One Meter
Copyright© 2025 by Heel
Chapter 2: The Corridor
The hospital smelled of disinfectant.
It was that in-between hour — not quite day, not yet night — when the light outside turned everything the color of old paper. The corridor was quiet except for the low hum of fluorescent bulbs and the occasional squeak of a rubber sole on the polished floor.
Emily moved slowly, each step a negotiation between willpower and pain. The crutches clicked rhythmically on the linoleum, but her body refused to fall into any kind of grace. Her left leg was encased in a thick cast, white and heavy, rising all the way to her thigh.
Every few seconds, her toes twitched inside it — involuntary spasms she couldn’t control. Each twitch sent a spike of pain through her foot, radiating up from the cracked heelbone that still hadn’t healed. She bit her lip to keep from groaning. The doctors said it was nerve damage, that her body was still confused about what it could feel.
They said it might pass.
Or it might not.
She was halfway down the corridor to the physiotherapy ward when she saw him.
At first, he was just another patient — tall, shoulders hunched, leaning heavily on one crutch. A stiff brace wrapped his torso, holding him upright. But then he looked up, and she froze.
It was him.
Their eyes met, and for a second, the sounds of the hospital seemed to fade away — no footsteps, no hum, no machines. Just that cold, suspended silence between them.
He stopped too, his hand tightening on the crutch handle.
She swallowed, her throat dry. “I—” The word cracked in her mouth. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
He gave a small, uneven exhale — almost a laugh, but not quite. “Best trauma unit around,” he said quietly. “Figures we’d end up in the same place.”
She shifted on her crutches, trying to hide the tremor in her hands. The movement set off another spasm in her toes — sharp, electric. The pain shot up her leg, and she gasped.
He noticed. His eyes flicked toward her cast, then back to her face.
“I’m ... I’m sorry,” she said at last, the words spilling out in a rush. “That night — I wasn’t thinking. There was a hedgehog. It was just sitting there, and I thought if I swerved, I could—”
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