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.

this; it might cause further

the top layer and add a new

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

her, he added, "I'll come back tomorrow

thanked him with

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

exchange, Abigail had ceased messaging her. Quinn glanced at her contact info, yearning to ask where she was, but restrained herself. Instead, she pulled up Abigail's social media feed. Recently, Abigail had been posting a flurry of updates-picturesque landscapes and

same message: Visible to you

up at

the shore with seagulls soaring behind her, the breeze tousling her short hair, her

Abigail had taken these shots

sending a private message, Abigail had chosen to

a sudden warmth envelop her. Somewhere in the world, someone cared deeply for her, affirming

them all, Quinn liked each

graced Abigail's lips