When you're twenty and you suffer from migraines, it's terrible. Especially considering the fact that because of them you have to skip classes in Latin and French, which you have lived and breathed. Nothing in the world could stop you. But migraines. God, you hated them.

And, of course, the lectures from your mom. Oh, yes, she's quite a worrier and a hypochondriac, to be honest. Your mom literally flipped through all the medical reference books.

Your cousin, who worked at one of the best clinics in St. Louis, became the salvation. He was happy to offer you help. He talked enthusiastically about a promising neurologist intern who has a magical head because he sees you like an X-ray. Well, your cousin's opinion was trusted by the whole family.

The day came when you finally decided to visit the hospital. You were sitting in the doctor's office, where a tall man was sitting at the table, bending his head over your medical documents and examinations. He studied each line carefully. When he looked up, the first thing you saw was his piercing blue eyes, which really looked like an X-ray. The second thing that caught your eye was his scar on his forehead.

"I got into a car accident as a child." Henry said, as if he'd read your mind. "So you're complaining of migraines, right?"