The hospital ward was alive with the usual rhythm, beeping monitors, soft footsteps, and the occasional call bell. I should have found it comforting. This was where I belonged. This was what I had worked so hard for. Instead, everything felt distant, like I was moving through water.

“Jasmine, can you check on Mr. Patel’s oxygen sats?” my supervisor asked.

I nodded quickly, forcing a professional smile. As I adjusted the pulse oximeter on the elderly man’s finger, my sleeve shifted. The leather bracelet brushed against my skin, warm from constant contact. For a second, I was back in that private lounge. Dominic’s fingers on my wrist, his calm voice saying my name like he already owned it.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

I blinked. Mr. Patel was looking at me with concern. I had been staring into space again.

“Yes, sorry,” I said, cheeks burning. “Your oxygen is at 96%. That’s good. I’ll come back in twenty minutes to check again.”

I escaped to the nurses’ station and pretended to update charts. My hands were trembling slightly. This was my third near-mistake today. I was supposed to be focused. Careful. People’s lives were in my hands, and all I could think about was a man I barely knew.

You’re a failure, a cruel voice whispered in my head. One night with a stranger and you’re already falling apart. How can you ever become a real nurse if you can’t even focus for one shift?

I pressed my thumb hard into my palm, then caught myself. That was what Dominic had noticed. That nervous habit. The memory of his observant grey eyes made heat crawl up my neck.

Stop. Just stop thinking about him.

I forced myself to focus for the rest of the shift, but my mind kept drifting. Every time I adjusted a blanket or took vitals, I felt the leather bracelet hidden under my long-sleeved scrubs. It had become a secret weight I couldn’t ignore. I was supposed to be the responsible one. The good daughter. The diligent student. Yet here I was, hiding a bracelet tied to a man whose name alone had led me down a rabbit hole of terrifying search results.

By the time my shift ended, I was exhausted, not from the work, but from fighting myself. I met Sophia and Emily at our usual café near campus. While waiting in line to order, I noticed a black sedan idling across the street.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” the cashier asked.

“A latte, please,” I answered, but by the time I looked out again, the car was gone.

The moment I sat down, Sophia leaned forward with bright eyes.

“So? Have you decided yet?”

I wrapped my hands around my warm latte. “Decided what?”

“Don’t play innocent,” Sophia grinned. “Are you going back to see tall, dark, and Russian?”

Emily shot her a look before turning to me gently. “You’ve been really quiet since that night. If you’re thinking about going back… just be careful, okay? We don’t know anything about him.”

“I know,” I whispered. But I didn’t. Not really.

The bracelet felt like it was burning against my skin. I wanted to tell them everything. That I’d found his last name, that I’d read terrifying articles, that my father had spent years chasing men like him. But the words wouldn’t come.

When I got home, the guilt that had been building for days pressed down even harder. Dad was in the kitchen helping Mom with dinner. The familiar smell of stir-fried vegetables and rice usually comforted me. Tonight, it made my stomach twist.

“You’re home,” Dad said, smiling. But his sharp eyes studied me carefully. “How was your shift?”

“It was fine,” I lied, hanging up my coat. “Busy.”

I could feel him watching me as I set the table. Every time I moved, I was hyper-aware of the bracelet hidden under my sleeve. I kept expecting him to notice the way I favored that wrist, or the way I kept tugging my sleeve down.

During dinner, the guilt became almost unbearable.

“You’ve seemed distracted lately,” Dad said casually, passing me the rice. “More than usual. Is something going on at school? Or with your friends?”

My chopsticks paused halfway to my mouth. The weight of all my secrets — the club, Dominic, the bracelet, the articles I’d read — sat like lead in my chest.

“I’m just tired,” I said softly. “Clinicals are getting harder.”

He nodded slowly, but I knew he wasn’t fully convinced. My father had spent decades reading criminals. Reading me was probably even easier. That thought made my eyes sting.

After dinner, I escaped to my room and closed the door. I sat on my bed and stared at my wrist. Slowly, I pulled the bracelet out from under my sleeve. I turned it over in my hands again and again.

Take it off. Throw it away. Be smart.

I placed it on my nightstand. Ten minutes later, I picked it up again. I clutched it tightly, then forced myself to put it back down. Another ten minutes passed. I picked it up once more. This time, my fingers trembled as I slipped it back onto my wrist. The leather settled against my skin with a quiet finality.

I stood in front of my closet for what felt like forever, heart hammering.

This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t even be going.

I pulled out a simple black dress, modest but flattering. Then put it back. Too obvious. I tried a soft sweater and skirt instead. Too innocent. Too much like the girl who didn’t belong there. In the end, I chose a deep burgundy blouse with long sleeves and a black skirt that fell just above my knees. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked… like someone trying to be braver than she felt.

My fingers brushed the leather around my wrist one last time. If I do this, there’s no pretending anymore.

I grabbed my coat before I could talk myself out of it again, slipped quietly out of the house, and stepped into the cool night air. Somewhere down the street, headlights flickered on.

I was really going back.