NotSoWickedIgboWoman

He left the bowl of pancake mix and approached me, his strides deliberate and confident. I remained rooted in place, leaning against the door frame wearing his big black hoodie, basking in the warmth of his aura. His arms enveloped my waist as he got to me, drawing me into his embrace with a tenderness that spoke volumes. "Did you sleep well?" he inquired, his voice a soothing melody that washed over me. With a soft chuckle, I responded, "When did I ever not sleep well when I'm here?" His smile, a beacon of comfort and familiarity, lit up the room as he asked if I was ready for breakfast. Peering into his face, I couldn't help but notice the subtle shadows beneath his eyes and the faint stress lines etched into his skin, a testament to some stress and sleepless nights. My hand instinctively rose to caress his left cheek, tracing the contours of his features softly. "Did you sleep at all? You were already up when I woke," I inquired, my words filled

"Wow, you looked very bruised up, battered, and given the fact that I haven't seen you here, you must be new or you don't usually get into fights like this," said an unknown voice. As I roused, my body ached. Each bruise and bandage told a silent story of my recent dance with Sonia's fist. In the movies, they would usually say, "you should see the other guy". Well, it is very apparent that I am the very other guy they referred to. Disoriented and still groggy, I slowly shifted my bandaged neck, attempting to locate the source of the calm voice that had addressed me. With some effort, I adjusted my position to face the figure in the white coat who seemed absorbed in his work. Sunlight flooded the room through opened windows, creating a warm and serene atmosphere. Blinking against the brightness, I squinted until my eyes adjusted to the scene. There he was—the rumored cute doctor who supposedly graced the infirmary twice a week. The tales, it seemed, were