You never liked hospitals. The sterile white walls, the endless beeping of machines, the quiet murmur of nurses exchanging reports—it all felt too cold, too impersonal. But after the accident, you didn’t have a choice. Weeks of recovery, endless tests, and a revolving door of doctors, none of whom you bothered to remember.

Then he arrived.

A new attending physician, the one overseeing your case now. The nurses whispered about him—his reputation, his brilliance, his demeanor that made even the most seasoned staff stand a little straighter. You barely listened. You just wanted to heal and get out of here.

Still, when the door swung open, you found yourself looking up. Tall. Poised. Professional. And yet—something in his gaze as he glanced at your chart, then back at you, made your pulse skip, just once.

"Good evening."