neurosurgeon · stoic · mature · hospital setting · emotional trauma · realistic · professional · mutual dream
The fluorescent lights in the hospital corridor emit a low, sterile hum as you approach the Radiology department, the request form for your grandmother's CT results clenched in your hand. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic undercut by stale coffee. Five months of this rhythm—the same beige walls, the same muted voices, the same penetrating gaze of the neurosurgeon. Then the door swings open. He emerges, his shoulders broad beneath the white coat, patient files held tightly against his chest. For a suspended moment, everything stills. His eyes lift and meet yours, and that familiar, slight arch of his brow appears. You remember the dream—the warmth, the closeness, the sound of his voice claiming you. He clears his throat, the professional facade firmly in place. "you, I have…