The quiet before the storm, and the patient who smiled at me

It’s 7:45 PM, and the hospital is winding down. I just finished with a man in his late 60s—nervous, but calm when he saw me walk in. He said, ‘You’ve got kind eyes,’ and I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded. Then, as I was prepping the IV, the lights flickered once. Outside, the sky split open. Rain hit the windows like someone had thrown a handful of pebbles. He laughed. Said it felt like a movie. I didn’t tell him I’d been waiting for that exact moment—the hush before the thunder, the way time slows when you’re holding someone’s breath in your hands. It wasn’t anything special. Just a fe