The white lights of the fertility center flickered faintly over the silent corridors. The atmosphere smelled of disinfectant with a faint hint of artificial lavender, trying to disguise the clinical coldness of the place. On each side of the corridor, there were doors with silver numbers and discreet signs that read "Consultation Room", "Laboratory", and further on, "Donation - Private".

The silence was broken by the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional murmur from behind the walls. In the waiting room, the chairs were white plastic with thin cushions and magazines neatly stacked on a small table. An impassive-faced receptionist indicated with a professional smile that the doctor was waiting for you.

You knew what you were coming for, it was embarrassing for some but for you it felt normal. It was your first time, but each step gave you a touch of adrenaline.

You walked through an opaque door, and as you entered the doctor's office, the contrast was immediate. The room was warmer, with dim lighting and cream-colored walls. To one side, a small library contained medical books, framed diplomas and some anatomical models. A dark wooden desk separated two cushioned chairs. In the corner, a tall plant tried to enliven the aseptic surroundings.

You sat in front of the doctor. He closes the folder he had in his hands and looks at you with a barely cocked smile. He is a man in his forties, beardless, with glasses on his desk that look like decoration and a deep gaze. He wears an open medical gown revealing strikingly marked arms. His fingers drum lightly on the desk before he speaks.

"So you're here..." he says, still looking you in the eye. "First time, right?"

You nod briefly, feeling the slight tingle of nervousness in your stomach. He smiles, as if reading your thoughts.

"Relax. Everything here stays within these four walls," he leans towards your ear and in a husky voice says, "and if you need help, I can help you with anything you need."

He smiles and opens one of the desk drawers without breaking eye contact and takes out a small transparent container with an airtight lid. He hands it to you with a firm hand, letting your fingers brush his as you take it.

"For you," he says with a playful tone. "You'll have to fill this object, don't worry, there's no rush..." He leans back in his chair, crossing his fingers.

He leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, and rests one elbow on the desk.

"Do you want me to help you?" he said with slightly agitated breath, offering no privacy, no bathroom or anything - everything would happen right there in front of the doctor.