A Touch He Didn’t Permit
1069 Words
The room settled again.
But not completely.
Something lingered—
Unspoken.
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Isolde finished securing the bandage, her movements careful and precise.
“There,” she said softly. “You’ll need proper treatment, but this will hold for now.”
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The man nodded repeatedly, relief written all over his face.
“Thank you… thank you so much…”
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“It’s alright,” she replied gently. “Just be more careful next time.”
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He glanced once—briefly—past her.
At Lucian.
And whatever gratitude he had seemed to shrink slightly.
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“I’ll… go now,” he muttered.
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No one stopped him.
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The door closed behind him.
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Silence returned.
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Isolde exhaled quietly, unaware she had been holding her breath.
Her shoulders relaxed—just a little.
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Then—
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“Do you always let strangers touch you like that?”
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Her breath caught again.
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Slowly, she turned.
Lucian was watching her.
The same way as before—
But not quite.
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There was something sharper now.
More focused.
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“…He was injured,” she said after a moment.
Her voice was calm.
But softer than before.
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“That wasn’t my question.”
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A pause.
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Isolde’s fingers curled slightly against her palm.
“…He was scared,” she added. “People don’t always think properly when they’re in pain.”
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Lucian stepped closer.
Not rushed.
Not threatening.
Just… deliberate.
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“And that gives them the right?”
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She hesitated.
“…No,” she admitted quietly.
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“Then why allow it?”
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The question lingered.
Heavy.
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Isolde looked down briefly, as if searching for the right answer.
“…Because pushing him away wouldn’t have helped,” she said.
A small pause.
“I just needed him to calm down.”
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Lucian’s gaze didn’t leave her.
Still kind.
Still choosing others over herself.
---
Unchanged.
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“Your wrist,” he said suddenly.
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She blinked.
“…It’s nothing.”
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“It’s not.”
Before she could react—
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He reached for her hand.
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Isolde stiffened slightly.
---
His grip was firm—
But nothing like the man’s before.
No force.
No carelessness.
---
Just… control.
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He turned her wrist slightly, his thumb brushing lightly over the faint mark left behind.
---
Her breath caught.
---
It didn’t hurt.
Not really.
But the contact—
The awareness of it—
Was impossible to ignore.
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“You bruise easily,” he murmured.
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“I’m fine,” she said quickly, trying to pull back.
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He didn’t let go.
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Not immediately.
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His eyes remained on her wrist for a moment longer.
As if memorizing it.
---
Then—slowly—
He released her.
---
The absence of contact felt just as noticeable.
---
Isolde drew her hand back, holding it close this time.
Not in pain—
But… uncertain.
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“You shouldn’t let people do that,” Lucian said.
---
There it was again.
That tone.
---
Not advice.
Not concern.
---
A decision.
---
Isolde frowned slightly.
“…I can handle myself.”
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Lucian’s gaze lifted to meet hers.
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A pause.
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“Can you?”
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Her chest tightened.
Just a little.
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“…Yes,” she said, softer this time—but still firm.
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For a brief moment—
Something unreadable passed through his expression.
---
Not disagreement.
Not approval.
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Interest.
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“Good,” he said.
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But the way he said it—
Didn’t sound like he believed her.
---
The room fell quiet again.
---
Different this time.
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Not tense.
Not chaotic.
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Just… aware.
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Isolde turned slightly, trying to return to her duties—
But her thoughts weren’t steady anymore.
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Because now—
She was aware of him.
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Not just as a patient.
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But as something else.
Something she couldn’t define yet.
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And behind her—
Lucian watched quietly.
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Because now—
He was aware of something too.
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Not just that he had found her—
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But that he didn’t intend to let her remain untouched by his world.
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The hallway felt different when Isolde stepped out.
Not louder.
Not busier.
Just… heavier.
---
She adjusted the file in her hands, trying to ignore the lingering awareness at her wrist.
It didn’t hurt anymore.
Not really.
But the memory of it—
The contrast—
Hadn’t faded.
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“…You’re taking longer than usual.”
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Isolde looked up.
Her colleague stood near the station, watching her more closely than before.
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“Oh—just a patient,” Isolde said quickly. “He needed a bit more attention.”
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“A bit more?”
The tone carried something subtle.
Not quite teasing.
Not quite concern.
---
Isolde hesitated.
“…Yes.”
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Her colleague studied her for a moment longer.
Then—
“…Be careful.”
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The words were quiet.
Unexpected.
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Isolde blinked.
“Careful?”
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A pause.
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“You don’t know who that is, do you?”
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Her grip on the file tightened slightly.
“…He’s just a patient.”
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Her colleague didn’t look convinced.
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“…Right,” she said, but her tone said otherwise.
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Before Isolde could ask more—
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“Isolde!”
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Another nurse rushed over, slightly out of breath.
“Doctor Mensah is asking for you again.”
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“Oh—okay!”
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And just like that—
The moment passed.
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But the unease didn’t.
---
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Across the hall—
Behind a half-closed door—
Lucian stood.
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He had not left.
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He rarely did anything halfway.
---
Through the narrow gap, he watched her.
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Not obviously.
Not enough to draw attention.
---
But enough.
---
She moved easily through the space.
Speaking. Listening. Smiling.
The same warmth he remembered—
Given freely.
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To everyone.
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His gaze darkened slightly.
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Unnecessary.
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Later—
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“Sir, the car is ready.”
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Lucian didn’t respond immediately.
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His attention remained fixed on the corridor.
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“Cancel it.”
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The assistant froze.
“…Sir?”
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“I’m not done here.”
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The words were simple.
Final.
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“Yes, Sir.”
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- Writer
