It had been two days since Dr. Kalil Rahman publicly cut her down like she was just another rookie with no backbone. Although he hadn’t said anything since, Stacy could feel his presence in every shift. Silent. Watchful. Like a shadow you didn’t notice until you turned around.
This morning, she was assigned to Room 312-Kalil’s patient. Of course.
She entered early, checked vitals, and reviewed the patient’s fluid intake. Everything looked fine. More than fine. She’d even stayed back last night to help stabilize his post-op nausea.
She was proud of that.
But as she updated the chart, Kalil appeared at the doorway like he was summoned by some invisible alarm.
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“Did you administer the metoclopramide last night?” he asked without greeting.
Stacy didn’t flinch. “Yes. I stayed late to make sure he kept it down.”
Kalil walked in slowly, scanning the chart like he didn’t believe her. “The dosage here is wrong.”
She turned toward him, a tight knot forming in her stomach. “No, it’s not. I checked with Nurse Thomas before I recorded it.”
His eyes flicked to her, sharp. “Then maybe Nurse Thomas needs retraining.”
Her jaw clenched. “Or maybe you need to stop assuming I’m the one making mistakes.”
That made him pause.
The silence hung in the air like a blade, delicate and sharp. Kalil tilted his head slightly, as if seeing her for the first time beyond the student badge.
“What did you just say?”
“I said,” Stacy replied, her voice low but steady, “you’ve been giving me a hard time since the first hour of my rotation here. I take responsibility when I mess up, but I won’t stand here and let you tear me down for things I didn’t do. I deserve better than that.”
Another beat of silence.
Then, unbelievably, a flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? Intrigue? It was gone before she could name it.
He just turned and walked away again, without another word.
But this time, Stacy didn’t feel small.
This time, she smiled.
