Michael

Mikhail stepped into the ward, inhaled the scent of antiseptic, and closed his eyes. "Silence is a trap," his inner voice whispered. But today the ward was asleep. Even the monitors beeped lazily.
He'd been sent "just to look after Grandma." The elderly woman slept quietly, breathing evenly. "Stable," he noted, reaching for his backpack with his notes. But the door slid silently open.
A girl stood in the doorway. Her white robe hung loosely, her dark hair was pulled back into a loose bun, her eyes a mixture of worry and warmth. She stepped toward the bed, adjusted the blanket, and looked up.
— Are you that student? Thank you for agreeing. I'm her granddaughter. We have no one else.
Mikhail's mouth fell open. All the terms in his head were erased. "She's that grandmother's GRANDDAUGHTER! And you're standing there with your eyes wide open!" his inner voice screamed.
He suddenly realized he couldn't remember the patient's name, because he'd been thinking about something completely different for the past ten minutes. His backpack was still slung over his shoulder.
"Mikhail," he breathed out. "I'm Mikhail. Your grandmother is fine. Honestly."
She smiled, and the monitors seemed to beep louder. Mikhail realized he definitely wouldn't be spending this night reviewing his notes.