Unfading Love of Unseen

Chapter 6: Screens

The moment the surgery wrapped and Samantha was stable in recovery, I quietly slipped away from the OR, adrenaline still humming beneath my skin. I made my way to the staff locker room, peeled off my scrubs, and changed into fresh clothes—the weight of the day settling into my shoulders now that the urgency was over.

I checked on Samantha one last time, watching the slow, steady pulse of her vitals flicker across the monitor. Her chest rose and fell like a whisper. She would be okay. That was all that mattered.

But even as my body walked the familiar hallways of the hospital, a different part of me stayed behind. Hollow. Tugged somewhere else entirely. Still missing him. Still aching. Ten years, and grief still followed me like a shadow clinging to my shoes.

I glanced at the clock on the corridor wall—4:03 PM. The golden slant of the afternoon sun bled through the high windows. Everything felt oddly quiet now. That aching, empty kind of quiet. I inhaled deeply and headed toward the ER to check back in—but my phone was still in my hand, and out of habit, I tapped the screen.

There it was.

One new message. From the stranger.

@Sec.retgslh: Hey, how are you? I just got in at work. Can we talk?

I froze—not from fear, but from surprise. The timing. The gentle weight of that message. Unexpected, but not unwelcome.

I stared at the text for a few seconds longer than I should’ve, letting the words settle. They weren’t extraordinary. Just simple. Intentional. Present.

And strangely, I needed that.

My thumb hovered over the reply box.

“Hello, sorry for the late reply. I’m fine, just came from performing surgery.”

I tapped send and leaned back against the wall near the nurse’s station. My scrubs still held the faint scent of antiseptic, and my body still hummed with the focus of the operating room.

I didn’t expect a quick response—but it came almost instantly.

@Sec.retgslh: “So, you must be a doctor, huh?”

I smiled.

Me: I am.

Then, without prompting:

@Sec.retgslh: “Thank you, doc, for saving another one today.”

Something about the way he said it—not dramatic, not exaggerated, just… sincere—caught me off guard. It warmed a corner of my chest I hadn’t noticed was cold.

I replied with, “What about you? What’s your job?”

His reply was vague but intriguing.

@Sec.retgslh: “Ohh mine... it’s just related to government. Law and order. Some stuff, yeah.”

I read that line twice.

Law and order. Government.

It stirred something—familiar words. It reminded me of him. Of how Aahnik used to speak about becoming an IAS officer. He’d talk about policy reform like someone else might describe their favorite song. The passion in his voice. The ambition. The clarity. That job wasn’t just a dream—it was part of his identity. A powerful position, rooted in service. Of course, this stranger could be anything: lawyer, judge, police officer, or a junior civil servant. But the resemblance, however faint, sent a flutter through me.

Me: Ohhh okay.

Simple. Careful.

Then—

“Celestine!”

The voice cut through the corridor like a snap. I turned instinctively toward the sound.

Mac.

He was walking toward me, a lanyard swinging from his coat pocket and an urgency in his stride. His brown eyes locked on mine, sharp but familiar. His hair, as always, was styled in that effortless wave that screamed K-pop idol. No, he was never a Korean, just his style, it is. And the black shirt and matching slacks beneath his white coat made him look like he had just stepped off a drama set and into the ER.

He looked good. Too good, honestly.

“Let’s go,” he said. “You’re needed in trauma. Non-critical, but they asked for you specifically.”

I nodded, slipping my phone into my coat pocket as I followed him. But in the background, behind hospital walls and duty-bound footsteps, that stranger’s message still echoed. And so did a name I hadn't said aloud in years.

Aahnik.

As we walked down the hallway, Mac glanced sideways at me. Then he made that face—the one he only pulled during his chaotic, unserious hours. Brows arched, lips pursed, eyes twinkling like he just walked in on a scandal.

“Oyy,” he nudged my arm with his elbow, “who was that? You don’t usually text mid-shift. So suspicious ah!” He added a dramatic fake cough for flair. Typical Mac.

I gave him a sideways look, amused. “What? Who? Relax. Just a stranger I met online.”

“WHAT?!” he gasped like I had just dropped a stethoscope on someone's foot. He stopped walking for emphasis. “Don’t tell me… did you finally sign up for a dating app? My heart’s not ready for this moment.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, Mac. Breathe. It’s not that deep.”

He squinted at me like he was still unconvinced. “Then explain, Miss Casual. You just dropped ‘stranger online’ like it’s a normal Tuesday thing.”

“I don’t know,” I said with a shrug. “It’s just someone I talked to yesterday. Nothing serious.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly turning into Detective Mac mode. “Hmm. Sounds suspicious. So… anyone special, or are we still stuck in the land of Brooding Heartache?”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “I plead the fifth.”

“You plead the what? Girl, this ain’t a courtroom. Answer me!”

We both burst into laughter, walking side by side, the tension easing with every step. And just like that, even with the heaviness I still carried, it felt good to laugh again. Even if only for a little while.