UnlovelyShe stared at the cracked mirror, realizing that even the most unlovely reflections held a hidden spark of hope.

A burst a deafening crack darkness more darkness

At last the gloom began to loosen. A voice floated in:

Mrs. Vera Whitmore, theres a rescuer on the line; somethings gone wrong over there.

A throbbing pain thudded against my neck. I tried to pry my eyelids open. It was a struggle, but eventually I saw a rectangular pendant, its surface etched with zodiac symbols, and a woman in a white coat staring at me.

To theatre, pronto! the voice shouted from right behind me.

My parents had just gotten home from work. Mother bolted into the kitchen, peered into the study where my brother was doing his homework, and Dad, stepping into the room, immediately noticed my sullen mood.

Tommy, whats the matter? Dad ruffled my hair.

Nothing, I muttered, a fourthgrader.

Come on, spill it!

International Womens Day is coming up. The teacher kept us after school and said we have to make presents for the girls.

And the problem is? Dad smiled.

We have the same number of boys and girls, and she paired us up. I sighed heavily. Ive been matched with the unattractive one, Poppy Everly.

Every girl wants a present for International Womens Day, even the ahem lessfashionable ones, Dad tried to sound allbusiness. How did she pair us? Alphabetically?

By zodiac, apparently.

Hows that work? David couldnt keep a straight face.

By compatibility. Poppy is a Virgo, and a Taurus is supposed to get along famously with a Virgo. And Im a Taurus.

Thats great, if youre a match! Who knows, you might even fall for her.

Me? For Poppy Everly?

Dad burst out laughing. Mom stormed in:

Whats happening in here?

Laura, go to the kitchen, Dads tone turned stern. We need a serious chat.

When Mom left, I asked in a dejected voice:

Dad, what am I supposed to do now?

Make a present!

What kind?

Ill sort something out for your chosen one at work tomorrow.

Dad, what could you possibly make? You work at a factory.

I do, but in the electroplating department. We coat all sorts of metal.

I dont get it.

Youll see tomorrow!

***

The next day Dad came home with a goldlooking rectangular pendant on a chain. One side bore the engraved symbols of Taurus and Virgo; on the other, in neat script, it read:

To my classmate Poppy on International Womens Day! From Alan

The pendant was a thing of beauty, and when Mom slipped it into a clear plastic bag it looked positively dazzling.

***

And so International Womens Day arrived. The teacher wasnt about to waste any time. First the pupils handed her their gifts; she thanked them at length. Then she announced that the boys should now give presents to the girls.

Mayhem broke loose! All the boys darted toward their chosen ones. I walked up to Poppy Everly and, reciting Dads rehearsed line, said:

Poppy, happy International Womens Day! Perhaps one day the stars will align a Taurus and a Virgo.

Having spoken the memorised words, I returned to my seat, blissfully unaware that my heart had just been knocked flat by the unattractive girl, at least in my mind.

Soon after, Poppys family moved to another district, and she transferred to a different school in Year5.

***

I opened my eyes to the sterile white ceiling of a hospital ward. I tried to wiggle my arms and legs; only my left arm obeyed.

Where am I? I croaked, not really knowing who I was addressing.

A clacking sound announced a nurse on a trolley. She leaned over, examined me, and asked:

Awake? Youre in the emergency surgery unit.

Are my arms and legs all intact? I whispered.

Looks like everythings there, she said cheerily. Youre just wrapped in bandages from head to toe.

Thats a relief.

A doctor hovered nearby, his voice gentle:

How are you feeling?

Whats happening to me? I asked, confusion battling curiosity.

Nothings lifethreatening. Your limbs will work again. Youve got a few small stitches, nothing serious, he said, tapping his phone. Your mother asked me to call when you woke up.

Son, a teartinged voice called.

Mum, Im fine, I tried to sound upbeat. They said its only a few tiny stitches. Ill be out soon.

They wont let us stay overnight, sweetheart. Ill be there in a minute.

Thanks! I managed a smile at the nurse.

Youll be out in a few weeks, the nurse replied, beaming. Three weeks, tops!

A fellow patient, hearing the nurse leave, asked:

What happened to you?

Im a rescuer. At the plant the gas cylinders exploded, I recalled. We were called in, rushed in while the fire raged. The room was massive, three of us injured. The balloons were bursting everywhere, fire here and there. We tried to pull the victims out I was the last one out when another cylinder blew up. After that, its a blur.

You got lucky, then.

Goncharov Alan, the nurse announced. A colleagues here.

A friend barged in, slamming a hand on my bedside:

Hey, Tommy! How you doing?

Arms and legs are fine! I answered optimistically, though I could only wave with my left hand.

No kidding! What happened next?

We were getting out when the explosion went off. We turned back, pulled you out you were covered in blood, doctors were already there

Thanks!

Tommy, what are you on about? my friend chuckled. Theyre actually thinking of nominating us for medals.

Ill be discharged soon enough.

Ive got to run. Theyll be doing rounds now. The nurse said it wont be long.

A middleaged doctor entered:

Hows it going, hero? he said, patting my wrist.

Not bad.

As long as you can talk, youll keep breathing. Let me have a look.

Did you stitch me up? I asked. No, Mrs. Vera Whitmore. Shell be here the day after tomorrow.

***

Two days later I was trying to sit up. The pain in my legs still throbbed, my right arm was a mangled mess, and Id got about a dozen bruises all over. Two on my face from the blast, and a lucky right arm that I managed to thrust forward just in time. My reflection showed a stillpuffy face.

The doctor was due for his rounds. Hed been stitching me up for five straight hours the day before. I was a little nervous.

In walked a young, attractive surgeon in glasses; the white coat suited her perfectly. I was twentyseven and already married, though the marriage had ended after six months because we just didnt click, and my exwife never liked my modest rescueworker salary.

Good morning! she said, moving to my bedside.

Good morning! Did you stitch me up?

I did, she smiled. Everything okay?

Absolutely! Thank you ever so much!

Let me have a look.

She leaned over. My eyes caught the pendant with the zodiac signs, resting against her neck:

Poppy Everly!!! I blurted.

She glanced at my swollen face.

Im sorry! she said, not recognising me.

Im a Taurus, I pointed to the pendant.

Tommy Gordon? her lips trembled. You still remember me?

Of course, Poppy, I said, placing a gentle hand on her arm as tears welled in her eyes.

Im sorry! she dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief. I never imagined wed meet like this.

***

Poppy never visited my ward again that day. I realised we both ran on similar schedules: day shifts, night shifts, and two days off.

I didnt want to look helpless in front of her. The next day I kept hopping from bed to bed, using the bedside rails for support, even making a daring dash down the corridor.

Evening rolled around. The dayshift doctor left, and the nightshift crew took over; you could hear the change in the hallway chatter. Rounds were about to start

Suddenly, the corridor erupted with frantic shouts and hurried footsteps the usual chaos when another casualty is wheeled in.

Ten oclock passed. A nurse flicked off the ward lights, but sleep wouldnt come. Past midnight, I heard soft sobbing echo down the hallway. I rose, slipped out, and followed the sound.

At the nightwatch desk, a former classmate, now a nurse, sat with her head in her hands, weeping. I placed a steady hand on her shoulder:

Its alright, Poppy.

She threw herself against me:

I operated on a woman; she fell under a car. I did everything I could, but shes now in intensive care and wont survive. She has two kids her husband is in the ward with her

Calm down, Poppy.

Ive been a surgeon for three years and still cant get used to people dying.

Calm down, calm down! Thats the job, isnt it? In five years Ive seen as many deaths, but weve also saved plenty of lives, I sighed heavily. My wife left because she said I never came home and made barely enough money. Im always forty, but you know what? You can still live.

Same here, she replied, meeting my gaze. People look at me like Im a bit cracked. Im still single, living with my parents like a child.

Come on, were only twentyseven, weve got our whole lives ahead.

No, Tommy, were already twentyseven.

Mrs. Vera Whitmores pulse is dropping, a panicked nurse shouted.

Sorry! Poppy rushed back to the intensive care bay.

I lay awake that night, unable to drift off. In the morning the nurse popped in with her usual bedside patter.

Did the woman we operated on last night survive? I asked, surprised at my own curiosity.

Shes alive, but her condition is critical.

***

Three weeks later my wounds stitched themselves closed. Id seen Poppy during her shifts, and each encounter tugged harder at my heart. The emergency surgery ward, however, isnt exactly the place for romantic confessions.

During a routine morning round, the male doctor announced:

Im discharging you today, he said with a grin. By discharging I mean out of the hospital. Youll head straight to the clinic, and theyll decide what followup you need.

Can I start packing? I asked.

Absolutely, no rush. Your discharge papers are coming right up.

When the doctor left, I shaved. In the mirror I noted that the two remaining stitches didnt mar my face at all; if anything, they added a dash of rugged charm. The others? Best left ignored.

I gathered my things, headed for the corridor, and caught a glimpse of a nurse hurrying past.

Shes finally getting her act together! a triumphant thought crossed my mind.

The nurse handed me the discharge slip:

Farewell, Alan! Dont be a stranger!

***

I had a cosy onebed flat, but I went back to my parents house. Mum was waiting, all nerves and excitement, even took a day off work.

Sweetheart! she exclaimed, wrapping me in a hug.

All good, Mum! Im alive and kicking.

Come, Ive made you a proper meal. Look at you, youve turned into a twig.

Oh, Ive missed home cooking!

Until you get back on your feet and settle down, youll stay here. Your room is still empty, she said, halfplayful, halfserious. Wash your hands first!

By evening Id been to the barber, collected a few clothes from my flat, and Mum immediately started ironing them.

Dad arrived from work later, and we all sat together, as we used to, chatting well into the night.

I fell asleep in my childhood bedroom, the one that had watched me grow up, with a single thought in my head:

Tomorrow Ive got a clinic appointment, then work, then maybe a quiet evening

That was the last thing on my mind as I drifted off past midnight.

***

The next morning I headed to the clinic. I spent the morning hopping between offices, and in the afternoon I returned to my shift at the plant my night shift, actually.

That evening I started packing again.

Where are you off to? Dad asked.

Dad, remember back in Year4 when you made a pendant for a classmate? I said. For the unattractive Poppy Everly?

Poppy Everly? I recall.

You even said, She might fall for you. I added.

Right, right!

Well, Poppys now a surgeon. She performed my operation, and she still wears that pendant.

No way!

Your words came true, Dad. Im going to see her.

Twentyseven isnt a huge number to start a life with someone you love.