Josh
Josh leaned back against the pillows, his phone balanced on his lap. The glow of the screen illuminated his face as he scrolled through the latest updates from work. Emails from department heads, updates on pending projects, and a detailed report from his best friend-turned-temporary manager filled his inbox. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
It was a strange feeling being disconnected from the day-to-day operations of the company. For years, his father had groomed him to take over the business, and Josh had poured his heart into ensuring the company's success. But now, stuck in a hospital bed with an injury that refused to heal as quickly as he wanted, he felt the weight of that distance.
A notification flashed across the screen, signaling an incoming call. His father. Josh hesitated for a second before answering.
"Dad," he greeted, his voice steady but tired.
"Josh, how are you feeling today?" His father's deep, reassuring voice came through the speaker.
Josh exhaled. "Better than yesterday, I guess. The pain is manageable, and the nurses are doing a good job keeping me alive."
"That's good to hear. Your mother was worried after visiting yesterday. She said you still look pale."
Josh chuckled lightly. "Mom always thinks I'm pale, even when I'm fine. She worries too much."
"It's her job as a mother to worry. And mine to make sure you're not overthinking work while you recover."
Josh shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not overthinking, but I did go through the latest reports. Everything seems to be under control. Daniel is doing a great job holding things together."
"Of course, he is. That's why I hired him. But I want you to focus on getting better, Josh. The company will still be there when you're ready to come back. Don't rush your recovery."
Josh paused, his throat tightening slightly. His father was a hard man, a perfectionist, and someone who rarely vocalized his concern. These moments of softness were rare, and they always caught Josh off guard.
"The doctors came by earlier," Josh said, shifting the conversation. "They said I might be discharged in about a week, as long as everything looks good."
"That's good news," his father replied. "We'll make sure everything is ready for you at home when you get out. Just take it slow, Josh. We need you at your best not just for the company, but for yourself."
"Thanks, Dad. I'll try."
The call ended with a few more words of encouragement, and Josh set his phone down on the side table. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts a jumble of work, recovery, and the people around him.
His father's call reminded him of the weight of his responsibilities, but there was something else, someone else, who had been occupying his thoughts more than he cared to admit. Josie.
She had left this morning since she did nightshift, and though he told himself it didn't matter, he couldn't ignore the way her absence made the room feel emptier. The other nurses were efficient, but they weren't her.
Shaking his head, he reached for the remote to turn on the TV, hoping the noise would drown out the thoughts swirling in his head.
For now, he had to focus on one thing at a time healing. But deep down, he knew his recovery wasn't just about his body anymore. It was about what came after and who might be a part of it.
*********************
The door to my room creaked open, and I glanced up from my phone to see Josie walk in, her steps light but purposeful. Her hair was pulled back neatly, and she wore that same composed expression she always had during her shifts.
"Good evening, Josh," she greeted, her voice soft but carrying that soothing professionalism I'd come to expect from her. She glanced at the food tray sitting untouched on the table beside me and frowned. "You didn't eat."
I shrugged, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of my lips. "I didn't have to."
Her frown deepened as she stepped closer, crossing her arms. "Josh, you need to eat. How are you supposed to recover if you don't have enough energy?"
"I did eat," I replied, holding her gaze. "Just not this." I gestured toward the untouched hospital food, its blandness evident even from a distance.
Her eyes narrowed. "Oh? Then what did you eat?"
"My mom came by earlier," I said, leaning back against the pillows. "She brought rice and beans—my favorite. I couldn't resist."
The corner of her lips twitched, like she was holding back a smile. "Rice and beans, huh? No wonder you ignored the hospital food. You've been complaining about it since the day I met you."
"Can you blame me?" I said with a chuckle. "I'm sure even you wouldn't touch this stuff."
She moved closer to my bed, picking up the chart at the foot to glance over it. "Of course not," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "The hospital food is only for patients and doctors. Nurses aren't included. I cook my own food and bring it from home."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You cook? I didn't take you for the cooking type."
She glanced up from the chart, giving me a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I don't know," I said, trying to hide my grin. "You just seem… busy. I figured you'd eat out or something."
"Well, I do cook," she said, placing the chart back and stepping closer to my side. She reached for my arm to check my pulse. "I actually like it."
"What's your best dish?" I asked as she worked, genuinely curious now.
She looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "Rice and beans, actually. It's my favorite meal."
"Seriously?" I said, unable to hide my surprise. "You're not just saying that because it's mine?"
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, I'm not. I grew up eating it all the time. It reminds me of home."
I nodded, watching her as she moved to check my vitals. There was something calming about the way she worked—focused, efficient, but still gentle.
"Your pulse is fine," she said, jotting something down in her notes. Then she glanced at me again, her expression softening. "How's your pain? Is it better today?"
"It's manageable," I said honestly. "Nothing the meds can't handle."
"Speaking of which," she said, straightening up, "did you take them already?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, giving her a mock salute. "Right on time."
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Good. I'll be back later to redress your wound."
I nodded, watching as she checked my IV line before stepping back. "Do you enjoy cooking?" I asked, not ready to let the conversation end just yet.
She tilted her head, thinking. "I do, when I have the time. It's kind of relaxing, you know? And it's nice to eat something you made yourself."
"That makes sense," I said, my gaze following her as she moved toward the tray of untouched food. "Do you ever experiment with new recipes?"
"Sometimes," she said, picking up the tray. "But I usually stick to what I know. Why all the questions? Are you trying to get cooking tips?"
I chuckled, shaking my head. "Just curious. It's not every day you meet someone who still makes time to cook in a job like this."
"Well, we all need to eat," she said simply. "And it's not like I can survive on snacks alone."
I smiled, leaning back against the pillows. "Fair enough. Maybe when I'm out of here, you can show me how to make your version of rice and beans."
She laughed, her eyes sparkling. "We'll see about that. For now, just focus on getting better."
As she left the room, I found myself smiling to myself. She had a way of making even mundane conversations feel… different. It wasn't just her professionalism—it was her warmth, her genuine care. And for the first time in a while, I realized I didn't mind being stuck in this hospital so much.