Love Unspoken

With a swift motion, Quinn seized the phone from Doctor Miller, her head shaking in adamant denial. Observing her vehement reaction, a wave of frustration and concern washed over the doctor. "Quinn!" he exclaimed, "It's your own body we're talking about. Can't you think about yourself for once?"

Yet, Quinn remained steadfast, her head shaking in a rhythm that left Doctor Miller confounded by her obstinacy.

She pressed down on his phone with a decisive gesture, and a glimmer of understanding dawned on him. "You still don't want me to tell him?" he asked. Quinn responded with a nod, a silent plea for him to put the phone away. After a moment of internal struggle, Doctor Miller sighed in resignation, placing the phone down. "Alright," he conceded, "If you don't want me to say anything, then I won't."

As he put his phone away, Quinn retrieved hers and typed a message for him to see: It wasn't him.

Doctor Miller stared at the words, a faint blush of embarrassment creeping onto his face before he let out an awkward chuckle. "Oh? Ha ha... my apologies."

"Let me change your dressing," he said, shifting gears and opening his medical bag to tend to Quinn's facial wounds.

The remaining injury was on her knee. Quinn was clad in a nightgown that could easily be hitched up to reveal the wound.

Doctor Miller was taken aback. "How did this happen?" he asked, but Quinn merely shook her head, indicating her unwillingness to discuss it.

Respecting her silence, Doctor Miller carefully removed the gauze from her leg, which had adhered to the wound due to its severity.

we can't change this; it might cause further damage,"

add a new one. Let it fall

she had already felt a twinge of pain when Doctor Miller was cutting the gauze and was

re-bandaging her, he added, "I'll come back tomorrow to check

thanked him

herself alone again, ensconced on the couch, aimlessly flipping through television channels

at her contact info, yearning to ask where she was, but restrained herself. Instead, she

same message:

welled up at

tapped on a photo. There was Abigail, captured in a selfie at the shore with seagulls soaring behind her, the breeze tousling her short hair, her grin wide

pondering if Abigail had taken these shots

message, Abigail

felt a sudden warmth envelop her. Somewhere

all, Quinn liked each photo-a silent acknowledgement of

graced