౨ৎ in which aliya levine enters her third year of surgical residency with overbearing parents, an ex who left her heartbroken, a green eyed rich boy, a chaotic best friend and a pair of twisted sisters.
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chapter twelve━push season six, episode seventeen
❝ is everyone gonna jump out and yell surprise? ❞
⠀ ⠀ ⠀
Aliya Levine used to hate her birthday, especially between the ages of six and eighteen, when she could actually remember it.
Birthdays in Los Angeles usually involved the youngest daughter of the Levine family being forced to spend the day doing the opposite of what she wanted to do.
It was hard to actually like the day she was born. Therefore, March third became a day that only bumped her age up by one.
However, when her family were taken out of her birthday mathematical equation and she moved away from her family home in Malibu and away from the Pacific Coast Highway, her birthday became something she learnt to actually enjoy.
She realised, with no parents breathing down her neck and lecturing her what she should be doing with this next year of existing in the world according to them, her birthdays felt a little bit more free.
With this new found freedom, she learnt to love (or tolerate) her birthday, even the ones that were far from enjoyable.
For example, on her first birthday in Seattle in her intern year, she was sat on the sofa eating Peanut Butter Cup ice cream whilst watching The Breakfast Club until Alex dragged her away to Joe's bar where they spent the night haggling Joe for free shots and playing darts where Aliya nearly took someone's eye out after an unfortunate shot (or shots, they were free) of tequila.
And she may or may not have had sex with a certain plastic surgeon that same night.
Or, in her second year of residency when she caught a cold on her birthday from the rotation on the peds ward, which led to her sneezing into a bowl of Mark's gross homemade soup.
In retrospect, her twenty sixth birthday shouldn't be one she looked back on and smile — all things considered, seeing as Mark was involved in the memory. Or, for that matter, the one where she was crying with her face sticking into the ice cream tub and the extreme hangover she had the next morning, feeling as though she was in some sort of distorted after life where everyone echoed and had two heads.
However, the Levine woman could probably never hate the person she used to be, the one who was more naïve, who wore her heart exposed in the palm of her hands more often than she would like to openly admit.
