The Doctor on the Island

Liya, the Ethiopian eye specialist, possessed hands that danced like sunlight. With precision, she restored sight to those who had lost it—the elderly who yearned to see their grandchildren’s faces, the children who marveled at colors anew. But her heart held more than surgical skill; it cradled hope—the kind that bloomed even in the darkest of corneas.



Across the bustling corridor stood Patric, the Filipino oncologist. His days were a symphony of courage and compassion, conducted in chemotherapy sessions and whispered diagnoses. Cancer patients sought refuge in his presence, their fears met with unwavering resolve. Patric’s hands wielded miracles—the kind that didn’t restore sight but fought against the shadows threatening lives. His eyes bore witness to pain—the weight of terminal prognoses, the silent battles fought within sterile rooms. Yet, he carried hope like a torch, illuminating the path for those who walked it with him.



The world remained oblivious to their love story—the way Liya’s laughter echoed in Patric’s dreams, the way he held her hand during late-night rounds. They were doctors, yes, but in each other’s presence, they were more—they were healers of souls.



And when the rain returned, tapping against the windowpanes, they stood together, sharing an umbrella—their unspoken love shielding them from the storms that raged beyond.