The automatic doors to the emergency room slid open with a whoosh, admitting a frail elderly man guided in by a paramedic. He leaned heavily on a stretcher, gray hair disheveled, eyes darting around uncertainly.

“John Doe, who seems to be late 70s, was found wandering and unresponsive near the park,” the paramedic rattled off. “Possible dementia, maybe stroke too.”

Dr. Jenkins looked up from reviewing a chart at the nurse’s station. His gaze softened behind his rimless glasses. “Let’s get him settled in bay 2,” he directed. Carefully, they helped the man onto the exam bed.

“Sir, I’m Dr. Jenkins,” Ren introduced himself gently. “Can you tell me your name?” The man stared at him blankly. Ren nodded at Hana who stood nearby. “Can you help me get his vitals?”

Hana moved quietly to assist, with efficient motions she took the man’s blood pressure, pulse, and other readings, documenting each dutifully. Her touch was feather-light as if sensing his fragility.

Ren inspected the man further, shining a penlight into cloudy eyes that didn’t track movement. No facial drooping to indicate a stroke. He held the man’s hands, noting a faint tremor. Testing reflexes elicited no response.

“Possible catatonia,” Ren murmured. When he peeled back an eyelid, the man flinched slightly but otherwise remained unresponsive, adrift in a haze they could not penetrate.

Hana hovered nearby, observing the perplexing case. Her hands, though fully gloved, twisted the hem of her scrubs in unconscious worry.

“Poor thing,” Julia remarked softly, joining them. Her curly hair bounced gently as she checked the monitors. “No ID, no family here. We’ll have to fingerprint and photograph to try contacting next of kin.” Hana’s heart constricted at the thought of him utterly alone.

The man’s eyes flew open, suddenly lucid. He stared at Hana with recognition. “Sammy!” he croaked. “Where is...my Sammy...” His voice dissolved into racking coughs.

In the blur of medical personnel swarming around the gurney, the patient’s hand darts out, grasping Hana’s wrist. A jolt passes between them and suddenly she’s awash in visions - a woman on a swing in a sunlit yard, the harsh squeal of tires, labored breathing through an oxygen mask, the smile of the same lady in a white dress. Hana gasps, the memories slamming into her with force.

“Nurse Shizumi, step back!” Dr. Jenkins orders, misreading her distress. Hana swayed, the images flooding her mind too rapidly to grasp.

The connection was broken suddenly by other nurses. The visions faded but left a shadow—the lonely specter of love and loss. Sammy must be the woman from the glimpse she’d seen. His daughter or wife perhaps. This was the first verbalization they’d managed to elicit.

Hana pales. What have I done? She backs away slowly, feeling the air in her lungs shorten with each breath. She couldn’t have a panic attack in the middle of an emergency. Dr. Jenkins glances at her quizzically before returning his focus to his patient. The danger seems to have passed, but Hana’s heart hammers against her ribs.

Green eyes flash with irritation beneath her riotous halo of copper curls. “You help by following protocol, not panicking at every slight tension,” Julia continues sharply.

“I am sorry,” Hana whispers, blinking back tears. Her slender fingers worry over the charm on her necklace compulsively. She cannot meet Julia’s stern gaze.

As the most senior nurse, she runs a tight ship. Hana shrinks under her glare. “No more sideshows. Understand?”

Hana nods mutely, cheeks flaming. She just wants to disappear, to rewind time and stop herself from unleashing the visions. But the man’s whispered plea echoes in her mind - “Where is my Sammy?” She cannot erase the hope of bringing him back to the girl with the laughing eyes.

Julia announced to the staff at the nurse’s station, “Your task right now is to begin the search for Sammy and notify the man’s relatives.”

“Check with local hospices and police stations too,” Nurse Julie adds, thinking of the person called Sammy who filled the man’s last lucid memory.

Hiding in the storage room, Hana shrinks back into the corner, trembling. Since childhood, the mysterious visions brought by touch have terrified her.

“Why me...” she hisses to herself under her breath, picking at her nail bed.

Hana stays frozen in place, lambasted nerves and racing heart at war with her longing to help solve the mystery of their John Doe. She wonders if she might find the courage to offer the name “Sammy” and risk revealing more about her inexplicable abilities.

But the memory of Julia’s harsh reprimand keeps her silent, hands clenching and unclenching anxiously beneath the sting of antiseptic that scrubs all traces of individuality from the room.

The shrill beep of a monitor pierces the focused chaos of the emergency room. Hana rushes towards the commotion, gloved hands at the ready. The elderly man lies on the gurney, face contorted in agony, one hand pressed desperately against his chest.

“Cardiac arrest!” Dr. Jenkins calls out. His hands move swiftly, administering CPR with expert compression. Hana assists, attaching electrode pads for the defibrillator. Her mind races through protocol even as her body carries out each motion on autopilot.

Chaos erupts as monitors blare alerts. The elderly man convulses violently on the bed, his body wracked by seizure. The team swoops in, Julia barking orders while Dr. Jenkins administers emergency medication.

In the fray, the man’s flailing hand catches Hana’s cheek, nails raking a startling line of red. She hardly notices, focused on keeping his airway stable until the thrashing ceases. As suddenly as it started, the seizure stopped, leaving the patient unconscious and stabilizing.

Across the room, Dr. Jenkins finishes evaluating the now sleeping man, his salt and pepper hair mussed from repeatedly running his hands through it. His tall frame straightens as he scans the test results, brows furrowing behind silver wire-rim glasses. Hana watches him surreptitiously, simultaneously in awe of his composure and terrified he’ll discover her reckless intervention.

Hana steps back, chest heaving. Julia glances over, concerned cracking her professional armor. “Are you alright?”

Hana nods shakily. “It’s nothing,” she murmurs, still unaware of the graze on her skin.

“CT and MRI show a clot in his left frontal lobe,” Dr Jenkins tells Julia gravely. “It appears to be causing the seizures and confusion.”

Julia’s face sharpens in concern. “So he’ll need surgery then. Any ID on him yet?” The nurses shake their heads in reply.

“Without medical history or a healthcare proxy, our hands are tied. Let’s keep making calls. Someone has to be looking for him.”

Julia nods curtly at the ladies and moves off to confer with Dr. Jenkins, her white sneakers squeaking on the polished floor.

Hana listens silently from across the room where she re-ties her hair and takes deep breaths to regain her frayed composure before rejoining them. Her palm rests instinctively on her necklace charm, drawing comfort from its familiar shape.

Dr Jenkins excuses himself, having ordered tests to determine the cause. Just as he is about to leave, his gaze lingers on Hana’s face, causing self-conscious warmth to flood her cheeks.

“Your face... you are bleeding,” he informs Hana. “Don’t move,” he says, reaching toward Hana’s cheek. She recoils instinctively, fresh panic surging like electricity through her nerves.

Dr Jenkins pauses, reading the anxiety in her wide eyes. “It should be cleaned regardless,” he advises in a gentle tone. Carefully he reaches into the cabinet and hands her an antiseptic wipe and bandage.

Hana accepts them awkwardly, mumbling gratitude as humiliation burns through her. She quickly excuses herself to tend to the slender scratch, willing herself to disappear.

On her way to the resting room, she berates herself for reacting so poorly to Dr Jenkins’ attempt to examine her injury. But the memory of those visions threatens to resurface, and she pushes it down, frustrated by her lack of control.

Hana tries to disinfect the affected area, wincing slightly at the sting. In the harsh lighting of the break room, she examines the slender scratch left by the elderly patient’s flailing nails during the seizure.

Dr. Jenkins approaches quietly, his gaze lingering on her injury. “May I?” he asks, gesturing toward the scratch. His sudden appearance takes her by surprise for a second.

Reluctantly, Hana allows him to examine it, peering intently into her eyes for any sign of concussion. Despite his gloved hands, his touch was gentle but clinical in its detachment.

“Just superficial,” he murmurs. “But keep it clean.” Hana nods wordlessly, looking away from the intensity of his focus on her.

His gaze radiated gentle concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Hana whispered, willing it to be true. Her trembling hands clutched her silver necklace like a talisman.

The atmosphere got awkward as the silence thickened the tension between them. Jenkins wondered why he felt drawn to her, why he felt the need to protect her. Hana wondered why he was here, why he was nice to her.

Breaking the tension, “The test results indicate a blood clot in his frontal lobe,” Dr. Jenkins continues gravely. “It’s the likely cause of the seizures and confusion.”

Hana’s eyes widen in concern. “That will require immediate surgery then,” she replies loudly before apologizing promptly for her outburst.

“Yes, but we’ve hit a wall with identity and contacts,” the doctor confirms. “We managed to stabilize him for now, but he needs us to access his medical history.” He stops himself from running a hand through his salt and pepper hair, frustration playing at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t break his composure in front of a junior.

“Any family would also need to give consent before we can operate,” Hana adds quietly. She thinks again of the fleeting vision -- the smiling girl called Sammy frolicking under a bright sun.

Ren regards Hana thoughtfully, sensing there is more she’d like to say but hesitates.

Hana wraps her arms around herself, feeling Dr. Jenkins’ pensive gaze. She had sensed context around the vision of the girl Sammy, a deeply rooted love despite the fractured recollection.

Perhaps there is another way, she considers. The local hospital networks share records--a name she gleaned could be searched there for matching medical history. It is likely prohibited, but she wants so badly to help connect this man to those who love him. She resolves to discreetly ask her friend, an admin in their medical records department, to aid the search. First, though, she must gather more clues, no matter the risk.

*************************

Just before rounds, Hana rapped lightly on the door of Dr. Jenkins’ office before slipping inside. The room was empty, offering her a rare moment of privacy. She crossed to his desk and carefully set down the steaming cup of coffee.

As she turned to leave, something caught her eye - a framed photo on the cluttered desk. Hana’s gaze lingered on the image of a younger, smiling Dr. Jenkins alongside a pretty woman and another man, all three in crisp white lab coats and scrubs. The woman’s arm was looped casually around Ren’s shoulders.

Hana felt her cheeks grow warm and she quickly averted her eyes. It wasn’t her place to pry, especially into the personal life of an esteemed doctor like Jenkins. Shaking her head firmly, she hurried out of the office.

Sometime later, the door opened again as Dr. Ren Jenkins entered, his tall frame slumping slightly with exhaustion. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to the voice on the other end of his phone call.

“Yes, yes I’ll do my best to be there for dinner,” he said in a softer tone than one might expect from his brusque public demeanor. “But you know these emergency cases can be unpredictable...”

His words trailed off as he noticed the steaming cup on his desk. Ren felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward as he read the simple message scrawled on the cup: “Thank you for the bandage”

For a fleeting moment, the image of Nurse Shizumi’s shy smile flickered through his mind. But he immediately dismissed it with a curt shake of his head. She was just one of the junior nurses. Not someone he should be...

Ren cut off that dangerous train of thought. Clearing his throat gruffly, he refocused on the phone call as he settled in behind his desk.

“Look, I need to go. We’ll discuss dinner plans later...”

The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air as Hana slipped into the nurse’s station, seeking a brief respite from the controlled chaos of the emergency ward. Her heart still pounded, echoing the unrelenting beeps of monitors outside. Clicking on the patient’s details, she focused on steadying her breathing, willing away the panic rising within.

A soft thud interrupted her racing thoughts. She looked up to Dr. Jenkins’ kind, chestnut-eyed gaze, setting down a patient’s file, peering down at her from his tall frame.

“Well, I just got word they tracked down contact info for our John Doe,” Ren continued. Even though Ren was speaking to the staff at the post, she felt the word being directed to herself for some unspeakable reason. “His name is Robert Lowe.”

“His wife reported him missing yesterday. Her name is Samantha Lowe. Probably the ‘Sammy’ our patient mentioned. The name struck a chord so it seems promising” Ren said. “Good work guys”

With an encouraging smile, he exited. Hana let out a sigh of relief. Her plan worked well. She made a mental note to thank Mira with an expensive dinner.

Alone again amidst the scent of antiseptics, Hana breathed deeply. Her gift... She still did not understand it fully herself, but today it illuminated a path towards answers for someone lost in the dark. Someone who needed her.

Squaring her slender shoulders, Hana returned to the bustling emergency ward, the beeping monitors and ringing phones strangely reassuring now. She had a job to do still.