Chapter 1 – The First Day & Gentle Sparks
Ding, diiiing!
"Ugh, the hell are you making noise for?" Roshel groaned at her alarm clock. Her hand slapped the top of it with more force than necessary, but the ringing didn't stop until she finally switched it off. She sat up, hair tousled, eyes half-closed.
"Today is my first day. I can't afford to be late," she reminded herself, though her body begged her to stay in bed. After a minute of fighting with her own thoughts, she swung her legs to the floor and trudged toward the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out, wrapped in the light fragrance of her favorite perfume. A touch of lip balm, a neatly ironed blouse, and she was ready. Her nerves, however, weren't as polished as her look.
As she entered the hospital, the familiar scent of antiseptic and the distant beeping of machines filled the air. She tightened her grip on her bag. Breathe, Roshel. First impressions matter.
Then, her eyes caught him.
A man in a sharp, tailored suit stood by the reception, tall and composed, with a clipboard in hand. He looked up, and for a brief second, Roshel thought time slowed.
"Hello, my name is Roshel," she introduced herself politely, bowing her head slightly to mask the heat rising to her cheeks.
"Hello Roshel, my name is Alden." His voice was warm, smooth, yet carried a quiet authority. "Pleased to finally meet you. We were told a new member would be joining us, but I didn't expect it would take this long." He extended his hand.
Roshel hesitated for a split second, then accepted. His palm was firm, reassuring. "Nice to meet you too, Alden. I'll be looking forward to working with you. Please guide me well." Her lips curved into a shy smile as she avoided direct eye contact.
The handshake ended, but his presence lingered in her mind longer than she wished to admit.
The first day went smoothly, full of quick introductions and shadowing seniors. By the time she finally clocked out, her feet ached and her eyelids felt heavy.
"Ahh, can't wait to finally get back," she muttered, dragging herself home. As soon as she saw her bed, she collapsed onto it, spreading her arms wide like a defeated soldier. Relief washed over her, and within minutes, sleep claimed her.
The next few days blurred together in routine; patients, tests, paperwork but one face kept standing out in the crowd: Alden's. He had an ease about him, a calm confidence that contrasted her quiet nerves.
A week later, it happened.
"That's not the right way. Here, let me help you with that."
Roshel froze. The familiar voice came from right behind her, deep yet playful. Slowly, she turned, and there he was again. Alden, standing close, his lips curved in a gentle smile.
For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe. Gorgeous, she thought. What a stunning face.
Her tongue tangled. "Y–ye–yeah, sure, thanks," she muttered, stepping aside to give him space.
Alden leaned in, his shoulder brushing against hers as he demonstrated. He guided her hands with patience, explaining each step clearly how to prepare a malaria thin smear. The faint scent of his cologne woody, crisp, made her head light.
"There," he said finally, glancing at her with an encouraging smile. "See? Much better."
Roshel nodded quickly, pretending to focus on the slide though her mind was spinning.
That moment was the spark. From then on, things shifted between them.
They began sharing lunch breaks. Sometimes it was simple rice and beans, or sandwiches eaten quickly before a shift. Other times, they teased each other over who packed better food.
"You call that a meal?" Alden laughed one afternoon, pointing at her half-eaten mandazi. "That's just a snack."
Roshel rolled her eyes, hiding her smile. "Says the man eating sukuma and ugali like it's a feast."( Translation - Says the man eating collard greens and maize porridge like it's a feast.")
Their banter drew curious looks from colleagues, but neither seemed to care.
After work, they started walking home together. The streets were quieter by evening, with only the hum of boda-bodas passing by. Sometimes, they talked about patients; other times, about nothing at all dreams, family, or silly jokes. And once, when silence stretched too long, Alden leaned in and kissed her forehead before parting ways.
Roshel's heart raced the entire night after that.
Soon, the forehead kisses became a habit. A week later, he tilted his head and teased, "What about here instead?" He pointed at his lips.
Roshel blinked. "Here?" she whispered, her face burning.
"Just a peck," he grinned.
She hesitated but leaned in, barely brushing her lips against his. Yet that tiny spark turned into fire. By the third time, their kisses deepened, stealing her breath away.
Roshel had always hated casual kisses, germaphobe as she was, the thought used to repulse her. But with Alden, it felt different. Safe. Warm. Addictive. Even at work, when no one was watching, they stole moments brief, hidden kisses that left her dizzy.
And she let herself stop overthinking.
But beneath their growing closeness, a shadow lingered.
Roshel's contract was temporary.
Every time they laughed over lunch or shared a kiss under the dim hospital lights, she remembered that one truth. One day, she would leave. The thought gnawed at her, turning sweet moments bittersweet.
One evening, they paused on a bridge during their walk home. The river below whispered softly, and the streetlamps painted the air golden. Alden wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.
Roshel clung to him, unwilling to let go. Their hug stretched into minutes. Finally, she sighed, "Weuhhh…"
He chuckled softly against her hair. "Don't worry. I feel the same way." His embrace tightened, as though shielding her from time itself.
In that moment, both knew. The closer they grew, the harder parting would be.
They called it "premium tears."
And yet, neither of them could stop falling.