It was a quiet, chilly Saturday morning when Elle found herself sitting in the waiting room of the out-of-hours clinic. She hadnât been feeling well for days, battling a chest infection that had left her weak and breathless. The dizziness had become a constant companion, along with her lack of appetite. She had barely eaten anything in the past two days, and now her body was showing the strain. Elle sat in her comfortable, loose-fitting clothesâa soft grey sweater and black leggingsâas she waited to be seen.
The door to the doctorâs office opened, and a young male doctor appeared, glancing at his clipboard. "Elle?" he called, a soft but professional tone to his voice. She stood and followed him into the small examination room, where the faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air.
"Take a seat," he gestured, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment before he focused on the routine of checking her vital signs. He was tall, with an athletic build and neatly styled dark hair. Elle noticed how young he seemed, probably not much older than herself.
After asking a few questions about her symptoms, the doctor took her blood pressure, wrapping the cuff around her arm and inflating it with a faint hiss. He scribbled down some numbers before checking her temperature with a quick scan of her forehead. Everything was normal so far, but when Elle mentioned her dizziness and lack of appetite, the doctor decided to check her sugar levels as well.
He pricked her finger gently, watching the small drop of blood rise before he pressed it to the test strip. The meter beeped, and the doctor looked at the reading, his brow furrowing slightly. "Your sugar levels are low," he said, his voice calm but with a hint of concern.
"Now, I need to listen to your chest," he continued. "Could you remove your top, please? I need to listen closely to your lungs."
Elle hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. She pulled her sweater over her head, leaving her in just her simple black bra. The cool air in the room brushed against her skin as she stood in front of him. The doctor, now focused on the task at hand, placed the cold diaphragm of the stethoscope against her back.
"Take a deep breath for me," he instructed softly.
Elle inhaled deeply, feeling the slight pressure of the stethoscope as it moved lower down her back. His touch was firm yet gentle, professional, though the atmosphere between them began to shift. She could hear her own breathing, rough and crackling at the base of her lungs, but it was clear that the doctor was picking up on it too.
"Hmm⊠I can hear some crackling at the base of your lungs," he said, his voice quieter now. He pressed the stethoscope a little harder against her back, his focus sharpening.
"Letâs check your heart too," he said after a moment. The doctor moved around to the front of her, his expression changing as he positioned the stethoscope against her chest, just above her bra. Their eyes met again, but this time the connection was more intense. The doctor seemed momentarily lost, his hand lingering on her chest a bit longer than necessary.
Elle's heart began to race, each thud of her pulse reverberating through the stethoscope and into the doctorâs ears. His gaze lingered on her, the professional boundary blurring as he became transfixed by the steady, rhythmic beating beneath his fingertips.
He adjusted the stethoscope slightly, but his other hand remained on her chest, fingers brushing lightly against her skin. Then, as if by some invisible pull, his free hand reached up to brush a stray curl of her ashy blonde hair away from her face. They locked eyes once more, and in that moment, Elle could feel her pulse quickening beneath his touch.
The doctorâs face softened, his breath catching in his throat. Elle was acutely aware of the sensation of her heart pounding in her chest, each beat strong and insistent. She could feel his fingers resting against her skin, and when his hand drifted lower, he felt the pulse at her neck.
There was no resistance when Elle reached out and placed her hand on his waist, drawing herself closer to him. She could feel the warmth of his body, the slight tension in his muscles as she moved nearer. And then, almost instinctively, their lips met in a kiss.
Elle ran her hands over his strong shoulders and down his back, feeling the muscles tense under her touch. All the while, the doctor kept the stethoscope pressed against her chest, listening to the way her heart responded, beating faster, almost in time with his own.
But then, just as quickly as the moment had begun, the doctor snapped back to reality. He blinked, pulling away slightly as a flush of professionalism returned to his expression. Clearing his throat, he quickly removed the stethoscope from his ears and took a step back.
"Your heart⊠itâs healthy, but your lungs arenât sounding good. Iâm going to prescribe you some antibiotics," he said, his voice a bit too clinical now, as though trying to mask what had just happened. "You should take it easy for a few days. If you notice any changes, or if your symptoms get worse, come back immediately."
Elle smiled softly as she pulled her sweater back over her head. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, her voice warm and slightly teasing.
Before she left, Elle reached into her pocket, pulling out an old receipt. With a pen, she quickly scribbled her phone number on the back, sliding it across the desk toward him. The doctor looked down at the paper, surprised, then up at her again.
"Iâll see you soon," she said with a wink before turning to leave the room.
For the rest of the day, the doctor found it hard to concentrate. He couldnât shake the memory of Elleâs heartbeat, that steady rhythm that had felt so real, so alive against his fingertips. Every time he closed his eyes, he could hear the pulse thudding in his ears, a reminder of the connection they had shared in that brief, stolen moment.
