Chapter One
1245 Words
“Wherever the art of medicine is loved, there is also a love of humanity.”
— Hippocrates
There were only three things Catherine hated more than anatomy practicals.
Cold coffee.
Night duty.
And the fact that the two always seemed to come together.
She rubbed her eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night, trying to focus on the pages of her anatomy atlas spread open across the nurses’ station.
“Branches of the abdominal aorta…”
She read the same paragraph again.
And again.
Nothing.
The words had officially stopped making sense.
“You’ve been on that page for fifteen minutes.”
Catherine looked up just enough to glare at the resident doctor seated across from her.
“I’m studying.”
“No.”
He didn’t even look away from the patient files in his hands.
“You’re staring.”
She sighed dramatically.
“I came to medical school to save lives.”
“And?”
“I didn’t know I’d have to memorize every artery in the human body before they’d let me.”
The resident laughed quietly.
“You’ll survive.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
She reached for her coffee.
Cold.
Of course it was cold.
Her shift was finally ending.
Another ten minutes and she’d be walking back to her hostel, collapsing onto her bed, and praying she’d magically absorb anatomy through osmosis before her practical the next morning.
The automatic doors burst open.
“Doctor!”
A man’s panicked voice echoed through the clinic.
“We need help!”
Two men rushed inside carrying someone between them.
Blood dripped steadily onto the white tiled floor.
The clinic instantly erupted into motion.
“Get a stretcher!”
“Call surgery.”
“BP?”
“Pressure’s dropping.”
Catherine was already pulling on a pair of gloves.
Her exhaustion disappeared the second she saw the blood.
Training took over.
The patient was laid onto the examination bed.
The resident moved to assess him while Catherine cut away the blood-soaked fabric around the wound.
“Gunshot wound,” one of the men said.
“Abdomen.”
The resident nodded.
“Gauze.”
She handed it over immediately.
“Saline.”
Already there.
“Pressure.”
She pressed firmly against the wound as instructed.
Only then did she properly look at the patient.
For a brief, embarrassing second…
She forgot how to breathe.
He looked less like someone bleeding out and more like someone who had stepped out of a sculpture.
Tall.
Easily over six feet.
Dark hair, slightly dishevelled, falling across his forehead.
A jaw sharp enough to look carved rather than inherited.
His features were striking—not in a soft, effortless way, but in the kind of way that made people instinctively move out of his path.
Even unconscious, there was something intimidating about him.
As though danger had simply decided to wear a handsome face.
Ridiculous.
Some people were offensively attractive.
Catherine.
Her own thoughts immediately scolded her.
He’s been shot.
You took the Hippocratic Oath.
You’re here to save his life—not admire his face.
She mentally rolled her eyes at herself and focused on the wound.
“Bleeding’s slowing,” she said.
The resident nodded.
“Good.”
As she reached for fresh gauze, a large hand suddenly wrapped around her wrist.
Her breath caught.
His eyes opened.
Grey.
Cold.
Alert.
Far too alert for someone who had lost that much blood.
For a long moment…
He simply looked at her.
Not confused.
Not frightened.
Just…
Watching.
As if memorising her face.
Then his grip loosened.
His eyes closed once more.
“Surgery’s here.”
The room filled with movement as the surgical team rushed in, taking over.
Catherine stepped back, pulling off her gloves.
“Nice work,” the resident said.
She nodded absentmindedly.
Somehow…
She couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes.
A week later…
Life had returned to normal.
Or at least…
As normal as medical school allowed.
Anatomy practicals.
Physiology lectures.
Assignments.
Coffee.
Regret.
Repeat.
The man with the gunshot wound had become nothing more than an interesting memory.
She doubted she’d ever see him again.
Which was perfectly fine with her.
She was crossing the main walkway after lectures, anatomy atlas tucked beneath one arm, when she saw him.
Her footsteps slowed.
No…
It couldn’t be.
Same height.
Same dark hair.
Same face.
Same impossible presence.
He was walking across campus wearing a fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.
He looked perfectly healthy.
As though he’d never been shot.
“What a coincidence…” she murmured to herself.
Maybe he had a sibling here.
A girlfriend.
A friend.
Whatever the reason…
It wasn’t her business.
She quickly looked away.
Don’t make eye contact.
He probably doesn’t even remember you.
Turning down a quieter pathway, she kept walking until she reached the corner of the library.
She hesitated.
Then cautiously peeked around the edge.
He had disappeared.
Good.
She waited another few seconds just to be safe before stepping out.
“Are you hiding from someone?”
The deep voice behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin.
She froze.
Slowly…
She turned around.
He stood only a few feet away, one shoulder resting lazily against the brick wall, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black coat.
He looked exactly as she remembered.
“N-no.”
His expression remained unreadable.
“…You’re a terrible liar.”
“I am not.”
“You looked around three times before stepping out.”
“I was…” she searched desperately for an excuse.
“…making sure someone had left.”
One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.
“So…”
He tilted his head.
“You were hiding.”
“…”
“…”
“…Maybe.”
Silence settled between them.
Then he pushed himself away from the wall.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Catherine blinked.
“For… me?”
“Da.”
His voice was calm.
Unhurried.
As though this conversation had been inevitable.
“Why?”
“You treated my wound.”
“That was my job.”
“No.”
His eyes held hers.
“That was a choice.”
“There were other doctors.”
“There were.”
“But you stayed.”
Her brows knitted together.
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.”
He took one measured step closer.
Close enough for her to notice the faint scar disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt.
“One more thing.”
She swallowed.
“…What?”
For the first time since she’d met him…
He smiled.
It was small.
Almost imperceptible.
Yet somehow it changed his entire face.
“Your name.”
“Catherine.”
He repeated it once, thoughtfully, as though testing the sound.
Then he shook his head.
“No.”
She frowned.
“What do you mean, no?”
A glint of amusement flickered in his steel-grey eyes.
“Katya.”
“My name is Catherine.”
“Not to me.”
He held her gaze for one heartbeat longer before walking past her as though he’d simply commented on the weather.
Catherine remained rooted to the spot.
“…Excuse me?”
He didn’t look back.
Only lifted one hand in acknowledgment as he continued down the path.
“do vstrechi, Katya.”
She stared after him.
“…What on earth just happened?”
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