Shanti
Today will be the first time I travel to London. I'm excited. I've finally managed to free myself from my sister, who always wants to stick to my side. I think she's slowly accepting that I'm already twenty-seven years old and capable of exploring the world without her worrying so much. Or at least, that's what I want to believe.
After spending a week in London visiting different places—especially restaurants, since my ventures focus on discovering new foods to bring back to my country or fuse with local ingredients—my next destination would be the United States. I wanted to visit my sister, whom I hadn't seen in two years because her situation in that country wasn't entirely legal. Those two years had been filled with video calls and phone calls, but I had never managed to get a visa to visit her, nor had she been able to travel back.
While waiting in the airport boarding lounge, I was typing a message to confirm my arrival time with my sister. Suddenly, a strange sensation settled over my body: someone was watching me. I decided to ignore it and focus on waiting for her reply. I had my AirPods in and the music blasting, so I changed the song to distract myself. But the feeling of being watched didn't fade.
This time, I listened to my instincts.
I lifted my gaze just as I lowered the volume on my headphones—and for the first time, I saw her.
She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.
I sat there, completely mesmerized, staring at her without being able to look away. She was sitting directly across from me. My mind screamed at me to stop staring, or she'd think I was some kind of creep, but my body refused to respond. I simply couldn't tear my eyes away. I finally managed to when my phone vibrated, pulling me out of the trance. It was my sister, wishing me a good trip and assuring me she'd be waiting when I arrived.
I wanted to look at her again, but the boarding announcement stopped me. And worse—when I noticed her standing up and rushing away without even waiting for the announcement to finish.
Once inside the plane, I discreetly began searching for her seat. I pretended to go to the bathroom so I could scan my section, but when I didn't find her, I realized she was probably in first class. I tried to slip through, but a flight attendant stopped me and escorted me back to my seat. I had no choice but to apologize and resign myself to spending the flight wondering who that woman was.
The flight attendant clearly suspected my intentions and kept an eye on me the entire trip. There was no way to sneak away.
Paulina
I arrived in London two days ago to attend an important seminar on surgery. After several lectures, my energy was completely drained. All I wanted was to get to my apartment and sleep for hours. Instead, my rest was now thousands of kilometers above the sea… and interrupted by the image of the beautiful girl I had unexpectedly seen three times during this trip.
The first time I saw her, she stole a taxi from me. I had raised my hand to stop it, but she rushed ahead and climbed in before I could. That day, I was left somewhere between annoyed and frustrated.
The second time was that same night, at a restaurant. I was alone and thought about confronting her about the taxi, but when I got closer, something else caught my attention—the enormous amount of junk food spread across her table. It was an unhealthy selection, and I was genuinely surprised that someone could eat so much in one sitting.
The third time I saw her was outside the building where the seminar was being held. At first, I even wondered if she was following me, but I quickly dismissed the thought. It was impossible. Every time our paths crossed, she hadn't even looked at me. She was always absorbed in her phone, completely unaware of her surroundings.
And now, as if fate were playing with me, she was sitting right in front of me.
She wore wireless headphones and typed on her phone, smiling from time to time. She was probably texting her partner. I didn't know for sure, but it seemed like the most logical explanation.
She was dressed in loose jeans, an oversized jacket, and glasses. Now that I could observe her more carefully, I noticed details in her face I had overlooked before. She had small, almost imperceptible marks and a scar on her left eyebrow. Her lips were pink, catching the light every time she moistened them.
I could have kept watching her for much longer, but then she looked at me too. And she didn't look away for several long seconds.
I felt a strange flutter in my chest, an agitation I couldn't explain. It wasn't fear or discomfort. It was something entirely new.
When the boarding announcement echoed through the lounge, I forced myself to look away and, without thinking twice, fled before the message even ended.
Already in my seat, I tried to calm my racing heart.What the hell had that been?
I couldn't find a logical explanation for what I was feeling, so I chose the simplest solution: forget it.
Or at least, try to.
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I arrived at the airport and, before meeting my sister, I searched the crowd for the beautiful woman I had seen in London. There were so many people, though, that I couldn't even find my own sister.
"Little one!" my sister Gina shouted.
I scanned the crowd until I spotted her and raised my hand in greeting as I walked toward her. I hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek. Standing beside her was my brother-in-law, whom I only knew through video calls. Seeing him in person felt strange—after all, he was my sister's so-called victim.
"Say hi to Dan," Gina urged.
"Hi, Dan," I said, extending my hand.
"Hi, Shanti. I'm so glad you made it!" he replied, shaking my hand firmly.
"Not even a hug?" my sister protested.
"That's for the goodbye," I promised, and Dan nodded with a warm smile.
"All right, let's go. So tell me, little one—how was the trip? And how are my kids, Johanna, Amanda, and Dad?" she asked nonstop.
"Everyone's fine, and the trip was long and exhausting… and you're making it even more exhausting," I complained, rolling my eyes.
"Sweetheart, you're overwhelming her. Let's get home first, then you can bombard her with questions," Dan suggested.
"Thank you, Dan," I said, pretending to be relieved. "See? He's understanding. He gets that I'm dead."
We all laughed, and finally headed to my sister's house. It was a cozy place, where we spent hours catching up—talking about my time in London, my nephews, and the projects we had in mind. I stayed with her for a week before returning, since I had planned my vacation with my nephews far in advance.
Six months later, my life took an unexpected turn. A fight with my sisters marked a before and an after. I had decided to tell them about my preferences and revealed that I was bisexual. My older sister didn't take it well, insisting it was just a "phase" and that I was still "in denial." My other sister and my father reacted even worse—they left the video call without saying a word. Before hanging up, my father shouted furiously that what I was was an abomination.
The following days were cold and tense with my older sister. Eventually, I decided to distance myself, and she never contacted me again. I chose to put our shared businesses in order; I handed everything over to her and, with my savings, started on my own.
What angered my sister the most was that I left my nephews in the care of our other sister. But I needed a fresh start. At first, starting from scratch terrified me, but with effort and persistence, my business became profitable in just two months. Five months later, I opened another branch and a new imported technology business. In the sixth month, I noticed a fast-food trend in the U.S. on social media and decided to travel there to study it.
Without thinking too much, I grabbed my backpack with the essentials and headed to the airport to catch the first available flight.
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A year and a half had passed since my encounter with the girl from London, yet I couldn't get her out of my head. At first, I saw her everywhere. Over time, my paranoia faded, but she continued to haunt my thoughts.
That afternoon, I was driving toward a restaurant after a disastrous meeting with the hospital's partners. I was furious. Those old men cared only about money; they had no interest in my reconstructive surgery project for children with cleft lips or people with congenital malformations.
While waiting for the traffic light to change, I tried to calm myself by staring at the black car in front of me. Suddenly, I heard sirens and turned my head to see where they were coming from. In that moment, the car ahead moved, and I followed it instinctively—without noticing that the light was still red.
Seconds later, I felt a hard impact.
My heart stopped when I realized I had hit someone. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. I slammed on the brakes and rushed out of the car. I approached the motionless body on the road, shouting for someone to call an ambulance. Up close, I saw it was a young woman, but her face was hidden.
I checked her pulse and examined her injuries while the ambulance felt like it was taking forever to arrive. When the paramedics carefully turned her over, reality warped around me.
It was her.
The girl from London.
Fate had to be playing a cruel joke on me. I wanted to follow her in the ambulance, but the police were already on the scene. Before they took her away, I asked them to transfer her to my hospital. I needed to treat her myself.
At the police station, I called my parents and asked for a lawyer to get out as quickly as possible. I didn't want to avoid responsibility—I just needed to see her. In less than twenty minutes, I was free.
I arrived at the hospital and asked about the recently admitted patient. A nurse led me to her room.
Shanti Vega—that was her name. She was twenty-seven years old.
"Is the information correct?" I asked the nurse.
"Yes, Doctor. It matches her passport and visa."
I assessed her condition: fractures in both legs, a mild concussion, bruises, a dislocated shoulder. In two months, she could recover, but it would be a painful process.
What were you doing on that street? Why do you keep coming back to me? I wondered as I studied her face.
"Doctor," the nurse said, pulling me from my thoughts. "The patient's information is correct, Dr. Scott."
"Are you sure?" I looked at the tablet again.
"Yes, Doctor. I'm sure," she replied. "Is something wrong?"
"Her age," I said.
"Oh," she smiled faintly. "Doctor, you're not the first to think her age is wrong. Dr. Vásquez thought the same when she was admitted and personally checked her documents. They all list the same age."
"She doesn't look it," I said, studying her face carefully.
"To be honest, Dr. Scott, I thought her documents were fake. But after seeing her visa and nationality, we all agreed it would be impossible for her to enter the country with false documents."
"So she's Latina," I murmured.
"Yes, Doctor," the nurse confirmed. "She's the first person who's completely fooled me. There's no way she looks eighteen," she laughed softly.
"Twenty-seven, and she looks younger than me," I muttered, making the nurse smile again.
"At her age, she should have at least a few expression lines, but she doesn't. She looks like a teenager—and her height doesn't help either."
Just then, a call interrupted us.
"Nurse, you're needed on the third floor," another nurse called out.
"Excuse me, Dr. Scott. I have to go," she said, leaving me alone with Shanti once more.
I stepped closer, examining the side of her face that was free of bruises.
I whispered in her ear:
"I let you take my taxi because I thought you needed it—for you and your mother. You've managed to fool me twice now."
I half-smiled, stepped away, and left the room.
When I reached my office, my parents called to discuss the situation. They handed the phone to one of the lawyers so he could present his ridiculous options.
The first option, if I wanted to avoid going to jail, was to offer a considerable amount of money—no more than half a million dollars.
The second option was to threaten them into staying silent.
They were garbage options. What kind of alternatives were those? Before hanging up on the lawyer and telling him to go to hell, I asked to speak to my mother—I had already made my decision.
"Paulina," my mother answered on the other end of the line.
"Mother, I know what I have to do. I'll talk to her and explain what happened. I'm sure she'll understand. I'll also take responsibility for the girl—I'll take care of her throughout her entire recovery. If she wants me to go to jail, that's fine. I'll go—but only after I've cared for her and she's fully recovered."
"You've lost your mind, Paulina!" my mother screamed, hysterical. "Do you really think I'm going to let my only daughter rot in some filthy prison over something so insignificant?" she shouted, completely out of control.
"Mother, I ran over the girl—her legs are broken. How can you call that insignificant?" I said angrily.
"I won't allow it, do you hear me, Paulina?" she shouted furiously. "The final option is that you take responsibility for her and give her residency—and knowing where she comes from, I know she won't refuse. I'll take care of everything, so all you have to do is stay put, Paulina," she ordered.
"Mother!" I protested. "I already told you—I'll take responsibility."
"And I already told you I will take responsibility, Paulina. I won't let you ruin your life," she raised her voice, then hung up.
At that moment, there was a knock on my office door. I saw Mary peeking in, accompanied by a nurse.
"Doctor, the patient in room twenty-six has woken up," the nurse informed me.
"She woke up already?" I said, quickly leaving my office.
I headed down the hallways of the south wing toward Shanti's room.
When I arrived, she was awake, just as the nurse had said. I walked slowly until I stood in front of her, meeting her gaze.
Those light brown eyes were disoriented, empty of expression.
"Good afternoon, Miss Vega," I said, managing to get her attention. "I'm Dr. Scott. You were in an accident earlier today. Do you remember anything about it?" I asked, trying to hide my nerves.
She remained silent for a moment, struggling to recall what had happened, but it was clearly difficult for her to piece anything together.
"Um… I remember the traffic light turned green and I was crossing the street. Suddenly, a car sped up out of nowhere and I managed to dodge it, but then I saw another car coming toward me—and it seems I didn't manage to dodge that one like I did the first," she recalled.
At that moment, a police officer burst into the room.
"Good afternoon, Miss Vega," one of the officers interrupted, entering with his partner. "Dr. Scott, you know perfectly well that you are not allowed to speak with the victim," he reminded me. "This action will have serious consequences—it goes against the law," he warned. "Please step outside. We need to take Miss Vega's statement," he added rudely.
I glared at him, but didn't argue. I chose to remain silent. Several minutes passed as I waited outside Shanti's room while they took her statement.
When the two officers finally stepped out, I could see the irritation on their faces. I approached them—but only because I wanted to reenter the room.
One of them stopped me with a remark.
"Dr. Scott, what you're doing is illegal," he said irritably, glaring at me. "Bribing or blackmailing the victim to keep her from pressing charges is a serious crime," he accused, his voice heavy with reproach.
"You should also know that harassing someone or making false accusations is against the law," I replied coolly. "And if you'd like, I could file a lawsuit for abuse of authority and harassment. Unless you want my lawyer to formally submit that complaint, I suggest you step aside to avoid further trouble," I concluded arrogantly.
The officer, visibly annoyed, said nothing else. I hated behaving that way, but it was necessary. My priority now was Shanti.
"Miss Vega," I called as I entered the room.
"Doctor," she replied, surprised, avoiding my gaze.
"I'm sorry for what happened. I didn't see you—I was just following the car in front of me, and now you're…" my voice broke.
"With broken legs and a fractured arm," she finished with irony.
"I'm sorry," I apologized again, overwhelmed by guilt.
"Dr. Scott, my only concern is why, out of all the hospitals in the city, I ended up in yours. Tell me—did you think I wouldn't wake up, or did you just want to make sure I stayed quiet?" she accused.
"Neither," I replied immediately. "I just wanted you to be okay," I said, wounded by her words. "I just…" I stammered, unable to find the right ones. "I'll take care of everything—your recovery, your expenses. I'll take responsibility," I finished firmly.
"Doctor," she interrupted. "I don't want trouble with anyone. Believe it or not, I don't want anything from you," she said bluntly.
She doesn't want anything from me.For some reason, those words lodged deep in my chest.
"I know who you are now, thanks to the kind police officers. I know who your family is, and I'm not stupid, Dr. Scott. That's why I'm telling you—I don't want trouble. I won't file a lawsuit, I won't blackmail or threaten you. All I want is to be discharged so I can leave. I give you my word that you will never see me again or hear from me. In a few years, you won't even remember you ran me over," she said firmly.
Every word hurt more than I expected. Shanti was saying all of this out of fear. She had built a terrible image of me—someone ruthless, capable of anything to keep her silent and protect her reputation.
But I wasn't like that. And I was going to prove it.
Besides, I couldn't let her go. Her legs were fractured—she couldn't walk, bathe, or even remove her blouse because her arm needed to remain immobilized.
Shanti needed care for at least two months. After that, she would face a long and painful rehabilitation to walk normally again. At the very least, she had to realize that.
"I think you've formed the wrong idea about me," I said softly. "But I'm not like that, Miss Vega. I will take responsibility for you," I assured her. "You know that in two months we'll remove the casts, and after that you'll need at least a month of physical therapy to be able to walk again," I explained.
"Will it really take that long to recover?" she asked, frightened.
"Yes," I confirmed. "Your injuries aren't irreversible—but they are serious."
"This can't be happening…" she murmured, unable to believe it.
"The nurse told me earlier that they couldn't reach any of your relatives. If you remember a phone number, you can give it to her—or you can call them yourself. She'll bring you your phone," I said gently, genuinely concerned.
"Doctor, please just discharge me," she asked again, irritated. "I just want to recover at home."
I wondered if her anger came from frustration at not being able to reach her family.
But there was something else bothering her—I noticed it immediately.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do that," I refused firmly.
"Dr. Scott, I won't cause any trouble, I won't say anything. Do you want me to sign something? Record it for you?" she snapped angrily, frowning.
"I'll come back later," I told her, ignoring her request. "A nurse will bring you your phone," I reminded her before leaving the room.
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I couldn't believe it. When I woke up, I realized my legs were broken. I had been run over. I honestly thought that, at least here, traffic lights were respected—but apparently not. A car had accelerated for no apparent reason.
I had to maneuver to avoid the first car hitting me.The second one, however, I couldn't dodge.
What terrible luck, I thought as I stared at my two broken legs, my immobilized arm, and my face marked with small scratches. I could feel a massive bruise when I touched my face with my hand—or at least that's what it felt like.
I was still drowsy from the anesthesia, but that haze vanished the moment I heard a voice calling me.
Seeing the woman who had hypnotized me at the London airport again was a complete shock. I was so stunned that I didn't know how to react.
When I saw her walk in, stand in front of me, and inform me that she was my doctor, I froze.
Wow. What a coincidence, I thought, genuinely excited.But that excitement vanished entirely when the police told me she was the one who had hit me.
And that wasn't even the worst part.They also told me she was the owner of this hospital.
I couldn't believe it. The woman who had captured my attention turned out to be exactly the kind of person who wouldn't hesitate to silence anyone to protect her reputation or status.
And the reason she wasn't in jail was that her lawyers had gotten her out of the police station in less than thirty minutes.
Now my only goal was to make sure I didn't say or do anything that could harm her. What a mess I was in—and the worst part was that none of this was my fault.
All I wanted was to go home and rest. Being in this hospital was unbearable; it constantly reminded me that I had no one. No one who would come to see me. No one who worried about me.
My older sister was in this country, but I didn't know which city she was in. After our argument and obvious estrangement, there was no point in calling her. She would probably reject the call—or hang up as soon as she heard my voice.
It hurt so much when they told me the hospital hadn't been able to contact any of my relatives. Of course they couldn't. Everyone had made it painfully clear they didn't want me in their lives.
Dr. Scott had reminded me of it once again: if I had died, no one would have known.
I felt lost. I didn't know what to do in this situation—other than go back home and hire someone to help me during my recovery.
"Good afternoon, Miss Vega," a nurse greeted me as she entered the room. "I was sent to bring you your phone. Here you go," she said, placing it in my hand before leaving.
"Thank you," I replied, offering a weak smile. She smiled back.
Well, since I had no one—and several people depended on my businesses—I had to call them. The people in charge. I needed to let them know I'd probably be staying in the hospital for a few more days.
I tried to sugarcoat the situation so they'd keep things running normally and wouldn't panic, thinking I was dying and they'd lose their jobs.
My only option was to lie—though my plan was still to be discharged and leave as soon as possible. Even so, I wouldn't be able to see them for a while.
"Hi, Homero," I greeted him, my voice strained.
"Boss…" he replied, his voice sounding slightly distorted on the other end of the line.
"Homero, I can't hear you very well. Could you…?" I asked.
"Can you hear me now, boss?" he said, the connection improving.
"Yes, much better," I confirmed. "Homero, I'm calling to let you know I'll need to stay here for a few more days, so you're still in charge. Please make sure everything stays in order. I'll set up a short video meeting with everyone later," I told him.
"You won't arrive on the day you told us, boss? Is everything okay?" he asked, worried.
"Yes, Homero, everything's fine. Just do what I asked, and that's all. Work hard," I said quickly—the pain in my face intensified every time I spoke.
"Always, boss," he replied. "Don't worry, I'll take care of everything. Let me know if you need anything. Bye, boss. Take care."
He hung up, and I immediately called my other manager. The conversation was almost identical, though he was more persistent in trying to get details about my situation. Still, I managed to dodge his questions skillfully and ended the call, crossing that task off my list.
There was one more manager I still had to contact—but I only sent them a message.
My head was pounding. Maybe the painkillers were wearing off, or maybe I'd been on my phone for too long. At that point, I didn't know who to blame.
I called the nurse to ask for pain medication, since the pain kept increasing.
But to my bad luck, the nurse arrived accompanied by Dr. Scott—the angel face with a demon temper, as I had started calling her—ready to examine me.
"Good evening, Shanti," the nurse greeted me.
"Good evening," I replied softly, forcing a half-smile.
"Dr. Scott is here to check on your discomfort, so don't worry—you're in good hands," the nurse said, smiling at me. I smiled back.
"The nurse informed me that you're experiencing a headache," she said seriously. "I'm going to examine you."
"All right," I agreed quickly.
After performing a basic check, Dr. Scott left without saying a word. She seemed angry. At first, I thought she was just serious—but after she made a rough movement during the exam, it became obvious she was upset.
While examining me, she grabbed my face and turned it sharply. I reacted with a groan and a hiss of pain, but she didn't soften her touch.
I think her anger increased when she nearly shoved the flashlight into my eye.
At that exact moment, I knew I had to get out of there as soon as possible.If I wanted to leave this hospital alive, I would have to—or so I thought, terrified.
The nurse had to bring the doctor back into the room, since she had left without prescribing me anything for my headache.
Her irritation was evident from miles away, so I decided to stop being the cause of her anger. From now on, I would limit myself to listening and saying nothing, just to avoid upsetting her even more.
"I'll give you mild painkillers," she said, visibly annoyed as she looked at me. "It must be from the blow," she added, sending the nurse to fetch the medication.
When the nurse left, I was alone with her.
"After they give you the painkillers, you'll feel better," she assured me, turning around and heading for the door.
"Dr. Scott," I called out. Just before stepping out, she turned to look at me.
"I'm sorry for my behavior, and you're right—I don't know you. I apologize for that," I said, feeling embarrassed and nervous.
She watched me in silence as she walked closer, stopping at my side.
"I'll accept your apology, Miss Vega, when you allow me to take responsibility for you," she said seriously, raising an eyebrow.
But really… who could say no to that eyebrow? Of course, only an idiot like me.
"Doctor, I don't want to be a burden. You have many responsibilities, and I don't think you can take care of me…" I began, but before I could finish, she interrupted me.
"Excuse me? Do you think I can't take care of you?" she snapped, annoyed.
"That's not what I meant… Well, I just don't think you have time to take care of me, because you're a doctor—you won't have time for that," I argued, nervously.
"If that's your concern, you don't need to worry anymore—I've already solved it," she informed me. "I'll take time off, if that's what's troubling you. But if you refuse again, I'll assume you tried to trick me into letting you go, and I'll think your apology isn't sincere. I'll be angry with you, and I don't think you want me to be angry with you throughout your recovery."Her voice was firm and serious, and that intimidating look left me without arguments.
The question slipped out of my mouth before I could think it through.
"Dr. Scott, did your parents ever warn you not to talk to strangers, let alone take them home?" I asked, trying to add a touch of logic to the conversation.
"Of course they did," she replied without hesitation.
"And why don't you listen to them now? Aren't you afraid I might be a psychopath or a murderer?" I asked, with a hint of dark humor, trying to lighten the mood.
She stepped even closer, and her eyes gleamed as a small smile formed on her lips.
"First of all, I always listen to my parents. And second, I can tell by your eyes that you're not a psychopath, not a murderer, not even a bad person. I can see it on your face," she said, smiling even wider.
My ears burned at her words, and my heart began to race when I noticed how close she was. She was so close I could almost hear the sound of her breathing.
"You'll be discharged tomorrow, and tomorrow I'll take you to my house," she informed me, as if nothing could possibly stop her.
"Dr. Scott, no matter how determined you are to take me with you, I won't go to your house. My parents also taught me not to go with strangers," I replied, slightly nervous about what was happening.
"I understand," she said thoughtfully after a few seconds. "Alright. It's a pleasure to meet you, Shanti Vega. I'm Dr. Paulina Scott. I'm a surgeon and I work here at this hospital. I'm from Chicago, but I've lived in Seattle since I was eight years old. I'm twenty-four," she said, extending her hand for me to take.
I took her hand, and she shook it firmly in greeting.
"You should know that I hate coffee, but I drink it because without it I don't function. I also like animals, and I'd love to adopt a puppy, but I'm allergic to their fur. What else should I tell you?" she smiled, pretending to think as she released my hand. "We can continue getting to know each other better once you're settled in my house," she added, with an even bigger smile.
"You're not going to give up, are you?" I sighed, defeated.
"I'm not," she replied with determination.
"Alright, I'll go so you can take care of me, but you should know I need to return as soon as possible, since I only have a tourist visa," I warned her.
"I'll take care of that," she assured me, clearly pleased. "Until tomorrow, then, Shanti," she said, saying goodbye before leaving the room.
I was left alone in my bed, deeply thoughtful about everything that had just happened.
"I have nothing to lose," I murmured, trying to encourage myself.
---------------------------
It bothered me so much to see her smiling at the nurse, when all she ever got from me was an expressionless face—or worse, an angry one.
I knew perfectly well that her rejection toward me was because of the accident. Still, I tried to explain how everything had happened, but the police didn't help much. They only managed to make her afraid of me.
When the nurse informed me that she wasn't feeling well, I became genuinely worried and went to check on her. But why did she have to smile at the nurse? And why did that even cross my mind while I was examining her?
My anger took over, and without thinking, I grabbed her face roughly. She complained, but my anger was greater than her pain. It was an impulsive act, and I felt terrible the moment I saw her apologize. I had never experienced an apology like that—she did it only so I would let her go. It was strange.
I tried to read her face, but I wasn't stupid. I knew her apologies weren't as sincere as she wanted me to believe. I needed to make her lose at her own game.
In the end, she agreed to come with me, though a bittersweet feeling lingered in my chest because of how everything had unfolded.
The next day, I prepared everything for her arrival. I asked my cleaning service to leave everything spotless. Before going to pick up Shanti, I spoke with my lawyers so they could help with her stay. For them, handling paperwork of that nature was easy, so I wasn't too worried.
I arrived at the hospital, walked in quickly, and headed straight to her room. As I walked down the hallways, I felt nervous—a strange mix of excitement and anxiety.
"Good morning," I greeted her from the doorway as I entered.
"Good morning, Dr. Scott," she replied, with a faint smile.
"Please, call me Paulina," I asked, smiling.
"Alright, Paulina," she said, smiling back.
Stop beating so frantically, I scolded my heart silently.
"Ready?" I asked, trying to sound as normal as possible.
"I'm not sure," she replied, afraid.
"That's still better than a no," I smiled, wheeling her forward in her wheelchair.
I tried to take her in my car, but because of her legs, she couldn't get in. So I requested an ambulance to transport her.
I followed the ambulance from behind in my car, and when we arrived at my apartment, the paramedics carefully carried her upstairs. They settled her into her room, and I waited by the door to thank them and see them out.
"Do you like it?" I asked as I entered the room.
"Yes," she said. "I like that it's bright," she added, looking around.
"I'm glad you like it," I replied, happy. "Are you hungry? I can make you some waffles, or would you prefer pancakes?"
"I'm fine, thank you. I already had breakfast at the hospital," she said, brushing it off.
"Oh, alright—but you need to tell me what you like for breakfast and what your favorite meals are, so I can make them," I insisted, curious.
"I usually don't eat breakfast," she replied, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
I stared at her, eyes wide open in surprise.
"And hearing that worries me a lot," I said, concerned.
"It's not a big deal," she replied dismissively.
"Your tests didn't show anything unusual with your stomach or other organs, did they?" I asked, thinking back to her results.
"That's great," she said, sounding triumphant.
"Either way, from now on, you'll eat with me," I informed her.
"I'm not promising anything," she said defensively.
"I wasn't asking. That's a fact," I replied.
"That sounds like an order," she said, raising an eyebrow at me.
"As long as you understand it, I don't care how you take it—I just need you to eat breakfast," I smiled.
We spent the entire morning and part of the afternoon watching movies in her room. She seemed very tired, because she eventually fell asleep. I heard her complain as she tried to turn over, moving restlessly in her sleep.
An improper thought crossed my mind, and I immediately felt my cheeks burn.
I was pulled out of my thoughts when Shanti suddenly jolted awake, startled, almost falling out of bed.
I moved quickly, grabbing her by the blouse to keep her from hitting the floor.
She was having a panic attack. I took her by the shoulders, trying to hold her, but she was already hyperventilating. That was when I realized it was a bit dark, so I immediately turned on the light. Her face was marked by absolute panic. Two long, terrible minutes passed before she finally managed to calm down.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, embarrassed. "I haven't had panic attacks in a long time," she said, trying to steady her breathing.