudly he had to move the phone away.
“I’ll tell her.”
“How’s everyone?”
“Your sister finally fixed the roof.”
“Good.”
“The mango tree is fruiting.”
“I miss that tree.”
“I know.”
“The neighbors still ask about you.”
“What do you tell them?”
“That my son saves lives.”
Mateo looked down.
“I’m just a nurse.”
His mother’s voice became firm.
“No.”
“You listen to me.”
He smiled.
Here it comes.
“You may wear the title ‘nurse’...”
She paused.
“...but to every family you’ve helped, you are the reason they still have someone to come home to.”
His throat tightened.
“Mama...”
“I’m proud of you.”
He closed his eyes.
Those words...
They always landed where they hurt the most.
After the call ended...
Silence returned.
He walked toward the balcony carrying a mug of coffee.
Rain drifted through the evening air.
The city shimmered beneath yellow streetlights.
Beautiful.
Cold.
Distant.
He remembered his first day in London.
“I’ll earn enough money.”
“I’ll help the family.”
“I’ll stay one year.”
One year became two.
Two became four.
Four became six.
Somewhere along the way...
Temporary became permanent.
Without permission.
Without warning.
Without him noticing.
His phone buzzed again.
This time it was a video call.
The family group.
He answered.
Immediately chaos exploded.
“KUYA!”
“KUYA MATEO!”
“When are you coming home?”
“Look!”
His youngest niece proudly held up a drawing.
“That’s beautiful.”
“It’s you!”
He stared.
The drawing showed him wearing angel wings.
His smile faded slightly.
“I don’t have wings.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Mommy says you help hearts.”
He laughed.
“I help doctors help hearts.”
“Same thing.”
Children had a way of simplifying the world.
Sometimes...
They were right.
“Kuya,” his younger brother asked.
“Have you found a girlfriend yet?”
The entire family became suspiciously quiet.
Mateo sighed.
“Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’ve been single forever.”
“I’m busy.”
“Too busy?”
“Yes.”
“You know what that means.”
“What?”
“You need a Filipina.”
Their mother interrupted.
“Or anyone nice.”
Everyone laughed.
Mateo rubbed his forehead.
“I’m hanging up.”
“No!”
“Answer first.”
“When are you getting married?”
“I just got off a sixteen-hour shift.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is today.”
More laughter.
After the call ended...
The apartment became quiet again.
Too quiet.
He looked around.
Sometimes...
The silence was comforting.
Other nights...
It echoed.
He sat on the sofa.
Picked up an old photo album.
Most photos were digital now.
But this one...
He carried from Leyte.
There was his family.
His sisters.
His parents.
His graduation.
The hospital where he first worked.
Then—
A photograph slipped onto the floor.
Mateo froze.
He stared.
A younger version of himself smiled beside a woman wearing a white summer dress beneath the Philippine sun.
The sea sparkled behind them.
She was laughing.
Not posing.
Just laughing.
The kind of laugh that made everyone nearby smile without understanding why.
Sophie.
He hadn’t looked at that picture in years.
He bent down slowly and picked it up.
His thumb brushed the corner where time had begun to fade the colors.
“You really should smile more, Mateo.”
He could still hear her voice as if she had whispered it only yesterday.
He remembered answering with a shy grin.
“I smile.”
“No.”
“You survive.”
“There’s a difference.”
Back then, he had laughed and teased her for sounding like one of her documentaries.
She had laughed louder.
The memory lingered, warm as the Leyte sun.
Then another memory followed.
An airport.
Rain.
A promise that somehow became goodbye.
Eight years.
He had memorized medication dosages, emergency protocols, the rhythm of failing hearts, and the names of hundreds of patients.
But somehow...
He had never forgotten the sound of her voice.
Mateo slipped the photograph back into the album and closed it gently.
Outside, London’s fog thickened, swallowing the buildings across the street until they disappeared into gray.
He stared into the empty distance.
“Tomorrow,” he murmured to himself.
“Just one more shift.”
It was the same promise he had been making for six years.
Tomorrow.
One more shift.
One more month.
One more year.
Until home.
Until healing.
Until whatever future still waited beyond the gray city.
He had no way of knowing that somewhere else in London, beneath the very same rain-soaked sky, the woman he had spent eight years trying to forget had just stepped off a plane—carrying cameras, unfinished regrets, and a story that would bring their lives crashing back together.
The city remained gray.
But fate had already begun writing in color.
