"You're Late."

Chapter 3: Crossroads of Confusion

Chapter 3.1: Here We Go Again

In the wake of that intriguing magic show poster, I couldn't help but grow increasingly curious about the upcoming performance. The allure of illusions and mysteries piqued my interest, and I found myself contemplating attending the event. It seemed like a chance to experience something out of the ordinary, a respite from the demanding world of the hospital.

As the days passed, my thoughts revolved around the magic show and my work life, sure, I guess it could be a hobby. I often found myself devoid of hobbies or pastimes, the consequence of a demanding profession that left little room for personal pursuits. My days were predominantly spent within the sterile, bustling confines of the hospital, where I worked tirelessly to safeguard and improve the lives of others. The precious moments of rest I managed to carve out were often dedicated to a pursuit of something more fundamental: getting more than three hours of sleep.

Once upon a time, in a distant past that felt like a lifetime ago, I had a hobby. I used to play the ukulele. The gentle strumming of its strings had once brought me solace, a way to escape the world of medicine for a while. But like many of the things I cherished, my ukulele now rested in the confines of my mother's attic, gathering dust and bearing memories of a life I had put on hold.

Speaking of my mother, I realized with a pang of guilt that I hadn't visited her in months. She resided in Busan, living her life as a couple with my stepfather. He was a man of intriguing talents. I could still vividly recall how he could shuffle a deck of cards with the finesse of a seasoned magician. His fingers danced over the cards in a mesmerizing display that seemed almost otherworldly. It was one of those rare, pleasant memories of our interactions.

As I thought about my stepfather's card-shuffling prowess, I was struck by the idea of trying it myself. A fleeting smile crossed my lips as I contemplated replicating the cool shuffle he had once taught me. It seemed like a simple yet intriguing diversion, a momentary escape from the relentless pace of my daily life.

However, my moment of whimsy was short-lived. I fiddled with the papers in my hands, a stack of prescriptions and schedules that marked the reality of my responsibilities. With a resigned sigh, I remembered that my job awaited me. The thought served as a somber reminder that, while dreams and personal diversions had their place, I still had an important role to fulfill within the hospital, where lives depended on my unwavering commitment.

I made my way back to the familiar room 435, a space that had seen the ebb and flow of countless patients over the years. The room bore the quintessential hospital aesthetic – white walls that seemed to close in on you, a large window that offered a somewhat confined view of the world beyond, and an unassuming hospital bed at its center. The bed was neatly made with crisp, white sheets, and various medical equipment was strategically placed around the room, all part of our efforts to ensure the comfort and care of our patients.

Hyein, the enigmatic teenager, occupied the hospital bed. She sat there in her drab hospital gown, her gaze absorbed by the pages of a book. I couldn't help but wonder how she was faring without her smartphone, a constant companion for many her age.

As I approached her, I offered a friendly smile and inquired about her well-being. "So, how are we doing?" I asked. She looked up from her book, her expression an enigma, devoid of emotion. "Fine," she uttered, her voice devoid of any warmth.

I placed some papers on her bedside table, diverting my attention from her initial response. Hyein's comment about the "Grease" poster caught me by surprise, momentarily pulling me out of my work trance. I glanced at the poster, realizing that I had snatched a copy from the break room earlier. It appeared that my little escapade hadn't gone unnoticed.