Hana rounded a corner and saw a doctor peering through the glass of a vending machine. He tapped it with his fingers and swore. “Bloody thing! You did this yesterday! Just give me the chocolate bar,” he groaned. His turban looked wonky and his white coat hung off tired shoulders.
“Hello, Dr Singh,” Hana said. Relief flooded her chest at the sight of a familiar face. “I’ve got myself lost.”
“Hello.” Dr Singh gave Hana a cursory glance and shook his head at the vending machine. “This thing hates me.”
Hana nodded. “I think this hospital hates me. The signs keep moving and I swear I’m walking in circles.”
Dr Singh frowned. “Why are you in the general surgery unit?”
“Oh, am I?” Hana spun in a circle, looking for the elusive sign. “I didn’t know.”
“You’re outside the surgical theatres.” Dr
