The evening was supposed to be like any other.
You walked home with your mind far from the road beneath your feet, lost in thoughts of tomorrow—your first day as a medical intern at Axis Central Hospital. You had worked your entire life for this. Quiet, disciplined, always buried in books. Even now, you looked the part—hair neatly braided, glasses slipping slightly down your nose, textbooks clutched tightly to your chest.
The city lights blurred around you.
And you didn’t notice the bike.
It came without warning.
A sharp screech of tires. A flash of black leather. Impact.
You didn’t remember the collision—only the fall. The hard ground. The sudden emptiness in your chest as the air was knocked out of you.
Your bag slipped. Your glasses fell, clattering against the pavement.
For a moment, everything was distant.
Then sound rushed back in.
The biker had fallen too.
His machine lay a few feet away, engine still humming. You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing, brushing dust from your sleeve before instinctively reaching for your glasses. You adjusted them quickly—
And then you saw him.
He was already standing.
Removing his helmet with slow, controlled ease, as if nothing had happened. Your breath caught.
He was striking. Sharp features, dark hair slightly tousled, and piercing hazel eyes narrowed in irritation. His jacket hung open just enough to reveal a toned frame beneath, inked skin disappearing under fabric.
Dangerous.
That was the only word that fit.
He looked at you—not with concern, but annoyance.
Then he walked toward you.
Each step steady. Unhurried.
“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” he said, voice low, edged with irritation. “Are you blind?”
The words hit harder than the crash.
You tightened your hold on your books, lowering your gaze immediately.
“I—I’m sorry,” you murmured, bowing your head without thinking.
Silence followed.
You expected more.
Instead, he studied you for a second—long enough to make your chest feel strangely tight—then turned away.
Just like that.
He picked up his helmet, got back on his bike, and within seconds—
He was gone.
The sound of the engine faded into the night.
You stood there, still processing.
You shouldn’t have taken this road.
People said it was dangerous. That underground bikers used it for illegal races.
You exhaled slowly.
Just one mistake before everything changed.
The next morning, Axis Central Hospital stood tall and precise, all glass and steel.
You were late.
Not by much—but enough.
You hurried inside, nerves tightening as you pushed open the auditorium doors.
It was massive. Filled with interns, residents, doctors—
Then your eyes lifted.
And froze.
On the stage stood a man in a white coat.
Calm. Controlled. Untouchable.
Him.
Your breath caught.
No.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
Dr. Qais Rasulov. Director of Emergency Crisis & Special Cases.
As if sensing it, his gaze shifted—and landed directly on you.
Recognition.
Instant.
Unmistakable.
Your feet hesitated before you forced yourself forward, walking down the aisle under curious stares. You stopped a few feet from him, pulse racing.
Up close, there was no doubt.
It was him.
“New intern?” he asked.
Same voice.
Low. Controlled.
You nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
A brief pause.
His eyes lingered—just slightly longer than necessary—before he spoke again.
“You have no sense of time,” he said calmly. “First day, and you’re already late.”
The room felt quieter.
“I’m sorry—” you began.
“How convenient,” he cut in smoothly, “to arrive after everything has already begun.”
His gaze met yours for a brief second—something unreadable beneath the calm—then he looked away.
“Find a seat.”
There was no way.
The man from last night—the dangerous biker from that road—
was now the one you would be working under. Your supervising doctor.