Chapter Two: Under His Supervision

Iris Moore learned quickly that hospitals had their own unspoken language.

It lived in sideways glances, in pauses before answers, in the way people lowered their voices when power walked past them. And in the cardiology wing of Hale Heart Institute, power had a name.

Dr. Nathaniel Hale.

By seven-thirty that morning, Iris was already in her scrubs, standing stiffly beside the nurses’ station, reviewing patient charts with more focus than necessary. Her mind kept drifting back to the way Dr. Hale had looked at her the previous day. Not openly. Not boldly. But like he had noticed something he hadn’t expected to see.

She shook the thought away.

Focus, she told herself. You’re here to learn.

Nathaniel arrived precisely at eight. The hallway seemed to straighten itself when he walked in. Conversations dropped. Nurses adjusted posture. Even the air felt more disciplined.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice calm, authoritative.

A chorus of greetings followed.

His eyes found Iris almost immediately.

“Miss Moore,” he said, gesturing toward him. “You’ll shadow me today.”

Her heart jumped.

“Yes, sir.”

They started with morning rounds. Nathaniel explained every step with clinical clarity, quizzing her occasionally, watching her reactions carefully. He took her through ECG interpretations, pointing out subtle abnormalities that weren’t obvious at first glance.

“Notice the irregular P waves here,” he said, leaning slightly closer to the monitor. “That’s early atrial fibrillation.”

Iris nodded, absorbing everything.

“And what does that mean for the patient?” he asked.

“Increased risk of stroke and heart failure if unmanaged,” she replied.

A pause.

Then a small smile tugged at his lips.

“Good.”

It wasn’t a big smile. But it was real.

And it didn’t go unnoticed.

By mid-morning, Iris felt the shift around her. The nurses were polite but distant. One of them, a woman named Clara, handed her a stack of files without meeting her eyes.

“These need to be sorted before noon,” Clara said.

Iris nodded. “Of course.”

Halfway through, she realized something was wrong. Two charts had conflicting patient IDs. Another was missing a vital report.

“I think there’s a mix-up here,” Iris said carefully.

Clara frowned. “That’s how I received them.”

Iris felt heat crawl up her neck. She fixed the error quietly, not wanting trouble on her second day.

But Nathaniel noticed.

Later, he stopped her outside a patient’s room.

“Did someone give you incorrect files?” he asked.

She hesitated. “It’s nothing, sir.”

His gaze sharpened. “In this hospital, ‘nothing’ can kill someone. Speak.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “But I handled it.”

He studied her for a moment. “You shouldn’t have had to.”

That afternoon, the whispers grew louder.

“She’s always with him.”

“She barely arrived.”

“Why is he smiling so much?”

Iris pretended not to hear, but it weighed on her.

When she finally left the hospital, exhaustion clung to her bones. She went straight to her grandmother’s small apartment, the place that still smelled like herbs and old books and safety.

Her grandmother sat by the window, knitting slowly.

“You’re late today,” she said gently.

“First full day of training,” Iris replied, sitting beside her.

Her grandmother touched her hand. “How does your heart feel?”

Iris hesitated. “Confused.”

Her grandmother smiled knowingly.

That night, Iris lay awake, replaying the day. The tension. The smiles. The glances. The resistance she didn’t yet understand.

She had come to heal hearts.

She hadn’t expected hers to feel so exposed already.