The Clinic Novels & Stories

She said as she looked at him, and he placed out his hand for her to shake. “Dr. Whitman.” He said as they shook hands. “Now, what brings you my way?” “I haven’t been right since I moved out here.” Michelle said, “My co-worker gave me your information.” “That is how we get most of our clients.” He said with a chuckle. “Well, let me explain why our clinic is different than most.” “Alright.” She said as she sat.

Seriously? This is as big as the Blue House and you say what? This is just a clinic? For real? “Come on. I am so excited for you to meet him.” Patrick beamed as they entered the ‘clinic’. The clinic is huge because it is supposed to be a special hospital. I mean, specialized – a specialized hospital. But then, it is not finished yet, so, this just serves as a clinic for now. It is true that it is as big as the Blue House but hey, what hospital isn’t big right?

However, she found a note. It said that they have to be at the clinic as soon as possible, so he's making arrangements. The clinic was another long cabin—she swore every building was a long one—but the wood was old and missing in some places, and there were no windows either. Large pine trees surrounded it, and the only way to get there was to follow along a large dirt path from the packhouse. Allie was currently standing a few feet from the clinic doors as she peered inside, her eyes searching the opening the best she could.

It was too close. He had tried to find other places, but this area was a business district, so there weren't many OB-GYN clinics. The building housing the clinic was a small four-story structure. If someone who knew Mitch's face happened to see him entering this place, they might find it strange. But currently, there was no other option. He should go after the morning rush ended. He couldn't be away from work for too long. Mitch diligently opened Neo-Bell first. When the café became less busy, he left it in the part-timer's care and headed to the clinic.

The one at the corner of my mouth, the slight unevenness in my breathing, the quiet betrayal the mirror never hides. For a long moment, I just stare. If someone were watching, they’d think I was composing myself for an interview. But really, I’m trying to remember how to stop bracing for bad news. Finally, I inhale, slow, deliberate and push the door open. Inside, the clinic feels like a study in restraint. Soft lighting. White and sand-colored walls. The faint smell of eucalyptus and disinfectant layered with something more deliberate, lavender, maybe.

I could work with that. ___ The clinic sat between two glass towers, its doors automatic and cold. I smoothed my coat, trying to ignore the trembling in my hands. Inside, the air smelled of antiseptic and quiet. Every sound—heels clicking, a printer whirring, a cough from down the hall—seemed magnified. They were already there. Tristan looked immovable in his suit, shoulders squared, expression unreadable. His hands were buried deep in his pockets and the incessan tapping of his feet betrayed him and gave off his anxiety.

And as she made her way to their rendezvous, she knew that this was only the beginning of a journey that would redefine everything she thought she knew about herself and her desires. The clinic’s reception area greeted Claire with its usual air of professionalism and tranquility. The soft hum of conversation mingled with the gentle buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead, creating a serene atmosphere that belied the bustling energy of the city beyond its walls. As Claire stepped through the door, she was met with the comforting scent of antiseptic and lavender, a familiar aroma that never failed to soothe her nerves. Julia, her trusted receptionist, looked up

He and Unus followed the middle-aged woman and walked in the direction of Quater Street. When they turned the corner, they saw Townsend Clinic, which was the most famous clinic in Acorn City. Apart from two apothecaries who were sweeping the floor outside the door of the clinic, there was no one there. A few elderly doctors were explaining medical cases to two young doctors. "Doctor, help!" the middle-aged woman shouted at the two apothecaries as she ran.

“What’s the story behind them?” Mia shrugged, chuckling softly. “I mean, who wouldn’t want the latest technology? But it’s a bit ridiculous for such a small clinic to aim so high. They were an automatic reject—until now.” The name that emerged sent a jolt of recognition through her: Dickins-Raines Institute for Reproductive Health and Fertility. “Raines,” she mused, the name resonating in her memory. The mention of the clinic’s name stirred something within the CEO. “What else do we know?” she pressed, her curiosity ignited.

Minutes later, the building came into view. Lily slowed, guided the car into a parking space, and turned off the engine. Silence dropped instantly. They got out together. The clinic stood ahead, clinical and plain, its entrance marked by glass doors that reflected the morning light in a sharp glare. They walked in. Inside, the air was cooler. Sterile. Controlled. Moments later, they were seated across from a doctor in a private office. He began professionally, tone measured, paperwork organized neatly in front of him.