a patient with “unexplained symptoms”: he doesn’t get sick, but his heart beats faster when he’s around. His flirting is like a prescription drug, but it gets worse without it. In hospital walls, where feelings are usually hidden, their story sounds louder than sirens.
Chapter 1. “The first call: the pulse is off the record”
The shift began as usual — with the heavy smell of antiseptic, with the steady hum of the equipment, with the very silence that is never really quiet in the hospital. It is always filled with something: the whisper of corridors, the creak of wheelchair wheels, the distant voice of the dispatcher. Irina straightened her white lab coat, checked her badge as usual, and mentally set priorities: urgent, planned, routine. Everything is according to protocol. Everything is under control.
And then the door of the emergency room swung open, as if a little street wind, a little chaos, and too much life had been let in with it.
“I think I have a rare case,” the guy said, barging into the department with such a casual smile, as if he had come not to the hospital, but to a cafe on the corner. — The symptoms are strange. My heart is beating. I’m breathing. But at the same time, I feel suspiciously good.
Irina looked up. And immediately regretted it. Because the heart, which had been working smoothly like a clock in the resident’s office, suddenly failed. One punch is too loud. The second one is too fast.
It was Lech.
He stood with his head slightly tilted, as if studying her like a rare exhibit, and sparks danced in his eyes, which definitely had no place here, among the sterile walls and strict rules.
“Who are you going to see?” Irina asked, trying to make her voice sound smooth, professional, like in a textbook. It turned out a little sharper than I wanted.
—To you,” he replied without a trace of embarrassment. — Well, or to the one who’s in charge of the heartbeat here. I have some kind of strange relationship with him. Either it’s not listening to me, or I’m listening to it.
She frowned, but the corner of her lips twitched treacherously.
— If you’re healthy, you’re not here.
— What if I’m sick of thinking too much about life? Is it treated?
Irina sighed, opened the card, and began filling in the boxes. Last name. First name. Date of birth. And she found herself looking not at the paper, but at how he stood: freely, as if all this order did not concern him. It’s like he’s the exception to all the rules.
— What exactly is bothering you? “What is it?” she asked, trying not to meet his eyes.
— I’m worried that the world is too serious. And that you’re trying to pretend right now that I’m just another case in a magazine for you.
Irina looked up sharply.
“I’m doing my job.”
— yeah. And you make it look like the fate of the universe depends on it. It’s impressive. And a little scary.
She wanted to answer sternly, to give out some kind of routine phrase, but instead she suddenly asked:
“Why have you come?”
Lech froze for a second, as if he was surprised that he had asked this question out loud. And then he shrugged his shoulders.:
“Honestly?” I don’t know. I just saw you walking down the hall, and I thought, if there’s any place to look for answers, it’s someone who knows how things work. Even if it’s just pressure and temperature.
At that moment, an urgent call was announced over the speakerphone. The corridor came alive: nurses ran in, trolleys rattled, someone shouted: “Ward three!”
Irina stood up, preparing to leave, but Lech quietly added:
“Wait a minute. Can I just sit here while you save the world? It makes me feel better.
She stopped. Just for a second. Just for a second. And there was too much in that second: irritation, curiosity, a strange warmth that didn’t fit into the hospital climate control.
“Sit down,— she muttered. —But don’t get in the way.
“I promise.” I’ll be as quiet as a shadow. Well, almost.
When she returned twenty minutes later, he was indeed sitting. But he was holding a cup of coffee, one of the ones in the waiting area. And there was a small paper crane next to it, folded from a piece of letterhead.
“This is for you,— he said, holding out the crane. — For good luck. Or in case you suddenly need something that is not written in the protocol.
Irina took it. The fingers touched his arm for a moment—and again that pulse, again that malfunction. She wanted to say something, something stern and proper, but instead she just nodded.
By the end of her shift, she realized one thing: she didn’t remember any of his symptoms. No blood pressure, no pulse, no temperature. But everything else was imprinted in my memory: his voice, his smile, that ridiculous crane in the pocket of my robe.
And when he left, turning around at the door and winking at her, she caught herself thinking that she was already waiting for the next shift. Not for the sake of work. In order to hear it again: “I have strange symptoms again. My heart beats faster when you’re around.”
And the scariest thing—and the most beautiful thing—was that now she knew it wasn’t a mistake. This is a diagnosis. And he’s not being treated.
Chapter 2. “The temperature on the flirting scale”
The second shift started exactly the same as the first: from the very smell of antiseptic that gets into the fabric of your robe and stays with you even after a shower. From the hum of the equipment, from this deceptive silence, in which every rustle sounds like an alarm. Irina entered the admissions office, squared her shoulders as usual and said to herself: “Everything will be according to protocol today. No glitches.”
But the protocol, as it turned out, did not take into account one thing: Lech.
He appeared closer to lunch—he didn’t rush in, didn’t open the doors with a theatrical bang, but simply appeared in the doorway, as if he had always been standing there, she just hadn’t noticed him before. He was wearing the same light jacket, slightly casually thrown on, and that smile of his was not wide, not arrogant, but such that you immediately want to either frown sternly or smile back. And Irina, of course, frowned. Professionally. Perfect.
“Are you here again?” “What is it?” she asked, without looking up from her tablet, even though she knew perfectly well that it was right in front of the counter. — We don’t have an interest club.
— And if I have a new symptom? He replied calmly, leaning his elbow on the counter as if it were a bar in his favorite cafe, and not the boundary between the “sterile zone” and “the rest of the world.” — I woke up this morning and realized: I urgently need to hear you say, “this is not a reason to be hospitalized.” This is already drawing on the clinical picture.
Irina finally looked up. And then she regretted it: there was so much lightness in his gaze, so much warmth that it seemed it could melt even this hospital cold.
— You have no symptoms that require medical intervention.
— But there is a symptom that requires your attention. I think about how you frown too often. It can be dangerous for mental health.
She wanted to say sternly, “don’t joke like that,” she wanted to remind me about ethics and boundaries, but instead she suddenly asked:
“And what do you do about it?”
— I’m trying to compensate. For example, today I smiled three times just like that. Once even to a cat in an elevator. By the way, she didn’t appreciate it. Apparently, she’s immune to my charm.
Irina couldn’t stand it and snorted. She immediately tried to turn it into a cough, but Lech just grinned.:
“I knew it. You’re laughing. This means that the diagnosis is confirmed: you have a sense of humor, it’s just hiding behind a badge and rules.
At that moment, the voice of the head nurse came from the hallway.:
— Irina, we have a patient in the third! The pressure is dropping!
Irina shuddered, instantly switching to work mode.
“I have to go.”
“Wait,” he said softly, and suddenly there was no joke or teasing in his voice, just something real. — It’s just… if it’s going to be hard for you there, remember: I’m here. And if you suddenly need someone who will just sit and not demand anything, I will sit.
She froze for a second, then nodded, abruptly turned around and left, leaving him alone at the counter. But five minutes later, when she was measuring her blood pressure, listening to her rapid pulse and trying to speak calmly and think quickly at the same time, it suddenly popped into her head: “I’m here.” And that made it a little easier. It was like someone was holding the door open so she’d know there was somewhere to go back to.
When the fuss had subsided a little, Irina returned to the reception area. Lech was still there. Only now he wasn’t standing at the counter, but sitting on the edge of a chair, flipping through some old magazine about cars. But as soon as she appeared, he immediately looked up, and that smile flashed on again, like a light bulb that was turned on especially for her.
— Well, have you saved the world? – he asked.
“Only one room so far,” she replied wearily, sitting down in the next chair. Just for a minute. Just to catch my breath. — Are you still “sick”?
—Oh, yeah. The symptoms are getting worse. Especially when you get tired. Then I want to do something stupid so that you forget, at least for a second, how much pressure everything is on you.
Irina wanted to say that it wasn’t his concern, that he didn’t have the rights to do so, but suddenly realized that she didn’t want him to stop. She wants this ridiculous, completely off-protocol care.
“Like what?” “What is it?” she asked softly.
Lech thought about it, then took a small object out of his pocket and put it in front of her. It was a funny keychain, in the form of a tiny robot, with peeling paint.
“I got it when I was a kid. They say such things bring good luck. Or at least they remind you that there is something simple and good somewhere. Take. Let it lie in the pocket of your robe. When it’s hard, touch it. And remember that someone, somewhere, is thinking about you. Even if that person always ends up in the hospital for no reason.
Irina looked at the keychain, then at him. And for the first time, she didn’t hide her smile.
“You’re an impossible patient.
— I know. But I’m the only one who doesn’t come for treatment, but to see how you become not a doctor for a second, but just a person.
She didn’t answer. I just put the keychain in my pocket, feeling the metal slightly cool my fingers. And I realized that her pulse was off the record again today. But now she didn’t want to bring him back to normal.
By the end of the shift, Lech left, promising that “tomorrow he would come up with a new symptom.” Irina just shook her head, but there was a warmth in her chest that could not be measured with a thermometer or described on a card.
And at night, already at home, she took the keychain out of her pocket, twirled it in her fingers and smiled. And I thought: if this is a disease, let it last as long as possible. Because for the first time in a long time, she felt more than just “normal.” She felt good.
Chapter 3. “Medical history: unclassifiable”
The folder with the documents was lying on the table like evidence. It was thin and unremarkable, with the usual blue cover and the stamp of the reception department. But for Irina, she suddenly became something more – almost a map that could be used to follow Lekha’s footsteps and find an explanation for what was happening to her.
The shift turned out to be calm, so much so that the silence seemed suspicious. Usually at such moments, Irina sorted through the accumulated papers, closed the tails, checked the cards so that everything was perfect. Today, she opened Lehi’s folder not for the sake of order, but for the sake of… what? Trying to catch logic where it wasn’t there.
She read the lines carefully, as if there might be some secret meaning hidden between the dry formulations. “Complaints: a feeling of excess of life.” “Anamnesis: prone to irony, resistant to panic.” It wasn’t written by her — it was a joke by the doctor on duty, who took Lech for the first time. But Irina smiled without even noticing it.
Then came the dry data: height, weight, blood type. It’s just like thousands of other patients. But as soon as she reached the “Signature” column, something inside her trembled again. His handwriting was casual but confident—the letters seemed to be in a hurry, but did not lose their shape. He had the same lightness with which Lech spoke, moved, and looked at the world.
Irina ran her finger along the signature line, then immediately pulled her hand back, as if she had been caught doing something forbidden. “What are you doing?” “What is it?” she asked herself sternly. But the question hung in the air without an answer.
She turned the page and froze.
Between the sheets, almost unnoticeable, lay a small note—a folded piece of paper, torn out, it seemed, from some kind of notebook. On it was written in the same careless handwriting: “If it suddenly gets too quiet, I’m whispering something stupid so that you won’t be lonely. Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. Well, almost.”
Irina froze, feeling her heart make a sharp, uneven beat. He knew. Or guessed it. Or he was just like that—the one who leaves small anchors in someone else’s bottom so that no one sails too far away.
She unfolded the note, read it again, and then again. And suddenly she realized that she wasn’t looking for a diagnosis in this folder. She’s looking for an excuse for being attracted to him. He wants to find a line where it says in black and white: “This is normal. It’s possible. It’s not a mistake.”
But there are no such lines in the medical record.
At that moment, the door opened a crack, and a familiar smile poked through the opening.
“Am I interrupting?” Lech asked, peering inside cautiously, as if he was afraid of scaring off something fragile. — I just thought, what if you need someone to break the silence again?
Irina hurriedly hid the note in the pocket of her robe, but he already understood everything — by her eyes, by the way she blushed a little, by the way she tried too quickly to return her professional expression to her face.
“You’re here again,” she said, trying to sound stern, but her voice came out a little softer than she wanted it to. — Do you have a subscription to visit the reception?
He entered, but stopped at the threshold, as if giving her space. — No complaints today. I just… wanted to make sure you were here. That everything is fine.
“I’m fine,— she replied automatically, and then added more quietly, “Thank you.”
He nodded as if that was the most important thing he could hear.
—Can I sit here?” I won’t bother you. I’ll just sit here. I like the way it smells. Antiseptic, papers, something real. It’s like every day someone saves the world a little bit.
Irina wanted to say that this is not a place for gatherings, that there are rules that patients should not stay for no reason. But instead, she nodded.
—Just be quiet.
“I promise.” I’ll be quieter than a shadow. Well, almost.
He sat down on a chair against the wall, crossed his arms, leaned back and closed his eyes, as if he was going to take a nap. But Irina knew he wasn’t sleeping. He’s just giving her a chance to get used to the fact that he’s here. To the fact that his presence is not a violation, but a part of her day.
She returned to the folder, but now she was no longer looking for a diagnosis. Now she just felt like there was a man sitting next to her who could do ordinary things a little less ordinary. Who hides jokes in documents and comes in without complaint, just to make sure she’s okay.
And suddenly it dawned on her.
Her reaction to him wasn’t a mistake. It was not a system failure. It was a new reality, one that could not be written into the protocol because terms had not yet been coined for it. Her heart wasn’t beating faster because something was broken. It’s because something finally worked.
Lech opened one eye, caught her gaze and smiled — quietly, without words.
— Did you find something? – he asked.
Irina closed the folder, put it aside and for the first time looked at him not as a patient, not as a troublemaker, but as a person who had become a part of her days.
“I found it,— she replied. — Something that defies classification.
He chuckled, sat up straighter, and there was something warm, almost serious, in his eyes.
— So it’s something rare. Rare things should be protected.
Irina did not answer. But in the pocket of her robe, she felt a folded note, touched the edge of the paper with her fingers, and smiled. Just a little bit, so that no one but her would notice it.
And then I went back to work. But now there was something new in her movements, a lightness, as if, along with his jokes, a little air had entered the compartment, which had previously been lacking.
By the end of the shift, Lech left, promising that he would come up with something new tomorrow. Irina just shook her head, but there was a warmth in her chest that could not be measured with a blood pressure monitor, thermometer, or any other scale designed to sort everything out.
Because some things are unclassifiable. You can only feel them. And if you’re lucky, save it.
Chapter 4. “Emergency: A heart in free fall”
The night shift was always a test of strength for Irina — not because of the darkness, but because of how in the silence of the hospital every little thing grew to the scale of a disaster. Every beep on the monitor sounded like an alarm siren, and every step down the hall echoed hollowly in my chest. Today, that silence collapsed in a second.
It all started with the harsh voice of the dispatcher on the intercom:
— Reception! An emergency! Traffic accident, multiple injuries, we’re taking two people! The condition is critical!
And the world exploded.
The sirens howled somewhere very close, then burst into the lobby, merged with the sound of the wheels of the gurney, with the screams of the paramedics, with the heavy breathing of the victim, which sounded like a plea for help. Irina took off, instantly switching to a mode where there is no place for emotions — only actions, only speed, only precision.
“Pressure?” She shouted, pulling on her gloves.
— It’s falling! Eighty to forty and continues to decline!
— Catheter, plasma, urgently!
The corridor turned into a whirlpool: people were moving, bumping shoulders, shouting commands, catching each other’s eyes to see if we were making it. Irina felt her own heart pounding somewhere in her throat, making it difficult to speak, knocking down the rhythm, making her doubt every move. “Just don’t panic,” she repeated to herself. —Just not now.”
And suddenly, in the midst of this chaos, she saw him.
Lech was standing against the wall, not in the middle of the action, not in the way, not getting in the way, but not hiding either. He shouldn’t have been here: night hours, a closed block, strict security clearance. But he was. And he was looking right at her.
Their eyes met. For a split second, all the noise seemed to be muffled, as if someone had turned down the volume. And in that short silence, he nodded almost imperceptibly, so confidently, so calmly, as if he were saying: “You can handle it. You know what to do.”
It wasn’t a word. It was an anchor.
Irina exhaled, and panic, which was already squeezing her chest with icy fingers, retreated a step. She could see clearly again: the veins, the catheter, the numbers on the monitor. I could breathe again.
— Keep up the pressure! “Stop it!” she shouted. — More plasma!
A few minutes later, the patient was taken to the operating room. The second victim, a young girl, remained in the waiting room: she had shock, a fracture, a laceration, and she was whispering all the time.: “Where is he? Irina sat down next to her, took her hand, and spoke softly, evenly, trying to keep not only her pulse, but also her mind.
“He’s in surgery. The doctors are doing their best. Can you hear me? You’re safe. We’re close.
The girl clung to her fingers, trembled, cried, and Irina felt this tremor all over her body. She knew better than to show weakness. You can’t make it clear that you’re barely holding on.
When the fuss subsided a little, Irina straightened up, took off her gloves, and ran her palm over her face, trying to erase the tension. It was only then that I noticed that Lech was still here. He stood at the door, holding a cup of cold coffee in his hands, and looked at her as if he saw not a tired doctor, but a person who now just needs to know that he is not alone.
“You’re doing great,” he said softly, coming closer but not breaking the boundaries. “You were like a storm that knows where to blow.”
Irina wanted to say something stern, to remind her that patients were not supposed to be in the emergency area, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she just nodded, feeling her fingers tremble.
“I thought I was going to snap,” she confessed in a whisper, as if ashamed of her weakness. “In the middle of it all, I suddenly didn’t know what I was doing.
“But you didn’t snap,— he replied just as quietly. —You just forgot for a second how strong you are.” And I reminded you. Not even in words, just standing there. And I thought, “She can handle it.” Sometimes that’s enough.
She looked at him for the first time without trying to hide her emotions, without the armor of professional restraint. I saw in his eyes not a flirtation, not a joke, not a game, but something deep, real. A calmness that is not exaggerated, but built from the ability to hold a punch.
The hallway became quieter. The sirens stopped. The monitors beeped steadily. The world that was collapsing a minute ago has fallen back into place.
They stood opposite each other, and a rare, precious silence fell between them, in which nothing needed to be explained. In this silence, you could hear their hearts beating synchronously: not in the rhythm of panic, but in the rhythm of relief. Two different rhythms that happened to coincide in one moment.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said finally, but without reproach. Just as a fact that no longer mattered.
“I know,— he replied, smiling a little. “But if I were anywhere else, I wouldn’t be able to see you saving the world.” And that’s probably the most important thing I can see today.
Irina did not argue. She just lowered her shoulders, letting the tension go, and leaned against the wall for a second, as if she suddenly needed support. And he understood it without words. Didn’t get too close, didn’t hug, didn’t break the rules. He just stood next to her, so that she could feel that he was there. Not as a patient. Not as a reason to violate protocol. And as someone who can hold on when the ground is falling out from under his feet.
By morning, everything had settled down. The patients were distributed, the reports were filled out, the corridors became quiet again — but no longer empty. Irina stood at the window, watching the sky slowly lighten, turning the city gray and pink. Lech came up noiselessly, stood next to her, not touching her, but so that she could feel his warmth.
— Do you know what the strangest thing is? — She said softly, without taking her eyes off the dawn. — When everything was falling apart, I didn’t think about protocols. I thought, “If he’s here, then I can handle it.”
He wasn’t joking. He did not hide his seriousness behind a smile. He just nodded and replied:
“Then I’ll be here.” When needed. Even if it means coming up with a new symptom.
She finally smiled, wearily, sincerely, without trying to hide.
—Not too often,” she whispered. “I’ll get used to it.”
“Get used to it,— he replied softly. — Sometimes the right thing to do is get used to someone holding you when everything is going wrong.
Dawn was spreading across the city, flooding the hospital corridors with soft light. The sirens were silent. The world was breathing smoothly. And somewhere inside Irina, her heart was beating ‑not according to protocol, not according to the norm, but according to its own rhythm. And for the first time, she didn’t want to straighten it out. Because this rhythm was no longer a glitch. He was the answer.