In stark contrast to Vivienne Brooks’ calm composure, Ethan Shaw was a bundle of nerves, unable to find his footing.

How could he possibly engage in a normal conversation with this woman sitting across from him, who had not only seen him bare but also touched him in ways he couldn’t erase from his mind? He felt a crushing sense of inadequacy.

Vivienne Brooks noticed his extreme discomfort and decided to break the ice.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m 31, from Chicago, a medical doctor, just returned from the UK.”

Normally, Ethan Shaw would pay close attention to his date’s self-introduction; it was the quickest way to size someone up. But at this moment, her impressive credentials didn’t matter at all. His only goal was to make a swift exit.

“I’m 29, a below-average graduate of a third-rate university,” he muttered, his head down.

Vivienne chuckled softly. “Would your alma mater agree with that assessment?”

Her comment hit a nerve. Ethan Shaw had graduated from the country’s top finance university, where most of his classmates had gone on to prestigious positions in leading financial firms or major corporations.

Only he had ended up as a bank teller, quietly stuck in the same position for six years, never advancing.

“Such a disgrace to my school,” he said, his voice tinged with bitterness.

Sensing his dejection, Vivienne shifted gears. “I enjoy attending concerts and playing badminton. What about you?”

“I don’t exercise. I’m just a regular guy, allergic to all things refined,” he said, staring out the window and pouring all his energy into self-deprecation.

Seeing his clear aversion to engaging with her, Vivienne stopped trying. She sipped her coffee in silence.

Ethan scrolled on his phone, equally quiet, occasionally taking a sip of his coffee.

After a while, he decided he had fulfilled his obligation to Dr. Monroe and could now leave guilt-free.

Standing up, he said, “I won’t take up any more of your weekend. I need to grab a mug before I go. Bye.”

Vivienne hesitated briefly but didn’t respond, watching him hurry out of the café.

Ethan, keeping up appearances, bought a mug at the counter before hailing a cab and leaving. Back home, he promptly blocked Vivienne Brooks on WhatsApp, cutting off all possibility of further contact.

That Saturday afternoon, Ethan met with the other two dates as planned. Both were doctors from St. Lawrence Hospital: Nina Harper from the pathology department and Maya Turner from respiratory medicine.

Nina Harper, tall and gentle-looking, came across as kind-hearted and approachable. A junior doctor, she was a year younger than Ethan.

Maya Turner, shorter and slightly plump, was reserved and introverted, four years his senior.

Compared to the colorful array of his previous blind dates, Ethan found this round of candidates to be remarkably decent.

When reporting back to Dr. Monroe, he made his stance clear: Vivienne Brooks was not an option, but he was open to getting to know the other two better.

His mother, Lucy Archer, was overjoyed to hear this—it was monumental progress for her son to show interest in pursuing someone.

“Ethan, keep talking to both of them for now. I’ll find out more about their incomes and family backgrounds in the next few days,” Lucy said enthusiastically.

Ethan offered no opinion. He knew it would be pointless; his mother had her own set of criteria, and nothing he said would change that.

Monday was the regular follow-up appointment for Ethan Shaw, but instead of seeing his primary physician, Dr. Vivienne Brooks, he decided to book with another specialist to avoid her entirely.

During the consultation, the new doctor informed him that his condition hadn’t fully recovered and required continued treatment. The doctor emphasized that the illness was prone to relapse and necessitated a strict regimen. Ethan left with another week’s worth of oral medication and instructions to return for a follow-up.

Back at the bank, Ethan was intercepted by his supervisor, Mr. Thompson, who wasted no time in reprimanding him.

“Ethan, do you have any idea how busy the counter is? It’s Monday—the busiest day of the week! Even if you need time off, think about your colleagues first,” Mr. Thompson barked.

Mr. Thompson had always been dissatisfied with Ethan’s rigid work style and unwillingness to ingratiate himself with others.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been feeling unwell recently. I’ll be more mindful next time,” Ethan apologized quickly.

“Next time? Can’t you take fewer days off?” Mr. Thompson snapped.

“Understood,” Ethan replied, keeping his tone neutral.

He returned to his suffocating workstation—a cramped space behind a glass window, under constant surveillance by cameras, offering zero privacy.

Two days later, amidst the flurry of counter transactions, Ethan started feeling unwell. He found himself repeatedly rushing to the restroom, each time fearing he wouldn’t make it in time, only to discover he couldn’t urinate at all. The repeated false alarms left him teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

“What’s wrong with you now, Ethan? You always have issues when we’re busy!” Mr. Thompson muttered grumpily.

Ethan gritted his teeth and soldiered on, enduring the discomfort. The nature of his problem was too embarrassing to share with anyone. He was stuck, miserable and uneasy.

A colleague noticed his pale face and offered a word of concern.

“Ethan, you don’t look well. Try to hold on for today; we’re all swamped. If there’s a customer complaint, we’ll all be penalized, and you know how the supervisor gets. Take tomorrow off and see a doctor,” they suggested.

Summoning his remaining strength, Ethan pushed through the day.

That night, after hours of internal struggle, Ethan resolved to revisit Dr. Vivienne Brooks, suspecting that his condition had worsened because he had switched doctors.

The next morning, he attempted to book an appointment with Dr. Brooks but found all slots—both online and on-site—already taken.

Dejected, Ethan paced the hospital hallways, unsure of what to do. A nurse, noticing his anxiety, suggested he speak to Dr. Brooks directly to request an additional slot.

Reluctantly, Ethan knocked on her office door.

“Dr. Brooks, sorry to disturb you,” he said timidly.

Dr. Brooks looked up, her expression cold and composed. “What is it?”

“I couldn’t get an appointment with you. Could you possibly fit me in?” Ethan asked with an awkward smile.

Without a word, Dr. Brooks scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Take this and get in line.”

Grateful yet uneasy, Ethan secured the slot. However, he had to wait until all the scheduled patients were seen before it was his turn, making him the last appointment of the day.

The afternoon dragged on as Ethan waited in the clinic, his discomfort mounting with each trip to the restroom. The cycle of urgency and inability to urinate was excruciating, leaving him physically and mentally drained.

When he finally stepped into the examination room, his priorities shifted—nothing mattered more than his health at that moment.

“What’s your current condition?” Dr. Brooks asked, her tone softened by concern.

Ethan hesitated but eventually recounted his symptoms in a low voice.

After listening, Dr. Brooks fixed him with a sharp look. “Why did you change doctors?”

Ethan flushed with embarrassment, unable to answer.

“My treatment plan was to encourage frequent urination to naturally flush your bladder and urethra. The medication you’re currently on suppresses bladder activity, aiming to reduce the frequency of urination. These are two entirely contradictory approaches,” she explained coolly.

Ethan realized his condition had worsened due to his hasty decision to switch doctors. His face burned with regret and shame.

“It’s like your brain—if you try to force it to sleep and stay awake at the same time, it gets confused. Now your bladder is confused, unsure whether to urinate or hold it in,” Dr. Brooks continued, breaking down the issue in simple terms.

“What should I do now?” Ethan finally asked.

A faint smile played on Dr. Brooks’ lips. “Now that you’re back under my care, we’ll stick to my treatment plan.”