The girl stood on the other side of the railing. There was no doubt about her intention to jump off the bridge…
At the very start of her night shift, the paramedics brought in a young man. His car had collided with an SUV at a roundabout. After hours in surgery, the patient was wheeled into intensive care, while the surgeon, Eleanor Whitmore, sat in the doctors’ office jotting down the operation notes.
“Coffee, Eleanor.” Nurse Margaret Collins, a seasoned professional, set a steaming mug on the edge of the desk.
“Thanks. Let me know when he wakes up,” Eleanor murmured, barely looking up from her paperwork.
“You should rest while you can. It’s quiet for now.”
“You know as well as I do—a shift that starts like this never ends well,” Eleanor countered.
And she was spot on. She hadn’t even finished her coffee before another patient was rushed in. By dawn, Eleanor was dead on her feet and slumped over the desk, her head resting on a pile of reports. Nurse Collins shook her awake to announce that the accident victim had regained consciousness.
Eleanor could’ve easily handed him off to the day team—the worst was over, after all—but that wasn’t her style. She wanted to see how her patient was faring.
The linoleum under the fluorescent lights shone like still water. Eleanor slipped quietly into the room. Yesterday, she’d barely registered his face—too focused on saving his life. Now, she took in a rather handsome man tangled in wires and monitors. She checked his vitals, and when her eyes flicked back to him, she found him studying her just as intently.
Even flat on his back, he carried himself with an air of arrogance, looking down his nose at her. She wished she had half his confidence. It took effort not to glance away.
“How are you feeling, Alexander? We had to remove your spleen. You lost a lot of blood. Two broken ribs, but your lung wasn’t punctured. You’re lucky.” She paused. “The police want to speak with you, but I asked them to wait. You need time.”
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely.
“My shift’s over. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Eleanor turned to leave.
The ambulance dropping off another patient gave her a lift home. Her ginger cat, Sir Pawsalot, wound around her legs before trotting to the kitchen, tail aloft. She was desperate for sleep, but first—dinner for His Highness, or he’d yowl all night. Eleanor barely remembered her head hitting the pillow.
The next day, her patient looked much better—even flashing a smile when she entered.
“Good morning. You seem well. We’ll move you to a regular ward today, return your phone so you can call family.”
“No family here. Did I cause much trouble for you yesterday?” His gaze was still annoyingly superior. How did he manage that while bedridden?
“When can I leave?” he asked.
“You were *just* operated on. Broken ribs? A week at least. Then we’ll see.” She forced a polite smile. “Excuse me—other patients are waiting.”
Before heading home, she checked his vitals one last time. When she finally met his eyes again, he smirked.
A shiver ran down her spine. She’d seen *that smirk* before. She had an excellent memory for faces, and she was certain she’d never met him—yet that smirk tugged at something deep in her mind.
All evening, she racked her brain. Where had she seen it? The next morning, he was sitting up in bed, sporting a fresh T-shirt.
“Nurse brought it. My clothes were… unsalvageable.” He caught her puzzled look. “Eleanor, I get the feeling you want to ask me something.”
“No—well, yes. Have we met before?”
“I’d remember you,” he said smoothly. “But your eyes… I’ve seen that look only once before. Years ago. Different city. Different life.” He smirked again, then winced—ribs protesting.
“You can get up, but carefully,” Eleanor said.
“Will you come back?” he asked abruptly.
“If the shift allows.” *What is wrong with him? Why does he act like I owe him something?*
The next day, he pounced. “So, Doctor, remembered where we’ve met?”
“Must’ve imagined it,” she deflected.
“I think we have. Your eyes—I know them.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?” she snapped, curiosity getting the better of her.
“Day one, I thought you were just tired. But the weariness never left. You look like you’re waiting for disaster.”
“Rubbish. You’re recovering well. I’ll discharge you in three days.”
“Thank you for—”
She was already out the door.
Three days later, the nurse handed him his discharge papers.
“Where’s Eleanor?” he asked, frowning.
“In surgery.”
Alexander lingered in the corridor, watching the office door. When she emerged, he intercepted her.
“You were desperate to leave, yet here you are,” she noted, arching a brow.
“Avoiding me, Doctor?” he said bluntly. “I couldn’t leave without thanking you. You saved my life.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Without the surgery, I’d have bled out. So—life saved. Let me repay you. Dinner. Maybe an hour together will jog your memory?” He held up his hands. “Just dinner. No ulterior motives.”
“You’re insufferable. Fine. I need time to change.”
“The Old Oak. Seven o’clock. Near your flat.”
“You know where I live?”
“Is that a secret?”
“You’re terrifying.” Easier to agree than argue. *Absolute menace.*
At home, Eleanor showered, styled her hair, applied light makeup—then agonised over her wardrobe. Black was safe. Slimming. But tonight called for colour. After tossing options aside, she settled on an emerald-green dress. It matched her eyes.
At seven sharp, she entered the restaurant. Live music played softly. Alexander, now clean-shaven and in a sharp suit, waved from a corner table.
“Wasn’t sure you’d come,” he admitted, eyes sweeping over her—unusually hesitant. “I chose a quiet table.”
They ordered—Caesar salad, steak, coffee—then he leaned in.
“Years ago, as a student, I was crossing a bridge in the rain. Saw a girl on the wrong side of the railing. Ready to jump.” He sipped his water. “I talked her down. Bought her coffee. Only had enough for one cup.”
Eleanor stabbed at her salad, silent.
“She was bullied. Overweight. Called names…”
“*Even a tornado couldn’t lift a house with Fatty Ellie inside*,” Eleanor whispered, eyes glistening. “After Year Nine, my class went camping. One boy asked me to walk by the river. I was so happy—until he pushed me in. I couldn’t swim. They laughed as I swallowed muddy water.” Her voice shook. “No one was punished. Just an ‘accident.’”
Alexander’s jaw tightened. “After the bridge, you vowed to change.”
“I starved myself through med school. Fainted in lectures.” She wiped her eyes. “One professor said pregnancy would undo it all—my metabolism’s cursed. So I swore off men. No one would leave me like Dad left Mum.”
“I thought about you often,” he admitted. “Wondered what became of that girl. Then I saw your eyes in that hospital—same hunted look.” He smiled softly. “I saved you then. You saved me now.”
“I should go. Surgeries tomorrow.” Exhaustion weighed on her.
“I’ll walk you out.”
Next morning, a bouquet waited on her desk. A note nestled among the blooms:
*Twice is no coincidence. No one will hurt you again. I’ll be back soon.*
Eleanor smiled. She’d always been self-sufficient—counting calories, guarding her heart. Could she really let someone in? Did she dare?
A week later, true to his word, Alexander returned.
