Book English Patient Novels & Stories

she said, voice quiet, but the anger behind it was loud, "it was... routine. Nothing unusual." I let a wicked little chuckle rumble from my chest. "Routine, hmm?" I dragged my gaze up and down her, slow, invasive. "Tell me, dolcezza... who's your new patient?" Her breath hitched. Barely noticeable—but I caught it. Of course I did. She tried to be casual, but her words were brittle around the edges. "Just another elderly man who needs rehabilitation after an injury." "An elderly man, you say. Is he as nice as me?" I asked mockingly, voice dripping with false innocence. "Or is he a bad, bad man?"

I told her, showing her the text from Vincent. Pamela screamed and immediately ran off to get her stuff. I, in turn, jumped off the bed, ran into the bathroom to quickly have my bath, and brush my teeth. Once I was done, I hurriedly slid into the first thing I saw in my wardrobe. Pamela was already waiting for me by the time I was done and together, we ran out. *** “Ma’am, you can’t see that patient. Those are the orders. Only family members are allowed,” the nurse at the front desk of the huge hospital said irritably.

“Ma’am, you are so brave,’ she said suddenly, in a rush, and then turned to leave. I reached out and took her hand. “Thank you,’ I said softly, meaning it. I needed all the positivity I could handle. * Aiyana She stood over Schwartz’s bed, glaring down at the figure of the man who lay prone before her. The patient was responding to treatment and responding to the drugs and treatment, reported the nurse in her broken English but soon after she had entered, the nurse asked her in an apologetic manner who Proserpina was. When Aiyana fixed her with a basilisk stare, the woman hastily added that she had heard the patient calling out the name.

"He'd been there for a while." The room was very quiet. Alexander stood beside the desk, beside the photograph of the two young men laughing in the summer light, and he told the rest of it. The flight to London. The hospital corridor. The machines and the doctors and the language of medicine that was designed to create distance but that couldn't create enough distance, that couldn't protect you from the thing that was happening. The moments that followed—the waiting, the hoping, the terrible dawning recognition that hope was not going to be enough.

“I booked this weeks ago!” My heart was pounding in my chest. I had tried every variation of their names, but nothing was coming up. I glanced at Violet beside me, who looked just as stressed but also visibly irritated. “I’m really sorry, ma’am,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady. “But I can’t find any record of your reservation. Could it be under a different name or email?” “No, it’s not!” she snapped, slamming her hand on the counter. “Are you even listening to me? This is unacceptable!”

The way I caught myself humming songs from his playlist. The way I reached for my phone to text him about something funny before remembering I couldn’t. One night, I found the old notebook from my early days with him. I flipped through the pages, reading my clinical notes mixed with the little personal observations I’d started writing when I realized I was falling. Patient shows remarkable resilience despite pain. Stubborn but gentle underneath. His laugh is rare but beautiful. I think I’m in trouble. I closed the notebook and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

These 2 last chapters are part of the book 2: Impossible love in London, the story of Hazel White and Andrew Grimaldi, a prince of Monaco. Hope you enjoy these first words. Chapter 1 Noble intentions Hailey Sats at 78 percent. Blood pressure at 10 x 7. The patient is hypotensive and his saturation is not very good. He's an elderly man who arrived at the emergency room with a head injury. Apparently, according to his relatives, he slipped in the bathroom and, without any support bar, fell with all his might. I report to my superior, Andrew. I take a deep breath. I'm tired of this shift. It's been 24 hours.

“You could read to the coma patients. Doc usually gets one of us to do it but since we’ve got nothing else for you to do... Would you mind?” How hard could reading a book to a bunch of sleeping people be? I got the book from the nurse and made my way to the coma unit. The buzz of machinery which monitored each patient’s blood-oxygen levels and heart rate greeted me as I entered. Remembering what the nurse had said about the patients probably being aware of my presence, I thought it best to introduce myself to them. I walked from bed to bed cautiously, as if any loud noise or sudden movement would wake them. Each patient’s name was written above their bed in bold writing along with the date t

She pressed the dial—but her hand trembled. Jack noticed. “Oh,” he said, voice low. “You’re scared.” “Of what?” “Of me not breaking. Of the monster you made not working.” She stood, pacing. “You’ve already broken, Jack. You just don’t recognize the shape of it yet.” He looked around. “Where the hell *are* we?” “A farmhouse. One I used to visit during my residency. No one comes here now.” “Great choice for war crimes.” She ignored that. “I watched my first trial patient die on this floor. Seizure. Heart rupture. The researchers called it a ‘data point.’”

“Only you can see me. You’re the one who pushed me out of your mind.” Out of nowhere, the monitors switched on. But instead of showing the patient’s status, they displayed words. > “She looked at the stranger. For the first time, her perfect life felt like a giant lie.” “Get out!” Maya yelled, her head pounding. “I don’t know you! I have a patient on this table! I have a job!” “Look at the table, Doctor,” the man said, stepping closer. Maya turned. The patient was gone. In his place was a huge leather-bound book, pages open, surgical tools stuck into the paper like dead bugs in a museum.