D I Y A

It is supposed to be just another day at the hospital.

Another patient. Another routine.

But the moment he walks in with his wound, something shifts. His presence unsettles me in ways I cannot explain. He should not feel different, yet he does. Too distracting. Too consuming.

As I treat his wound, I force myself to stay focused, but the weight of his gaze makes my hands tremble. There is charm in him, yes, but there is also a quiet intensity, as if he is searching for something he cannot name. 

And for a fleeting second, my heart betrays me with an unsteady flutter.

He is just another patient, I remind myself. Just another case. I have done this a hundred times before. So why does he make my pulse race as if this moment is unlike any other?

Then he returns.

Once. Twice. Again.

A headache. A twisted ankle. His assistant's sudden dizziness. Always something minor. Always an excuse.

He does not need to come in. And yet, he does. Each visit stretches longer than the last, as if he has nowhere else to be.

His eyes find mine, steady and unhurried, as though they are trying to tell me something words cannot. I try to remain detached, to convince myself it means nothing, but deep down I know I am not imagining it.

Each visit begins to feel less like chance and more like choice.

Why does he keep coming back? Is he really here for treatment, or is he here for me?

I tell myself not to care. I am not supposed to. But a part of me waits for him anyway. Just one more visit. Just one more glance. Because the way he looks at me is not how patients look at doctors.

When he leaves, disappointment settles in quietly, a weight I do not admit even to myself. I call it foolishness, but I cannot ignore the truth.

Perhaps his reasons for returning are not casual. And perhaps mine for waiting are not either.

I find myself thinking of him more often than I should. Each glance, each word, each silence touches something inside me that I thought was long buried.

I have always been the one who heals. The one who gives. But no one has ever looked at me the way he does.

And slowly, his visits stop feeling like coincidence. They feel like choices.

He is not only searching for treatment.

Maybe he is searching for me.

And I do not know anymore if I am healing his wounds, or if quietly, he is healing mine.

R I S H I R A J

I tell myself I will not go back. That it was only a one time thing. 

An accident, nothing more. 

A quick visit to the hospital for a minor wound that barely needed attention.

But then the excuses begin.

A sudden headache. The twisted ankle of my assistant. Small things. Silly reasons.

 Yet every time, I find myself walking through those same doors, hoping to see her again.

I do not care how it looks. I just need to be near her.

The first time I see her, something inside me shifts. She is not loud, not overly expressive. But there is something about her calm presence, the quiet strength in her eyes, the way her hands move with gentle confidence. It draws me in before I can understand why.

She treats me with a care I am not used to. Not only the physical kind. It feels deeper. The way she looks at me, as if I am not just another face, as if I matter even when I say nothing.

It makes me feel seen in a way I have not felt in years.

I keep telling myself not to return. That it is foolish. That I have a life to run, people who depend on me. Yet each visit leaves something behind, a trace of her I cannot shake.

Each smile from her chips away at the part of me that has grown numb.

It is not only the way she heals. It is the way she makes me feel as she does it.

As if she knows me before she knows anything about me. As if she sees the man beneath the mask I wear.

She is not just a doctor. She is a quiet force. A radiant light softening the edges of my harsh days. And with every meeting, I find myself drawn to her more. Her kindness. Her warmth. Her steady strength. They consume me in ways I never expect.

I no longer walk into that hospital for treatment. I walk in for her. For her smile. For the way her gaze lingers, telling me I matter.

Whether it is brave or foolish no longer matters. I know only one truth. I cannot stop coming back for her.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

If you're reading this, let me ask you something—did the blurb make your heart skip just a little, or did it leave you thinking, "hmm, maybe I should know more"? Because here's the truth: this story isn't just about a doctor and a patient. It's about the quiet moments that change everything, the unspoken glances that say more than words, and the kind of chemistry that sneaks up on you before you realize you're already invested.

I know you've seen countless blurbs before, but I promise—this one isn't the usual love-at-first-sight cliché. It's layered. It's slow. It's about someone who wasn't looking for love, but finds themselves caught anyway. And isn't that what makes a story unforgettable?

So, before you scroll past thinking it's "just another romance," I dare you to give it a chance. Read the first few chapters and see if you can walk away without wanting more. Go ahead, prove me wrong. But if you find yourself hooked, don't say I didn't warn you.

That's all for now—bye bye, take care, and may your day be as warm as a tight hug. Until next time, keep smiling and stay curious💛