5

                                    

                                          
Carla burst into the common room, her eyes wide with shock, and locked her gaze on me.
"You won't believe what I just heard!" she exclaimed, sitting down quickly before spilling the news. "The nurses are saying Dr. Rochefort is engaged!"
"No way! *The* Miles  Rochefort? Engaged?!" I gasped, equally stunned.
We both burst into uncontrollable laughter. It was the funniest thing we'd heard all week. Dr Rochefort was notoriously disliked in our department, known for his cold, stoic demeanor. I always assumed he was destined to be a bitter loner, the kind of man who'd die alone. The idea of him being in a relationship, let alone engaged, seemed absurd. He was arrogant and selfish, always keeping to himself. But I had to admit, he was undeniably handsome—tall, with striking jet-black hair that perfectly contrasted his pale blue eyes. And his lips, well, they were heart-shaped and impossibly pink...
"Jane!" Carla's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
"Did you even hear what I just said?" she asked, clearly annoyed.
"Sorry, I was thinking about work," I lied, unwilling to admit I'd been thinking about *him.*
"Well, we're having a team dinner tonight," she said, dropping the conversation.
"I don't think I'll go. My dad's been pretty sick lately," I replied, feeling disappointed.
"Oh, you have to come! This could be our chance to ask Dr. Rochefort about his engagement!" she insisted, full of excitement. She was convinced we could get him to spill the details once he'd had a few drinks. Well, I must admit I do want to know about this "engagement" of his. Who knows maybe he'll show us some pictures.
"I'll think about it," I said noncommittally before turning back to my work.
In the end, I decided to go—mostly for the free food and out of curiosity. A few interns stayed back at the hospital in case of emergencies, but most of the doctors and nurses came. To my surprise, we ended up at a bar. I felt a bit out of place, watching everyone drink bottle after bottle. And then, of course, the inevitable questions started flying.
"So... Miles, tell us," Dr. Andrews slurred with a laugh, "who's the lucky girl?"
Everyone giggled, trying to tease him about his engagement. 
Dr. Rochefort ignored them at first, his usual blank expression plastered on his face. But as the questions persisted, he finally answered, "It was arranged."
The room fell silent. His tone wasn't surprising, but the answer itself was. An arranged engagement? That explained a lot. Who else would willingly marry a man who barely spoke two words a day?
"I feel like someone's watching me," I whispered to Carla, glancing discreetly across the room.
She followed my gaze. "It's that guy sitting over there," she giggled. "He's been staring at you all night!"
"Well, it's creepy, not funny," I said, feeling uncomfortable. "What if he's some kind of weirdo?"
"This is New York. What do you expect?" Carla shrugged. "He's kinda cute though. Maybe you should go talk to him?"
"Are you crazy? He looks like he's planning to kidnap me," I replied, shaking my head.
Just then, my phone rang. It was my dad. I stepped outside to take the call, apologizing for not telling him I'd be late. He didn't sound good, so I decided to head home early. After saying my goodbyes, I left the bar and started walking home.
As I walked, I suddenly felt a hand on my shoulder. Startled, I dropped my phone. It was the guy from the bar.
"What do you want?" I asked sharply, my heart racing.
"I was just wondering if you needed help," he said, his voice unsettling.
"No, I'm fine. Please leave me alone," I replied, turning to walk away. But before I could move, he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward him.
"Let go!" I shouted, struggling to break free. My cries for help went unheard as he started dragging me down the street.
In a moment of desperation, I swung my bag at him, hitting his hand hard. He flinched but grew angrier, slapping me across the face. 
"You think you can just hit me?" he snarled, grabbing a fistful of my hair. I screamed, helpless against his strength as he continued hitting me. 
Suddenly, his hands were yanked away, and I gasped for breath. Someone had come to my rescue. Through my blurry vision, I saw the man who saved me tackling my attacker to the ground. In minutes, a crowd gathered, and the police were called. The man was arrested, charged with harassment and assault.
As I tried to catch my breath, I realized my rescuer was Dr. Rochefort.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.
"I'm fine, just shaken," I managed to say, avoiding eye contact.
"Come on, I'll drive you home," he offered, and this time, I didn't argue. I quietly got into his car, and the ride was tense and silent.
"Do you remember me?" he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
"Oh, yeah... the coffee accident," I replied, referring to a clumsy incident from a few months ago.
"No... not that. We met... before. Never mind," he muttered, sounding frustrated. I didn't press him. If he remembered me from somewhere else, I had no clue where. I only knew him from work.
When we arrived at my house, he dropped me off without another word and quickly drove away.
That night, my dad questioned me relentlessly, furious about what had happened. He even wanted to start driving me to and from work, but after a long argument, I managed to convince him otherwise. As I finally crawled into bed, exhausted, my mind kept drifting back to Dr. Rochefort. Where could we have possibly met before?
Curious, I searched for him on Facebook. To my surprise, I found his profile. His last post was from last year—a photo of him at the beach, hugging a blonde woman in sunglasses and a bikini. He was shirtless, showing off an impressively toned physique. 
"Wow... who knew?" I muttered, staring at the picture. The caption read, "You, me, and the sea," which made me laugh. Since when was Dr. Rochefort so quirky?
The woman in the photo was tagged as Celine Adler. I clicked on her profile—and what I saw left me speechless.