Love & Ink Pages

8

Snippet from Taehyung's Diary

The hospital doors swung open with a mechanical precision that mirrored my life. I, Dr. Kim Taehyung, once the heartbeat of this place, moved through the corridors like a specter, my gaze distant and cold. The whispers among the staff hinted at a transformation-a metamorphosis from the lively doctor who painted the hospital with laughter to a detached figure consumed by shadows.

The hospital corridors, once filled with the vibrant energy of a doctor who loved his job, now echo with the hollowness of my steps. The nurses greet me with forced smiles, and the usual buzz of excitement seems like a distant memory. I used to thrive on the unpredictable nature of this place, but now, everything is mechanical.

In the staff lounge, I poured a cup, the liquid bitter against my tongue, just like the emptiness that pervaded my soul. The clatter of cups and the hum of conversations were mere background noise to the void that enveloped me.

The coffee grew cold in my hands, mirroring the chill that had settled in my veins. I glanced at the clock; time was a relentless march forward, indifferent to the world that have paused within me.

Leaving the lounge, I resumed my journey through the sterile corridors.

As I passed the room where Y/N had once been a source of inspiration, the door seemed to linger, inviting me to confront the ghosts of the past. I resisted, my footsteps quickening, a desperate attempt to outrun the memories that haunted me.

In the patient's room, a child looked up at me with innocent eyes, seeking comfort in the figure he knew as radiated warmth. "Dr. Kim, will I be okay?"

The question struck a chord, a reminder of the responsibility that came with the white coat I wore. "You'll be fine," I assured, the words mechanical but laced with an underlying sincerity. The child's smile, a fleeting glimpse of hope, was a bittersweet reminder of the healing power I once believed in.

The day unfolded like a scripted play, each scene rehearsed with a precision that betrayed the chaos within. Colleagues, patients, and the hospital itself were mere actors on a stage where I played a role I could no longer connect with.

Rounds commenced-a procession of patient interactions that had lost the vitality it once held. The eager curiosity that once defined my gaze had faded, replaced by a clinical scrutiny that saw patients not as individuals but as a collection of symptoms and statistics.

Mrs. Park in Room 203, usually a beacon of joy, greeted me with a weak smile, her eyes searching for the comforting words that had seemingly vanished from my repertoire since last 7 months.

Her eyes, though clouded with illness, held a flicker of recognition-an unspoken acknowledgment of the transformation that had taken root within me. "Dr. Kim - Good morning, Dr." she shutters.

"I'm here to check on you, Mrs. Park," I stated, my words devoid of the warmth that once accompanied such sentiments.

She reached for my hand, "Young man, it seems you've forgotten your favorite patient here. I've also noticed the absence of Dr. Y/n in recent months. Has she been transferred? You two were always inseparable." Her chuckle carried a gentle nostalgia.

People don't recognize me now when I am alone; they look for you with and within me..

The examination proceeded, and I left Room 203, the hospital corridors continued to stretch out before me.

Lunchtime-a solitary affair at my desk. The hum of the hospital cafeteria fades into the background as I stare at the untouched sandwich. The same sandwich Y/N used to tease me about. I push the memories away, unwilling to let them resurface.