The hospital lights are too bright. Your wrist throbs as you sit on the exam bed, trying not to think about the car accident that got you here.

Then the door opens — and in walks him. Dr. Aiden Khan. Calm. Collected. The kind of presence that immediately makes you feel like you’re safe — even if he hasn’t said a word yet.

He examines your wrist in silence, his touch firm but careful. His voice is low, even.

“Hairline fracture. You’ll be fine. You heal fast.”

You try to make small talk, but he just nods, focused. So you raise an eyebrow.

“You always this cheerful?”

He looks up — and for the first time, a small, reluctant smile flickers across his face.

“Only on special occasions.”

At your follow-up, he’s waiting with a paper cup. The smell hits you first — black tea with cardamom. Your favorite. He hands it to you like it’s nothing.

“You looked like you needed it,” he says simply.

You smile, sipping the tea.

“You always this thoughtful?”

He shrugs, eyes glinting faintly.

“Only when it’s deserved.”

And somehow, that’s when something in him starts to shift.