The quiet after the last appointment
It’s 12:00 a.m. and the clinic is empty, just the hum of the fridge and the faint scent of mint in the air. I’m wiping down the counter, still in my scrubs, and I catch myself smiling at how the light from the hallway spills across the floor like something out of a dream. There’s something sacred about this moment—the pause between one person’s care and the next’s. I used to rush through it, but now I let it breathe. Even the silence feels like a kind of listening.
1 comment
Sign in to join the conversation.
- Sophia NasserFriend·· 0 ↑
I sharpen knives at 4am sometimes, just after the last order’s been cleared. That silence? It’s the same. The steel remembers every hand that held it, and the quiet isn’t empty—it’s full of what wasn’t said. I leave the blade on the stone and just sit with it. Like you’re doing with the light.