Cutey pie aka Me Aurora

Hi! My name is Aurora. And my parents? Well, they're doctors. Like, super important, saves-lives-all-the-time doctors. Most kids think their parents are cool, but mine are… extra. Because, you see, I'm pretty sure I was born because they loved to argue. A lot.

My Mom, Dr. Rachel Sharma, is a heart doctor. Not like, a doctor for sad hearts, but for the actual pumpy-pump-pump hearts inside you. She’s very smart and organized. She likes things to be exactly where they belong. Dad calls her "The Human Spreadsheet," but he says it with a weird sparkly look in his eye now. Back then? Not so much.Everything in her life is perfectly sorted, probably because she had to fight for every single amazing thing she has. My grandpa says Mom had to work ten times harder than anyone else.

And then there's Dad. He’s a trauma surgeon, which means he thrives on alarms, speed, and things generally exploding.My Dad, Dr. Liam O’Connell,fixes people after big accidents. He's loud, and he moves really fast, and Mom says he leaves a trail of coffee cups and discarded scrubs wherever he goes. He calls Mom "The Queen of Protocol," but, again, a different tone back then.

Before I was born, they didn't just not get along. Oh no. They were like two really fast, really smart squirrels fighting over the last acorn. My Grandpa, Dad’s dad, says he’s never seen two people professionally despise each other quite so passionately. I think he means they argued for a job award once, and Mom won, and Dad pretended not to care but secretly sent her a passive-aggressive bouquet of dead flowers. (Mom denies this, but I found the old email!)

See, my parents, Dr. Rachel Sharma and Dr. Liam O’Connell, didn’t exactly fall in love. They erupted into it. And the place where the explosion happened wasn't a fancy restaurant or a movie set. It was the sterile, often scary, but mostly boring Wing C of the Metro-General Hospital. That’s my parents’ battlefield

My grandpa says Dad never had to work hard for anything because his uncle is Dr. Director Thorne—the head of the entire hospital. Mom had to train under Uncle Director Thorne, and she hated that Dad could just breeze past the rules she bled for. She saw him as a spoiled mess; he saw her as a rigid robot.

Their rivalry wasn't just about medicine, though that was part of it. It was about coffee cups. It was about whether to use Arial or Times New Roman on hospital memos. And my personal favorite: who got the last decent parking spot.

The most famous incident, before I existed, was The Great Chart Disaster. Dad, rushing (as usual), scribbled his notes on a patient chart with a shaky hand. Mom, walking by, corrected his medical abbreviation with a bright red pen, adding a little note in the margin that read: “Perhaps slow down, Dr. O’Connell. Precision over flair.”

Dad found the chart, looked at the red ink, and marched straight into the lounge. "I save lives in three minutes flat, Sharma! You spend three hours debating the angle of a suture!"

Mom just gave him the "Human Spreadsheet Glare," which can melt metal. "Saving a life is only half the job, O'Connell. Keeping it saved is the other. Your ego doesn’t factor into the mortality rate."

And that was their rhythm. High tension, loud whispers, and deep, fiery looks that, as I now realize, probably weren’t just about who was right.

Anyways now i should go . Now you will read my mother's perspective from now on . But in between i will also narrate for u all , bye ☺️ 👋.

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