SIX WEEKS WITH HIM

The talk

Dr. Onyango didn’t waste time.

“Kip, my office. Now.”

It was 8 AM. The physio room wasn’t even open yet, and I was already in trouble.

I followed her down the hall, hands shoved in my pockets so she wouldn’t see them shaking.

She closed the door behind us and sat behind her desk.

“Sit,” she said.

I sat.

“You know the rules,” she started. “No student physio treats patients outside scheduled hours. No off-site treatment without supervision. And absolutely no personal contact with patients outside clinical context.”

“I know,” I said.

“Then explain yesterday.”

I swallowed. “Lucas overextended on the field. His knee was hot, swelling was up. I didn’t want him to reinjure it walking home. It was a five-minute check.”

“It was a breach of protocol,” she said flatly. “If he’d gotten worse, this department would be liable. You’d be liable.”

“I understand.”

She studied me for a long moment. “Do you?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

Because the truth was, I’d stayed because I wanted to. Not just because of the knee.

Dr. Onyango seemed to read that on my face.

“Kip,” she said, voice softening slightly. “Lucas Kimani is a high-profile patient. Rugby captain, scholarship, media attention. If word got out that you were treating him off the clock, it wouldn’t just be you in trouble. It would be the entire program.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It won’t happen again.”

She nodded. “Good. Because you have two weeks left on that contract. Keep it professional. Keep it in the room. Keep it to the schedule.”

“Yes, Dr. Onyango.”

“Dismissed.”

---

I was still processing it when Lucas showed up for his 4 PM session.

He looked at me, took in my expression, and said, “She talked to you.”

“Yeah.”

“About yesterday.”

“Yeah.”

He sat on the bed, not meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to check it there.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “I said yes.”

We were quiet for a while. The tension from the past two days felt heavier now. Like we were both waiting for the other to say something we couldn’t say in here.

“Two weeks,” Lucas said finally.

“Two weeks,” I echoed.

He flexed his knee experimentally. “Range is better. I can hit 100 degrees today.”

“Let’s see it,” I said, falling back into routine because it was easier than talking about us.

I knelt, placed my hands on his leg, and moved him through the motion. His skin was warm under my fingers. His breathing was steady.

Neither of us mentioned yesterday.

Neither of us mentioned the way my hand lingered half a second too long when I let go.

When the session ended, he stood up and grabbed his crutches.

“Kip,” he said at the door.

“Yeah?”

“After this is over… can we talk? For real?”

I looked at the clock. The session was over. The room was empty. Dr. Onyango was down the hall.

“Two weeks,” I said.

He nodded. “Two weeks.”

And he left.

---

I went home that night and couldn’t sleep.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t counting down the days to the end of the contract.

I was dreading it.

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