The girl stood on the other side of the railing. There was no doubt in her intention to jump from the bridge…
At the very start of her night shift, the ambulance brought in a young man. His car had collided with an SUV at the crossroads. After hours of surgery, the patient was wheeled into intensive care, while the surgeon, Eleanor Whitmore, sat in the doctors’ office, recording the details of the operation.
“Coffee, Dr. Whitmore,” said Mary-Anne, the seasoned nurse, setting a steaming mug on the edge of the desk.
“Thank you. Call me when the patient wakes,” Eleanor replied without looking up from her notes.
“You should rest while you can. It’s quiet so far.”
“You know as well as I do—a start like this never bodes well,” Eleanor countered.
And she was right. She hadn’t even finished her coffee when another patient was rushed in. By dawn, Eleanor was dead on her feet, nodding off over her papers when Mary-Anne shook her awake, announcing that the crash victim had regained consciousness.
Eleanor could have said her shift was over, that another doctor would check on him, that all would be well—but she rose and walked to the ICU. It wasn’t in her nature to leave without seeing how her patient fared.
The linoleum under the fluorescent lights gleamed like still water. Eleanor entered the room quietly. The night before, she hadn’t gotten a proper look at him, but now she saw a rather striking man tangled in wires and monitors. She checked his vitals, and when her gaze returned to him, she found him studying her.
Even in a hospital bed, the man carried himself with an air of arrogance, his eyes appraising her as if from a height. If only she had a fraction of his confidence. She forced herself not to look away.
“How are you feeling, Alexander? We had to remove your spleen. You lost a lot of blood. Two ribs are fractured, but your lung wasn’t punctured. You’re lucky. The police have called—they want to speak with you, but I asked them to wait. You need time to recover.”
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“My shift’s over. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned to leave.
The ambulance dropping off another patient gave her a lift home. In the hallway, her ginger cat, Marmalade, wound around her legs before trotting off to the kitchen. Exhaustion weighed on her, but she fed him first—otherwise, he’d never let her sleep. Eleanor was out before her head hit the pillow.
The next day, the patient looked better, even offering a faint smile when she entered.
“Hello. You seem improved. We’ll move you to a regular room today, return your phone—you can call your family.”
“No one’s waiting for me in this city. Did I cause you much trouble yesterday?” His gaze remained lofty. How did he manage that?
“When will you discharge me?” he asked.
“You’ve just had surgery, broken ribs… You’ll be here at least a week. Excuse me, other patients need me.” She turned to leave.
Before heading home, she checked on him one last time, noting his intrigued expression as she adjusted his IV. A shiver ran down her spine. She’d seen that smirk before. Her memory for faces was sharp—she didn’t recognise him, but that smirk… it tugged at something.
All evening, she wracked her brain, trying to recall where she’d seen it. The next morning, he was sitting up in bed, now wearing a T-shirt.
“The nurse brought it. My clothes were ruined,” he said, catching her surprise. “I’ve a feeling…” He glanced at her nametag. “Dr. Whitmore, you want to ask me something.”
“No, well… yes. Have we met before?”
“I’d remember a woman like you. Eyes like yours—I’ve only seen once, years ago, in another city, another life.” He smirked again, then winced. The broken ribs still ached.
“You can get up, but be careful.”
“Will you come back?” he asked suddenly.
“If it’s a quiet shift.”
*What is this? Why does he act like I owe him something?*
The next day, he greeted her with, “Remember where we’ve met yet?”
“I must have been mistaken.”
“But I think we have. I know your eyes.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?” She hadn’t meant to ask, but curiosity clawed at her.
“At first, I thought you were just tired. But even rested, you still look guarded—like you’re waiting for something, ready to run.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’m not running anywhere. You’re recovering well. I’ll discharge you in three days.”
“Thank you for—” She was already out.
Three days later, the nurse handed him his discharge papers.
“Where’s Dr. Whitmore?” he asked, frowning.
“She’s in surgery.”
Alexander lingered in the corridor, watching the office door. When she finally emerged, he intercepted her.
“You were desperate to leave, yet here you are.”
“Are you avoiding me?” he asked bluntly. “I couldn’t go without thanking you. You saved my life.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”
“But true. Let me take you to dinner. Maybe an hour together will jog your memory.”
“You’re insufferable. Fine. I need time to change.”
“Seven o’clock, The Old Tavern. Near your flat.”
“You know where I live?”
“Is it a secret?”
“You’re terrifying. Easier to agree than argue.”
At home, she showered, styled her hair, applied a touch of makeup. The black dresses she usually wore—slimming, safe—felt wrong tonight. After rifling through her wardrobe, she settled on an emerald-green dress. It matched her eyes.
At seven, she entered the restaurant. Live music played. Alexander, clean-shaven and sharply dressed, rose from a corner table.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he admitted, his earlier arrogance replaced by something softer.
They ordered—Caesar salad, coffee for her, meat for him.
“Your name—Eleanor. Father a fan of *The Wizard of Oz*?”
“Guessed it.”
He chuckled. “Finally, I see you smile.”
Over dinner, he reminisced. “Years ago, I was crossing the bridge near campus. Rain, biting wind—utterly miserable. Then I saw her. A girl, on the wrong side of the railing. I told her the water was too cold, that no trouble at her age was worth drowning for. She listened. Bought her coffee afterwards. Never forgot that look in her eyes.”
Eleanor set her fork down. “She told you why she wanted to die,” she whispered. “You forgot to mention she was fat. The bullies said even a tornado couldn’t lift her. That she’d eaten an elephant for breakfast. After Year Nine, on a class trip, a boy lured her to the riverbank. Pushed her in. She couldn’t swim. They laughed as she choked on mud. No one was punished. ‘An accident,’ they said.”
Alexander’s smirk vanished. “After that, you swore you’d become a doctor. Lose weight, no matter the cost.”
“Yes. Starved myself until I fainted in lectures. One professor warned the weight would return after children. So I swore off love. Men would leave, just like my father did.”
“I often wondered what became of that girl. When I saw your eyes in the hospital, I remembered.”
She stood abruptly. “I have surgeries tomorrow.”
The next morning, a bouquet waited on her desk. A note nestled among the blooms:
*Twice now, we’ve met—that’s no accident. No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll be back soon.*
Eleanor smiled. She’d always been self-sufficient, guarded. Could she trust someone else with her heart?
A week later, Alexander returned, just as promised.
