Nurse Cindy

Cindy Larson adjusted her name badge as she walked into the supply room of the new medical center, the smell of antiseptic sharp in the air. It was only her third week working here after finishing her nursing program, and though she tried to look confident, her hands still trembled a little when she filled the small paper cups with patients’ morning medications. She glanced at the chart for Room 214. Her lips curled into a smile before she could stop herself. The patient was staying only overnight for tests—nothing serious, just routine monitoring. He was a little older than her, maybe mid-twenties, tall, with a calm presence that made the room feel less like a hospital. Cindy carried the tray down the quiet hallway. The morning light spilled through the tall windows, and she smoothed her scrub top, willing herself not to blush. She had spoken to him a few times since his admission. He wasn’t like most patients—there was no fear or impatience in his eyes. Instead, he asked her about her training, her long hours, even teased her gently about the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating. When she entered, he was sitting up in bed, flipping through a sports magazine. “Morning, Nurse Larson,” he said with a grin that made her heartbeat quicken. She handed him the small cup, trying not to fumble. “Morning. Just vitamins and fluids today.” He accepted the cup, then tilted his head. “You always this serious on the job?” Cindy laughed softly, surprised at herself. “Trying to be professional.” “Professional’s good,” he said, sipping his water, “but I like the part where you laugh better.” Her cheeks warmed. She reminded herself that patients were temporary, and rules were clear. Still, as she walked back to the station, she couldn’t shake the lightness in her chest. For the first time since starting at the medical center, Cindy realized she was looking forward to her shift—not because of the work, but because of the patient who made the halls fe