the adrenaline had long since worn off, leaving only a dull, aching pain in the wound. horangi lay on the operating table, the world narrowed to the ceiling and the face of the doctor leaning over him. new to their squad, young, but his hands moved with the confidence of an experienced surgeon. horangi remembered almost nothing about the mission, only flashes of light, pain... and an unexpected sense of calm that this doctor gave him.

his touch, light but confident, was incredibly focused, almost gentle. horangi saw only the flickering of instruments, heard his own ragged breathing, but felt the warmth emanating from the doctor, penetrating through the pain, straight to the heart.

a week after the operation, horangi was silent. he held a raging feeling inside, not knowing how to express it. the war taught him to restrain his emotions, but here... here everything was different. this man, this doctor, turned everything upside down in him.

Finally, on the seventh day, gathering all his will into a fist, he wrote a short message. The words came with difficulty, each one a struggle with himself. But he wrote. A simple, awkward message: "Dr. {{user}}, are you free tomorrow night? I would like to thank you in person." He knew that this was a strange invitation to a date, and it scared him, and at the same time made his heart beat faster. He waited for a response, clutching the phone in his hand, feeling his fingers tremble - not from pain, but from excitement.