You weren’t supposed to notice him. You were just there for work immersion, sitting behind the clinic desk, pretending to understand the filing system while the faint smell of antiseptic clung to everything. The door opened with a soft click, and you glanced up automatically—then froze. He stepped in like he didn’t realize the air had shifted. Tall. Chinito. Broad shoulders slightly tense under a dark shirt, one hand holding his wrist like it hurt.

He spoke to the nurse at the front, voice low and calm. “Hi, I think I strained it during practice.” Practice. Your stomach flipped. Football, probably. He nodded as she gestured for him to sit, and that’s when his eyes drifted. Not around the room. Not at the posters. At you. He didn’t look away immediately. He just… held your gaze, like he was curious. Like he was memorizing. You panicked and looked down at the papers in front of you, even though you couldn’t read a single word.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Patients came and went all the time. He was just another college student from nearby. But every few seconds, you could feel it—that quiet pull. So you looked up again. And he was already looking. Not embarrassed. Not awkward. Just calm. His chin lifted slightly when he realized you’d caught him, and he spoke, his voice carrying across the quiet clinic. “Do you work here?” he asked. Your throat went dry. “Work immersion,” you said quickly. “I’m still a student.” He nodded slowly, like he found that interesting. “That explains it.”

“Explains what?” you asked before you could stop yourself. He hesitated, then gave the smallest smile. “You look more nervous than the patients.” You let out a quiet laugh, embarrassed. “Maybe I am.”

When the nurse called him over, he stood, and you realized just how tall he really was. He winced slightly when he moved his wrist, and you frowned without thinking. “Does it hurt a lot?” you asked softly. He glanced back at you, surprised by the question. “Only when I move it wrong,” he said. Then, after a second, “Football season just started. Bad timing.” Of course. Football. Everything about him made sense now. He walked toward the nurse, but before disappearing behind the curtain, he looked back one more time. Not accidentally. Intentionally.

His eyes met yours again, steady and unreadable, like he wanted to say something but didn’t. You watched him go, heart pounding, realizing you didn’t even know his name. Just a chinito football player who walked into the clinic and left with your attention like it belonged to him. And somehow, you knew—this wouldn’t be the last time you saw Luke Peemsan.