The Afrobeats didn't stop.
It kept playing in the background like the operating theatre was some kind of VIP lounge instead of a room filled with blood, suction sounds, and the sharp smell of cautery. Ziana didn't know whether to laugh or be annoyed, but somehow… it worked. The tension that usually suffocated emergency surgeries had loosened just enough for everyone to breathe. Even the resident assisting Dr Chol looked less like he was about to faint, and the anaesthetist had stopped shouting every two minutes.
Ziana stayed focused, though. She moved smoothly, passing instruments before they were even asked for, keeping her eyes on the surgical field, tracking Chol's hands as he worked. He was fast, controlled, and almost annoyingly calm. The kind of surgeon who didn't panic, didn't raise his voice, didn't throw tantrums like some of the others. His hands moved with confidence, like he trusted himself completely, like nothing could surprise him.
And still… there was something else about him. Something that didn't fit the usual "serious doctor" stereotype.
Because this man was operating on a bleeding patient while Burna Boy music was basically screaming in the background.
Ziana shook her head slightly to herself, then adjusted the suction tubing as the resident leaned in.
"Splenic tear," the resident murmured.
Chol didn't look up. "Clamp."
Ziana passed it instantly.
The resident hesitated. "Should we call for general surgery backup?"
Chol gave him one sharp look. Not angry, just… enough.
The resident immediately swallowed his words.
Chol turned back to the patient and spoke like he was talking to a stubborn child. "Relax. You're panicking too much. If you panic, your hands will shake. If your hands shake, this man will die. So… breathe."
Ziana's eyes flickered to the resident.
He nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."
Ziana almost laughed again. This man didn't even need to insult you. He would just say one sentence and your confidence would disappear.
The anaesthetist spoke from the head of the table. "BP is improving. He's responding."
Chol nodded. "Good."
His voice stayed calm, but Ziana noticed the slight change in his posture, the way his shoulders eased just a little. He cared. He just didn't make noise about it. He cared in silence, like it was his personal business.
The music switched to another song—something even louder, with heavy beats. Anita, the circulating nurse, clapped her hands once as she danced in her corner like she was in a club.
"This one is my jam!" she announced.
"Anita," the anaesthetist warned, "don't shake the whole theatre."
Anita laughed. "Please, even the patient will wake up and start dancing."
Ziana tried to hold her smile behind her mask, but it still showed in her eyes.
Chol suddenly spoke without looking away from the field. "Scrub tech."
Ziana's attention snapped back.
"Yes, doctor."
He hummed softly, like he was amused. "You're smiling too much."
Ziana froze for half a second.
Then she replied carefully, "I'm not smiling."
Chol's eyes lifted slightly, just enough to glance at her. "You are."
Ziana stared at him, feeling her cheeks warm under her mask. "Maybe you're imagining things."
Chol's lips curved faintly, like he liked her answer. "Maybe. But don't get too comfortable. This is still my theatre."
The way he said it—low, smooth, confident—sent a weird shiver down Ziana's spine. Not fear. Not intimidation. Something else. Something she didn't want to name.
Ziana didn't respond. She just handed him another instrument, keeping her face neutral like she wasn't affected.
But inside?
Inside she was already fighting herself.
This man is trouble.
The surgery continued, the bleeding controlled little by little, the abdomen slowly becoming less of a red mess. Ziana watched Chol's hands close and repair, watched him move like he was born for this. She had scrubbed with many surgeons before—some arrogant, some nervous, some brutal. But Chol was different. He wasn't rushing to prove himself. He wasn't showing off. He was just… good. Too good.
When they finally reached the closing stage, the resident let out a breath like he'd been holding it for an hour.
Chol glanced at him and smirked. "You survived."
The resident laughed weakly. "Barely."
Ziana almost rolled her eyes. Men and drama.
"Count," Chol said.
Ziana and Anita started counting instruments, gauze, needles, everything. The numbers matched, the closure was clean, and the patient's vitals were stable enough to be transferred.
When the last suture was placed, Chol stepped back, pulling off his gloves slowly, like he wasn't in any hurry.
He turned his head slightly toward the anaesthetist. "Good job."
The anaesthetist raised his brows. "Eh? You're praising me today?"
Chol shrugged. "Don't get used to it."
The theatre chuckled.
Ziana was already cleaning her area, preparing to hand over and step out, when Chol spoke again.
"Scrub tech."
Ziana looked up.
Chol's eyes met hers, steady and unreadable. "You said you're not new."
Ziana nodded once. "I worked here before."
Chol tilted his head slightly. "Before?"
"Yes," she replied, keeping her tone professional. "I left the country for a few years. I came back recently."
Chol's expression changed, not by much, but enough for Ziana to catch it. Like he was suddenly more interested. Like the puzzle pieces were clicking.
"So you're one of those people who leave and come back with fresh confidence," he said.
Ziana scoffed. "Confidence? I'm just doing my job."
Chol chuckled, low and smooth, as he started untying his gown. "You're doing it too well."
That made Ziana pause.
She didn't know what to say to that, so she said the safest thing. "Thank you, doctor."
Chol stepped closer, and Ziana felt the space shrink between them. It wasn't even about how near he stood. It was his presence. The kind that filled the room and made you hyper-aware of your own breathing.
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping, playful but still firm. "You can call me Chol. Everybody does."
Ziana stared at him. "I'm not everybody."
Chol's smile widened, like he was entertained. "Ah. So you have mouth."
Ziana blinked. "Excuse me?"
Chol laughed softly, pulling his mask down as he stepped away. "Relax. I like it."
Ziana's heart beat once, hard, like her chest had been tapped.
I like it?
She watched him walk toward the sink, washing his hands like he hadn't just dropped that sentence casually. The resident followed behind him, still looking stressed, while Anita came close to Ziana and whispered loudly, as if whispering was not her thing.
"Ziana… you people are already flirting?"
Ziana turned to her sharply. "Who is flirting?"
Anita grinned. "I'm watching you. Don't pretend. Dr Chol doesn't talk to everybody like that."
Ziana's stomach twisted.
She wanted to argue, but deep down she knew Anita was right.
Because Chol had been too comfortable with her.
Too playful.
Too… interested.
Ziana removed her gloves and tossed them into the bin, forcing herself to focus on the routine. She started removing her gown, trying to ignore the heat rising in her body. The theatre suddenly felt warmer than before, like the lights had turned up.
When she turned around, she found Chol standing there again, leaning slightly against the counter, his arms crossed, watching her like he was studying her.
Ziana's brows furrowed. "Doctor, do you need something?"
Chol smiled.
"No," he said. "I just wanted to confirm something."
Ziana's eyes narrowed. "Confirm what?"
Chol's gaze dropped briefly, then back to her eyes.
"Ziana Gee," . "So that's you."
Ziana didn't understand why the way he said her name sounded like a warning.
She lifted her chin. "Yes. That's me."
Chol nodded, then stepped closer again, his voice low and teasing.
"Welcome back," he said. "Avalon missed you."
Ziana let out a small breath. "Avalon doesn't even know me."
Chol's smile deepened, like he was about to say something that would ruin her peace.
"I know you now," he replied.
Ziana froze.
Not because the words were romantic.
Because the way he said them sounded like a promise.
Or a threat.
Or both.
Then he turned and walked out of the theatre like nothing happened, leaving Ziana standing there with her heart beating stupidly fast, and Anita staring at her like she'd just witnessed the beginning of a scandal.
Anita clicked her tongue. "My sister… you are finished."
Ziana swallowed.
She didn't respond.
Because she didn't know if she was finished…
Or if this was just the beginning.