“Oh. Nice,” I replied awkwardly. “What did you do?”
“I had three ninety-minute lectures. I went to the gym, then did some grocery shopping and came home. After planning for tomorrow, I came into the kitchen and started dinner.” He stalled, the air shifting just slightly. “How was your day?”
The question was so simple, sonormal, but it startled me. “It was kind of stressful,” I said honestly, tying off another stitch. “One of my patients needed an emergency C-section, and there was a complication during surgery.”
“Did she make it?”
“Yeah.” I exhaled slowly. “Thank God. I’ve never lost a patient, and I really hope I never do. I don’t think I’d survive it.”
His brow furrowed. “Then why did you become a doctor, knowing that losing a patient is inevitable?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s inevitable.”
The look he gave me said:Really, Lillian?
“Fine,” I muttered. “It is inevitable.”
I scowled at his hand, but the room blurred anyway, replaced by images I didn’t want to see: a mother slipping away, a babytoo still in her arms. My stomach tightened with thick grief waiting in the wings.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “Why did you decide to become a doctor?”
The bluntness of it caught me off guard. “Um...a few reasons.”
“Go on.”
I shook my head, suddenly feeling very small. “You’ll think they’re dumb. And I’m not in the mood to be mocked. I might accidentally cut your hand off.”
The corner of his mouth tugged upward. “Since when did you care what I think?”
I chuckled. “Well, I guess it started when I was ten. I was at a wedding, and my mom was judging the bride because she’d married a taxi driver. She looked at me and said, ‘Lillian, only marry a doctor.’” I paused, tasting the bitterness that memory still carried. “It made me so angry—that she could look at a hardworking man and dismiss him, look at a happy bride and call her a failure, and then decide my life path in the same breath. So I vowed right then that I would become a doctor myself, just to spite her.”
He smirked. “Yeah, that is dumb.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I said afewreasons. That was just one of them—the first one, when I was a kid.”
“Enlighten me, then,” he said, voice softer but still prodding. “What are the other reasons?”
I considered brushing him off, keeping the distance I was so good at, but the words came anyway. “I always found the concept of birth...beautiful.” I slowed, the truth easing out in uneven pieces. “The things a woman’s body is capable of—it amazed me. I guess I wanted to play a part in that. To be there in the moment life begins. I like...” I swallowed, eyes dropping to the table. “I like watching a mother hold her child for the first time.”
The room fell into that uncomfortable, library-level quiet. His expression evolved as he stared—searching, curious, trying to decode the parts of me I had yet to reveal.
As I pulled the last suture taut, a loose strand of hair fell forward, slipping into my line of sight. I barely registered it—until his fingers lifted, tucking it behind my ear. His touch was brief, careful, but it sent a small shock through me, warmth blooming low and uninvited. My breath hitched. His hand lingered a fraction too long before retreating.
He cleared his throat and said briskly, “That’s reason enough. Are we done here?”
“Um, yeah. All done.” I covered the wound with gauze and wrapped it snugly. “Keep this clean and dry for the next twenty-four hours. After that, you can gently wash it with soap and water—gently,” I emphasized, securing the bandage. “Change the dressing once a day, or if it gets wet or dirty. Watch for redness, warmth, swelling, pus, or if it starts throbbing like it has a personal vendetta against you.”
“And the stitches?”
“I’ll take them out in seven to ten days,” I said. “Don’t pick at them. Don’t test your pain tolerance. And if you rip them open, I will not be impressed.”
I stood, rolling my shoulders once, and began gathering the wreckage—blood-speckled paper towels, the abandoned tofu knife, the half-crumpled hand towel.
“Here, let me help.”
“Don’t worry,” I said lightly, waving him off. “I’ve got it.”
He arched a brow. “You haven’t cleaned a single dish since you moved in.”
