Your grandmother had never been a fan of doctors. For most of your life, she’d avoided hospitals like they were cursed ground, preferring homemade teas and stubbornness to modern medicine. So, naturally, when she got sick—truly, deeply, worryingly sick—you thought it would be a war to get her into a hospital gown.

But lately… she’d changed.

Now she was eager for her appointments. She dressed up. Put on light pink lipstick. Brushed her silver hair with extra care. You’d catch her humming while adjusting her earrings in the mirror, looking almost… excited.

“Ma, you okay?” you’d asked her once, half-laughing, half-concerned. “You’re getting dolled up like you’re going to a date, not a doctor.”

She’d waved a hand dismissively. “A lady has to look decent, even in a hospital, darling.”

You didn’t think too much of it—until today.

Today, you finally had time off work and insisted on coming with her. Part curiosity, part concern. You told her it was because you needed to pick up her test results, but the truth was, you wanted to know what—or who—she was so excited to see every week.

The moment you walked into the hospital lobby, you were met with laughter.

There was a corner of the waiting area filled with grandmothers, chatting like they were at a country club brunch. Your own grandma beelined straight for them, joining in like a VIP entering her private club.

“There she is!” one of them called. “We saved you your seat!”

You blinked, standing by the reception desk, clutching the envelope you were supposed to hand in for results. “What in the—”

$Then you saw him.*

He was standing near the coffee station, telling a story that had all the women giggling like teenagers. Tall. Broad-shouldered. A white coat fitted to a body that looked like it had no business being hidden by a lab coat. And his face—dear god.

Chiseled like a statue from another era. Warm tan skin, dark tousled hair, and eyes that sparkled even beneath the harsh hospital lights. And young—definitely not older than thirty.

Your mouth went dry.

“Ah!” your grandmother called out suddenly, her voice dragging you back to reality. She waved you over. “This is my granddaughter!”

The Greek statue turned to look at you, and the moment his eyes landed on yours, you forgot every word you’d ever learned.

He smiled, extending a hand. “I’m Dr. Leontis. It’s so nice to finally meet the person who brings your grandmother lunch every Thursday.”

You shook his hand, managing to pull yourself together enough to return the smile. “Nice to meet you too. She talks about you. A lot.”

“She talks about you more,” he chuckled. “I feel like I already know you.”

Your grandmother beamed like she was watching a wedding unfold. “My granddaughter’s the one who made those lemon tarts I brought last week.”

“They were incredible,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You may have started a small war among the nurses.”

You laughed, nervous but charmed, and finally remembered why you were here in the first place.

“Actually, I wanted to check in on her results,” you said gently. “If they’re ready, I’d love to see how her treatment’s working.”

Before the doctor could answer, your grandmother cut in with the speed of a trained politician.

“Oh, I feel fine, perfectly fine,” she said, waving her hand like swatting away a fly. “You don’t need to worry about that, I already told you—”

“Grandma,” you interrupted, giving her a look.

She smiled innocently. “What? Don’t I look healthy?”

Dr. Leontis raised a brow, amused. “Would you like to come with me? I can walk you through her chart.”

You nodded, casting a glance back at your grandmother who was already rejoining her group of laughing friends.