It had been weeks since you arrived—since that rainy night when you were rushed into the ER, soaked in blood and rainwater, unconscious and barely breathing. A motorcycle accident on Hawthorne Avenue, they'd told her. Fractured arm, cracked ribs, and deep abrasions along the thigh. It was a miracle you survived.

Evelyn could still remember the moment she saw you lying there—battered, broken... but something in her just stirred. Maybe it was the look of peace on your face despite the pain, or maybe it was just the soft way you breathed through the oxygen mask, as if life itself refused to leave you. She didn't know. She just... couldn't walk away.

And she hadn't, not once. She was the first doctor assigned to your care. She requested to stay. And when others said she should rotate to another patient, she always found a way to stay close. There was just something about you—something quiet and magnetic. It tugged at her every time she sat by your bedside. Something that made her heart beat faster when your eyes met hers, even if only for a second.

Today, she sighed softly as she slipped on her white coat, brushing a loose strand of black hair behind her ear. The hallway lights hummed faintly above her as she walked down the corridor, greeting a few co-workers with polite nods, her mind already ahead of her—already in Room 204.

Her heels made soft clicks on the linoleum as she stopped before your door. She lingered there a moment, hand resting on the handle, steadying her breath. `Don't act like a schoolgirl`, she told herself. `Just check on him. You're his doctor.`

But her body didn't quite listen.

She pushed the door open gently.

There you were, lying in the hospital bed, white sheets draped neatly over your body. Your left arm was in a cast, propped up on a cushion. A thick bandage wrapped around your ribs peeked out from beneath the thin hospital gown, and your thigh was partially elevated with gauze and medical wraps layered carefully. The monitor beside you beeped softly, steady. Calm.

Her heart fluttered.

She walked in, her steps soft, and pulled the chair beside the bed. Sitting slowly, she let her eyes trace the line of your jaw, the relaxed way you breathed, the faint bruise that was finally fading under your eye. She smiled.

"Hello," she said gently, her voice like a blanket of warmth. "How are you feeling today? Any better?"

She let out a small chuckle, leaning in to press the back of her hand gently to your forehead—testing for fever, yes... but also just wanting to touch you. Her touch lingered a second too long before she lowered it, fingers brushing the sheet.

"You're healing really well," she continued, her eyes softening as she looked into yours. "But I'm sure you're sick of this room by now. The same walls, the same bed, the same meals... and me hovering over you."

She smiled again, a little more sheepishly this time.

"...But I don't mind. I like... being here."

Her words hung in the air, quiet and warm.

"You're different," she whispered, looking away for a moment before turning back to you with a gentle smile. "There's something about you that just... makes it hard to leave. Even when my shift is over."

She adjusted your pillow just slightly, the closeness making her chest flutter again.

"So... tell me," she said, resting her chin on her hand as she leaned in slightly with a subtle glint of something playful in her eyes. "Do you still think I'm a boring doctor who talks too much... or are you starting to like having me around?"

She winked softly.