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I'd visited countless hospitals,all said there was nothing they could do.
This seemed like another long shot,but my professor never gave up on me,calling me her proudest student,searching harder than I did.
Not wanting to disappoint her,I agreed.
The doctor,about my age,was tall,over six feet,with striking features—clear eyes,delicate nose,and a gentle smile,like a TV heartthrob.
His badge read"Noah Evans."The name felt familiar,but I couldn't remember where I’d seen it.
Doesn’t matter.I eyed him skeptically—his"Bone Saint"title seemed like fangirl hype.
Noah extended a hand."Pleasure to meet you!"
I blinked,confused."You know me?"
He lowered his eyes,smiling wider,ears reddening as if he was suddenly shy."Your famous painting,Firefly,is in my collection."
I recalled my parents secretly selling my piece for a contest for$2,0000.
My professor estimated it was worth more than $10,0000.
They bragged,"Thought it was worth only a few bucks.Some fool paid$2,0000 for that junk."
I stared at Noah.Was he that"fool"?
"A doctor into art?"
"My mom's a collector.She bought it for$100,0000 from someone else."
My jaw dropped.
Noah,amused by my shock,ears red again,teased,"Once I fix your hand,$100,0000's nothing fro you."
Snapping out of it,we discussed my condition.
Before I spoke,Noah outlined a surgical plan,as if he knew my case inside out.
Even if my professor had briefed him,I was the patient—shouldn't he ask me?
He seemed unreliable,but I'd try anything at this point.
The night before surgery,Noah texted me to comfort me,easing my nerves.
Curious,I wondered if he was this attentive with every patient.
I pictured him shy and red-eared as he texted me and laughed.How did someone so bashful become a doctor?
On surgery day,I was calm—no hope,no disappointment.
Under anesthesia,I drifted off.
When I woke up again,Noah was by my bed,eyes red,teary."Surgery was a success."
Thinking I had misheard,he repeated it,handing me a pen."Try it."
I gripped it,writing steadily on paper.
Tears poured out.
