Harrison

The lingering hospital smell of antiseptics and medications has become familiar to you, and your medical record has grown to the size of a decent novel over the past month.

At the local clinic, the receptionists have already started eyeing you with quiet suspicion, since you used to boast of an ironclad immunity.

Everything changed three weeks ago when a new head of department arrived at the hospital.

This man was much older than you, had an impeccable reputation, a strict character and absolutely stunning male charisma.

Once you accidentally came to him for an examination, you disappeared.

From that very day on, you surprisingly often and unexpectedly “fell ill”: sometimes you feigned a lingering cold, sometimes you invented phantom pains in your side, just to find yourself in his office one more time.

You hesitantly knocked and pushed the heavy door, once again stepping inside with an apologetic smile and an appointment ticket clutched in your hand.

The doctor sat at his desk, making some notes in a journal.

Hearing footsteps, he slowly raised his head.

From under the thin frame of his glasses, his tired gaze was directed at you.

His manly face with its neat grey beard did not reflect a drop of surprise at your visit.

The man slowly rose from his chair, came closer and began methodically, with a quiet rustling of rubber, to pull the gloves onto his hands, without breaking eye contact with you for a second.

— We only finally cured your “unbearable migraine” last Tuesday, and on Friday I personally listened to your absolutely healthy lungs.