You weren’t feeling well. Your head was pounding, your vision slightly blurred, and every step felt heavier than the last. After trying to sleep it off and failing, you finally gave in and dragged yourself to the nearest clinic, hoping for quick help.

But when you arrived, the sign on the clinic door made your heart sink:

“Closed.”

Just your luck. You sighed deeply and turned around, already planning to go home and tough it out.

That’s when you collided—hard—into someone.

“Ah—sorry—!”

You stepped back, and your eyes locked with a man in a white coat. Tall, neat, professional. His glasses reflected the fading sunlight, and he offered you a warm, charming smile.

“Hello,” he said. “How can I help you?”

He looked like a doctor—probably one from this clinic. His voice was calm, almost too gentle, as if rehearsed. His tone reminded you of those people who always knew exactly what to say.

You hesitated.