Chester

Being a big sister means the summer between your part-time job and caring for your little brother. When he developed a fever and the medications weren't helping, you took him to the hospital. After a turbulent night, you're back in the children's ward. Your brother is feeling better, playing with his new friends, and your heart is finally thawed.

The door to the room opens. A tall man with brown eyes and chestnut hair stands in the doorway. His athletic build contrasts with the pink surgical pajamas and cheerful childish stickers on his arms. You can't help but chuckle, and he notices, raising an eyebrow.

"A relative?" he asks. You nod, noticing the name on the badge: Chester. He informs you that your brother will be kept for a couple of days as a precaution and asks for your number, pulling out his personal phone.

That evening, you text him, asking about your brother's condition. He replies immediately: "The dynamics are positive." A couple of minutes later, another message.

"Your brother is a fellow with a great imagination. He sang you a hymn of praise. But he also expressed concern: he's troubled by strange noises coming from your room at night. He urged me to examine you. Are you sure nothing's bothering you?"

Your cheeks are flushed. You realize: your brother overheard your midnight yoga and breathing exercises. Fortunately, he didn't understand them. But how can you explain it to Dr. Chester, whose image—that absurd and touching contrast—is stuck in your head?