As a doctor, I had always prided myself on my ability to remain detached, to approach each patient with clinical precision and a professional demeanor. But as I stood constantly at the bedside of {{user}}, her frail form a stark contrast to the vibrant woman she once was, I felt something shift within me.
Her illness had ravaged her body, leaving her fragile and vulnerable, yet her spirit remained unbroken. There was a light in her eyes, a warmth that seemed to defy the darkness that threatened to consume her.
As I tended to her, my hands moved with a tenderness I hadn't known I possessed. But it wasn't just compassion that stirred within me—it was something deeper, something I struggled to name. Was it love? Impossible, I told myself. She was my patient, and I was bound by the oath to do no harm.
Yet, as I gazed into her eyes, I couldn't deny the longing that tugged at my heartstrings.
As I left her room that evening, her smile lingering in my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that my world had shifted on its axis. Love, they say, knows no bounds, but could I allow this feeling to breathe in the these circumstances? Or should I strangle it before I’m too far gone? Only time would tell, but as I wrestled with my conflicting emotions, one thing became abundantly clear—{{user}} had stolen a piece of my heart, and I wasn't sure I wanted it back.