Beneath His Touch

Chapter Seven

SARAH.

I hear distant voices, indistinct at first, but they gradually become clearer. One voice sounds young, the other deeper, possibly older. Their words blur in and out of focus, but the warmth surrounding me is undeniable—a humid, slightly stifling warmth. Slowly, I pry my eyes open, blinking against the harsh white glow of fluorescent lights above. As my vision sharpens, I realize I'm lying in a pristine white bed, surrounded by identical ones.

The sharp scent of alcohol and antiseptic hits me, and it dawns on me that I'm in a hospital—or something like it. My gaze shifts to my right, where a man in a white lab coat stands beside another man, younger, with a neatly trimmed beard and well-maintained hair. His expression is one of concern. He's not too dark-skinned, and his athletic build is obvious beneath his fitted gym clothes, a football training kit perhaps. I exhale deeply, trying to ground myself as I slowly push myself upright.

"Are you feeling okay?" The man in the lab coat speaks, his tone professional yet gentle. I assume he's a doctor—after all, he's dressed like one.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice weak and confused. My eyes dart around the room, piecing together fragments of memory. "Where am I?"

The two men exchange a brief glance, as though deciding how best to answer.

"You passed out," the doctor explains calmly, his voice steady. "Jerry here brought you in. You had a panic attack."

My gaze shifts to the so-called Jerry, and he offers a soft smile, his eyes warm with reassurance.

"I'm glad you're okay," Jerry says, his smile lingering. "This is the school's infirmary." His voice is calm, soothing even, but his smile doesn't waver, as if he's trying to put me at ease.

I take another deep breath, trying to process everything.

I glance around briefly, taking in the modern surroundings, and I have to admit, I'm impressed. This place could easily be mistaken for Kenyatta Hospital with how pristine and high-tech it looks. I mean, seriously, this is basically an OR.

"I'm good," I say, attempting to stand. But as soon as my feet hit the floor, I stumble. Instantly, Jerry's hands are on me, steadying me before I fall.

"Thank you," I murmur, embarrassed by my own clumsiness.

"Anytime," he replies, his voice soft but teasing. He's standing closer now, and I can't help but notice how tall he is. And that smile—his teeth are impossibly white, setting off his strong jawline and, oh, that Roman nose. He even has a shallow dimple that adds to his charm. Ridiculously attractive, I'll give him that.

"I'll leave you two lovebirds to it," the doctor quips as he heads for the door, a knowing grin on his face. "Make sure she signs out."

Jerry exhales, his grin widening even further. I can't help but chuckle, shaking my head at the doctor's playful remark. If only Jacky were here—she'd definitely swoon over a tall, smiling, handsome guy like Jerry. But me? I should probably check my track record with men. The first one turned out to be a bet, and the other triggered my panic attack. Yeah, I should start keeping tabs on the guys I get involved with.

"What course?" Jerry asks as we step out of the infirmary. The sky is tinged with shades of orange and pink, signaling the approaching sunset.

"ICT," I answer, my tone casual.

He chuckles again, the sound deep and rich.

"What's so funny?" I ask, quickening my pace slightly to match his long strides.

"Oh, by the way," he says, flashing that winning smile again, "I'm Jared Steve Barongo. But most people just call me Jerry."

I nod in acknowledgment, but I'm still curious about that laugh. "What's with the chuckling?"