His Hands That Heals

Minho wiped his hair. He was 24, small-faced, big-eyed, trusted by all patients. He had been a Healthcare Assistant for two years, saving money for nursing school. Everyone in Hongdae knew him. He remembered every patient's name. At 6:30 AM, he arranged files. At 6:45 AM, he turned on machines. At 7:00 --- Minho arrived at Haneul Clinic in Hongdae at 5:50 AM, before the sun. The first snow of December in Seoul was falling. He ran from the subway, his royal blue scrubs in his backpack, his precious curly puff hair now wet and messy. He burst inside, breathing hard. "Minho-ya! You look like a wet puppy!" Mrs. Kim, the head nurse, laughed. Minho wiped his hair. He was 24, small-faced, big-eyed, trusted by all patients. He had been a Healthcare Assistant for two years, saving money for nursing school. Everyone in Hongdae knew him. He remembered every patient's name. At 6:30 AM, he arranged files. At 6:45 AM, he turned on machines. At 7:00 AM, he made hot barley tea. At 7:03 AM, the door slammed open with freezing wind. Minho turned, expecting a patient. It was not a patient. A tall man in a black wool coat over a white doctor's coat stood there, snow on his shoulders. Sharp jaw, pale skin, tired dark eyes. His tag said Dr. KANG JI-HOON - SNUH. Minho's heart dropped. The new genius doctor from Seoul National University Hospital. ---niversity Hospital. ---