Chapter 190: Phoebe Buffay
Phoebe realized on a bright, sunny afternoon that she might actually need to see a doctor.
She was standing in her usual spot at Central Park, her guitar resting comfortably in her arms.
The weather was perfect. Pedestrians drifted by in steady streams, and every now and then a coin landed in her guitar case with a crisp little clink.
Everything felt exactly as it always did.
She cradled her guitar, brushed her fingers across the strings, and began to sing.
The opening verses went flawlessly.
Her voice felt smooth and steady. Even she thought she sounded particularly good.
Then she reached a familiar high note...
And nothing happened.
It wasn't that she sang off-key.
It wasn't that her voice cracked.
She didn't run out of breath.
The melody simply... refused to climb where it was supposed to.
Phoebe blinked.
She tried again.
This time she was certain her body was doing everything correctly.
Her chest opened naturally.
Her throat stayed relaxed.
Her diaphragm provided solid support.
But when the melody reached the point where it should have soared upward...
Her voice hit an invisible wall.
As though someone had hung up a sign reading:
"Closed Today."
She frowned slightly, switched to another song, and deliberately avoided that section of her range.
Her lower and middle registers were perfectly fine.
In fact, they sounded steadier than usual.
After finishing the verse, she nodded to herself.
"Okay," she murmured.
"You're still here."
Still unwilling to give up, she tried once more.
This time she pushed a little harder.
The note came out...
But it sounded... strange.
It wasn't the tone she knew.
It felt more like something squeezed awkwardly through a narrow gap after failing to go the proper way.
The sound wobbled briefly before dissolving into the air.
Phoebe lowered her guitar and stared into the distance for several seconds.
Then she calmly reached a conclusion.
"Apparently..."
"My high notes don't feel like cooperating today."
She slipped the guitar back into its case.
If one part of her body had decided to take the day off...
Then perhaps they all deserved a vacation.
The people around her barely noticed.
Some walked past.
Some paused to listen before moving on.
To them, it was simply another street musician packing up early.
---
When she returned to the apartment, Rachel was curled up on the couch reading a magazine.
Monica, meanwhile, was in the kitchen, locked in what appeared to be a long-running war against an army of plastic food containers.
"You're home early," Monica called from the kitchen.
"Part of me isn't very happy today," Phoebe answered.
Rachel looked up.
"Which part?"
"I'm not entirely sure," Phoebe said after thinking seriously.
"Maybe an energy center."
"Or an emotion I've been ignoring."
She paused thoughtfully.
"...Or maybe that pet rat I accidentally let die when I was little has finally come back to haunt me."
Monica and Rachel exchanged a glance and wisely chose not to investigate further.
"Do you want me to schedule a doctor's appointment?" Monica asked.
Phoebe shook her head.
"An ordinary doctor won't help."
"Why not?"
"Because they'll order a bunch of tests," Phoebe replied with complete certainty, "and then tell me everything's perfectly normal."
Rachel nodded.
"...Yeah."
"That actually sounds exactly like something that would happen."
---
The next day, Phoebe ran into a homeless man near the subway entrance who often "performed" with her.
To call it performing together was generous.
She sang.
He lay on newspapers several yards away beneath a filthy blanket whose original color had long since become a mystery.
Usually, he looked exhausted.
His eyes were dull.
He always seemed one strong breeze away from falling apart.
Today...
He looked like a completely different person.
He sat upright.
His complexion was healthy.
He even greeted her first.
"Hey, guitar girl."
Phoebe stared at him for a full five seconds.
"...You look like an entirely different person."
"I went to a clinic," he said proudly.
"Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn."
"They treated me for free."
"And they even gave me free cupcakes."
After thinking for a moment, he added,
"Although..."
"It was kind of weird."
"Weird how?" Phoebe asked immediately.
"I can't really explain it."
"Before I went in, I thought I was dying."
"When I came out..."
"...all I wanted was a hot dog."
Phoebe's eyes immediately lit up.
That sounded exactly like the place she needed.
---
Rayne Clinic wasn't particularly eye-catching.
There was no flashy sign.
No gleaming glass exterior.
It looked more like an old building the city had somehow forgotten to tear down.
Standing outside the entrance, Phoebe instinctively stopped.
Something about the building felt... unusual.
Like a young person deliberately dressing in an old person's clothes.
She waved a hand gently through the air.
"...Oh."
"Strange..."
"But in a good way."
She pressed the doorbell.
A voice came through the intercom.
"Hello. Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Phoebe replied confidently.
"But I think you've been expecting me."
The person on the other end paused noticeably.
A few seconds later, the door buzzed open.
The moment she stepped inside, Phoebe felt her shoulders relax.
The clinic was peaceful.
Not silent.
Just... peaceful.
The kind of quiet where you didn't feel obligated to stay tense.
There was no harsh antiseptic smell.
No frantic hospital atmosphere.
The air itself felt warm.
Not physically warm...
Just welcoming.
As though everyone could breathe a little easier here.
The reception area was spotless, with soft lighting that felt surprisingly comforting.
Helen sat behind the desk organizing paperwork.
She looked up and greeted Phoebe with a professional smile.
"Hello."
"Is this your first visit?"
"Yes," Phoebe nodded.
"At least the first time in this lifetime."
Helen's hands paused for just a moment before she looked up again.
"...All right."
"I'll get you registered first."
She slid a form across the counter.
"Name?"
"Phoebe Buffay."
"Age?"
"That depends."
"Are we talking about my body or my soul?"
Helen looked up once more.
"Your legal age is fine."
"Oh."
"Twenty-five."
Helen nodded.
"Contact number?"
Phoebe gave her phone number.
"Thank you."
Helen continued writing.
"Have you experienced any recent symptoms?"
Phoebe thought carefully.
"My high notes disappeared."
"Does your throat hurt?"
"No."
"Difficulty speaking?"
"Not at all."
"I've always been very good at talking."
"So it only happens when you're singing?"
"Exactly."
"Especially those notes that are supposed to fly upward."
She traced an arc through the air with her finger.
"They get halfway there..."
"...and something stops them."
Helen looked up again.
"What stops them?"
"I don't know."
"That's why I'm here."
Helen was silent for a second.
"How long has this been happening?"
"Since yesterday."
Helen continued writing.
"Understood."
She flipped to the next page.
"How often has this happened?"
"Once."
"I lost my voice because I realized I didn't actually like the song I was singing."
She thought for a moment.
"But this feels different."
"This feels more like..."
"...my body is malfunctioning."
"I understand."
"I've noted everything."
Helen collected the paperwork and stood.
"Please wait a moment while I arrange for a doctor."
Phoebe sighed with genuine relief.
"I knew you'd understand me."
Helen blinked.
"What makes you say that?"
Phoebe smiled.
"Because through this entire conversation..."
"...you never once said, 'That's normal.'"
Helen looked at her...
Then couldn't help smiling as well.
---
Helen's knock interrupted Ethan's wandering thoughts.
He straightened in his chair.
"Come in."
Helen entered and placed the registration form on his desk.
"There's a rather unusual young woman here."
"...But she's very pretty."
Ethan looked at her curiously.
"Hm?"
Helen simply wore an expression that said, You'll see.
"Send her in."
The examination room door opened.
A blonde woman stepped inside.
Helen had been right.
She was beautiful.
Not in the polished, meticulously styled way.
Her features simply looked as though they'd naturally fallen into exactly the right places.
Nothing sharp.
Nothing flashy.
Yet together they created a unique charm balanced somewhere between innocence and quiet wisdom.
Ethan felt an immediate sense of familiarity.
She looked incredibly familiar.
But he couldn't place where he'd seen her before.
"Hello," she said first.
"I'm Phoebe."
"Hello."
Ethan nodded politely.
"Please, have a seat."
He glanced down at her chart.
Name: Phoebe Buffay
Age: Twenty-five
His hand froze.
Phoebe Buffay?
Friends' Phoebe Buffay?
Good grief...
At this point in the timeline?
A twenty-five-year-old Phoebe was sitting right in front of him, tilting her head curiously.
A parallel universe?
Or did Phoebe somehow get transported here?
Questions flooded his mind.
He quickly forced himself to set them aside.
First things first.
Treat the patient.
"Your main concern is your voice?"
"More specifically," Phoebe corrected, "my high notes."
"They suddenly decided they don't want to cooperate anymore."
Ethan smiled faintly.
Yes.
Definitely Phoebe.
"Any sore throat lately?"
"Hoarseness?"
"Difficulty speaking?"
"No."
"Have you been under emotional stress?"
"Any trouble sleeping?"
"I've been sleeping fine."
She thought for a moment.
"I was just..."
"...a little annoyed with myself yesterday."
"In what way?"
"I suddenly realized..."
"If I can't sing those high notes..."
"...am I still me?"
Ethan was silent for a moment.
That wasn't an ordinary patient's description of symptoms.
It sounded more like someone standing at the edge of their own identity, asking a philosophical question.
He slipped on a pair of gloves.
"I'm going to examine your throat first."
Phoebe nodded.
He adjusted the examination light.
The warm illumination clearly outlined her throat without being harsh.
"Open your mouth."
She complied.
"I brushed my teeth," she added helpfully.
"In case that's important."
"I'm more interested in your vocal cords," Ethan replied evenly.
He picked up the examination instruments.
"Relax."
"Keep your tongue still."
Phoebe genuinely tried.
Her tongue, unfortunately, had other ideas.
After thinking about it, she simply closed her eyes.
"I've noticed," she said,
"that people usually treat me more gently when I don't look at them."
Ethan didn't answer.
He merely adjusted the angle.
"Say 'Ah.'"
"Ah..."
Her voice was clear.
Steady.
No abnormal sounds.
"Again."
"Hold it longer."
"Ahhh..."
He carefully observed her vocal cords.
Symmetrical vibration.
No swelling.
No redness.
"Now hum."
"Mmm..."
Perfectly normal.
"Cough once."
She gave a gentle cough.
No discomfort.
No pain.
He stepped back and examined her again from another angle.
No nodules.
No polyps.
No inflammation.
Everything looked...
Too normal.
Far too normal for someone who couldn't reach high notes.
"Has your throat hurt recently?"
"No."
"Any burning sensation?"
"No."
"Difficulty swallowing?"
"Only when I'm thinking about something embarrassing."
Ethan nodded.
"Now hum from a low note and gradually move higher."
Phoebe complied.
The scale rose smoothly...
Until it reached that specific point.
Her voice hesitated.
Not cracked.
Not broken.
It simply stopped.
Ethan noticed an almost imperceptible change in the muscles around her throat.
Not disease.
More like her body instinctively bracing itself.
He studied the area for a moment.
Then decided to add one extra layer of reassurance.
A gentle glow of Holy Light blossomed quietly in his palm.
Not dazzling.
More like soft ripples spreading through calm water.
The atmosphere in the examination room subtly shifted.
Then—
"You're glowing."
Phoebe suddenly spoke.
Ethan blinked.
The healing spell had already finished.
"...You saw that?"
he asked instinctively.
That can't be right.
Her eyes were closed.
"No."
Phoebe shook her head.
"I felt it."
She tilted her head as though trying to identify something both familiar and unfamiliar.
"It was a warm light."
"It felt like it seeped into my throat."
Ethan looked at her in surprise.
Was that just an incredible coincidence...
Or could she actually sense Holy Light?
He decided to leave that question for another time.
The light gradually faded.
The room returned to normal.
"All right."
He put away the instruments and switched off the examination lamp.
The room returned to its soft lighting.
"Your throat isn't inflamed."
"Your vocal cords are structurally perfect."
"They close normally."
"They vibrate normally."
Phoebe watched him quietly.
"So..."
"They're only pretending to be missing?"
"More accurately," Ethan said after choosing his words carefully,
"you're trying too hard to control something that was never meant to be consciously controlled."
He returned to his desk.
"Stress can push the body into a defensive state."
"And the throat is one of the areas most easily affected."
Phoebe tilted her head.
"So my voice isn't broken?"
"No."
"Then what is it?"
"Like I said..."
"You've probably been placing too much importance on something recently."
"But the thing I care about," Phoebe immediately replied,
"...is the fact that I can't sing those high notes."
Ethan smiled inwardly.
A classic chicken-and-egg problem.
After a moment's thought, he decided not to pursue the cause any further.
"The reason isn't important anymore."
"What matters now..."
"...is that you keep singing."
"If a note won't come..."
"Then let it go."
"Don't keep staring at that one high note."
He looked directly at her.
"The day you forget it exists..."
"...your body will finally relax."
"And when that happens..."
"It'll come back on its own."
Phoebe sat quietly for two seconds.
"I have to say..."
She looked at him sincerely.
"I really like the way you treat people."
Ethan paused before closing her chart.
"...You do?"
She nodded.
"You never told me this part was broken or that part was defective."
"You never made me feel like I was a machine that needed to be sent back to the factory."
After thinking for a moment, she added,
"You just told me..."
"...that my high notes were having a bad day."
Ethan silently questioned himself.
...Was that what I said?
He didn't argue.
He didn't correct her.
He simply nodded.
"If that's the way you'd like to understand it..."
"...then yes."
"And you also said they'd come back."
She continued, as though confirming something deeply important.
"You didn't say, 'If you work hard enough.'"
"You didn't say, 'If you practice exactly the way I tell you.'"
"You simply said..."
"...they'll come back on their own."
Ethan looked completely bewildered.
"...Uh... okay."
When he'd watched Friends, he'd always thought Phoebe was mostly normal with occasional bursts of eccentricity.
Meeting her in person proved the exact opposite.
She spent the vast majority of the time delightfully unpredictable.
"So..." he said, "your treatment is finished. Go home, get some rest, and try not to overthink it."
"Okay."
Phoebe agreed immediately.
But she didn't stand up.
She remained seated, completely relaxed, her eyes fixed intently on him.
After a few seconds, Ethan began feeling slightly self-conscious under her unwavering gaze.
"So," she suddenly asked, "Doctor... aren't you going to ask for my phone number?"
Ethan blinked.
The question was so direct—and delivered so naturally—that for a moment he couldn't tell whether she was joking or being sincerely... Phoebe.
"I..."
He hesitated.
Before he could answer, she continued.
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
He hadn't even opened his mouth yet.
"I mean," she added quickly, "if you do, that's okay."
"I've always been very understanding about... inconvenient timing."
Ethan couldn't help laughing.
"I don't," he admitted honestly.
"But..."
"I'm still in contact with my ex-girlfriend."
"Oh."
Phoebe nodded thoughtfully.
"That sounds like someone who's still sorting things out."
Ethan paused, suddenly realizing something.
No matter what...
He had just treated Phoebe Buffay from Friends.
Having a way to contact her certainly didn't seem like a bad idea.
He looked up at her, his expression relaxing.
"Actually..."
"I already have your phone number."
Phoebe blinked.
"So you're saying..."
"So," Ethan continued with a smile, "would it work if I gave you mine instead?"
Phoebe's face instantly lit up.
"Yes."
She nodded enthusiastically.
"Then we can have dinner together sometime."
"I'd like that," Ethan replied.
He wrote down his name and phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to her.
"For whenever you feel like having someone to eat with."
Phoebe accepted it carefully, folded it with surprising seriousness, and tucked it safely into her bag.
"I usually remember important things."
She stood, walked to the door, then turned back one last time.
"Oh, Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"When I can sing those high notes again..."
She smiled.
"I'll call you."
Ethan smiled back.
"I'll look forward to it."
After Phoebe left, the examination room fell quiet once more.
Ethan settled back into his chair.
Several long seconds passed before he finally processed what had just happened.
Phoebe...
Had actually appeared here.
She'd sat across from him in his examination room.
She'd been right in front of him.
Which left him with one unavoidable question.
If Phoebe Buffay was here...
Would the story of Friends still unfold the way it was supposed to?
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Next Chapter: Chapter 191: Let Me Buy You a Cup of Coffee
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