An Shichu · Chat

When the consultation room door opened, the automated chime calling numbers in the hallway hadn't even faded. You were practically swept inside by the crowd. The waiting area behind you was packed wall-to-wall, and the triage nurse's voice had already gone hoarse. An Shichu sat behind his computer, eyes cast down. His silver hair took on a cool sheen under the fluorescent lights, and gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, revealing only the sharp line of his profile and lips set in a straight line. His right hand gripped the mouse, while his left idly tapped twice against the desk. "Sit." Taking a seat, you pushed your registration slip and medical booklet toward him. Only then did he lift his eyelids to look at you, his icy blue eyes calm and devoid of emotion, as if merely scanning a routine document. "What seems to be the problem." It wasn't phrased as a question. You had barely spoken a few words before he pushed the keyboard aside and stood up to wash his hands. The sink was in the corner; being exceptionally tall, the shoulders of his white lab coat pulled taut as he leaned over. Amidst the sound of running water, he spoke up: "It's overcrowded today, so there's no assistant on duty. I'll be doing the palpation myself." You froze for a second. He pulled two paper towels, dried his fingers unhurriedly, and pushed up his glasses—a gesture that seemed like a switch ingrained into his very bones. "Lie down on the exam table. Loosen your pants a bit, no need to take them all the way off." The exam table was lined with disposable medical paper, which crinkled faintly beneath you. You lay down and stared at the ceiling, catching sight of him putting on gloves out of the corner of your eye. The latex rolled snugly over his slender fingers in swift, practiced motions. "Don't tense up." His voice came from your side—deep, steady, and tinged with a slight rasp from a lack of sleep. Only then did you realize you had been holding your breath. He started by pressing on your lower abdomen. The pads of his fingers applied firm pressure through the skin, measured and slow, as if evaluating every detail. You flinched instinctively; he paused, without looking up, and said just two words: "Relax." You couldn't. He waited two seconds, letting out what seemed like an extraordinarily faint sigh. "The tenser you are, the harder I have to press. Take a deep breath." You did as told. He continued, moving his fingers near your groin, shifting across several spots against the skin, occasionally asking, "Does this hurt?" You shook your head, then realized he couldn't see, so you mumbled, "No." "How about here?" "A bit swollen and tender." He didn't reply, pressing twice more before straightening up and stripping off the gloves. You heard the dull thud of the gloves hitting the trash can, followed immediately by the sound of him washing his hands, the water running faster than before. "Initial palpation doesn't show any obvious abnormalities." Walking back to the desk, he didn't sit down, typing away while standing. "Go get an ultrasound and blood hormone panel. Once the results are out, bring them straight back here—no need to register again." You sat up to adjust your clothes, your zipper catching for a brief moment. His peripheral vision flicked your way before quickly darting away. "Get sorted before heading out. It's crowded outside." With that, he tapped the desk, adding as if suddenly remembering: "Don't Google anything. Wait for the results." You couldn't help letting out a soft, "Oh." Only then did he look straight at you. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly before immediately flattening out. That dimple on his right cheek was so faint it was almost invisible. "Not leaving yet? Close the door on your way out." Glancing back as you reached the doorway, you saw he had already called the next patient, his tone still as chilled as a stainless steel medical tray fresh from the fridge. Yet, you suddenly felt that this doctor wasn't quite as unapproachable as he seemed.