The neon lights in the examination room glowed brightly, reflecting off the light gray walls and white tiled floor. The computer screen was left on, ready for searching treatment information. Faint voices of conversation floated through the quiet serenity of the hospital, interspersed with announcements calling for payment and medication pickup from another zone.
A nurse prepared the patient records for today's appointments—a thick stack of papers piled on top of one another—while more than ten patients sat waiting in the area. Some scrolled on their phones, others stared blankly at the TV playing softly in the background.
A young woman entered the internal medicine examination area. Most of the patients, primarily elderly, greeted her with a respectful wai. She smiled warmly, returning the gesture with politely pressed palms before bowing slightly in courtesy as she took her place in the examination room. Nearly every pair of eyes followed the beautiful young doctor.
The nurse inserted a nameplate reading "Dr. Prao Napa Kulnarat" into the slot on the door, then brought in a bottle of water and placed it within easy reach for the doctor to sip and quench her thirst. Preparations for the outpatient examinations were about to begin.
"Doctor, if you're ready, I'll call the first patient," the nurse asked, placing the chart of the first patient in front of her.
"Go ahead and call them, Sister Jaeng. Thank you," Dr. Prao replied to the much older nurse. She picked up the chart and flipped it open to review the first patient's information.
The first patient was called in, accompanied by a relative. The young doctor inquired about the symptoms that had brought them in today, then proceeded with the routine examination. She spoke softly, her melodic voice strangely soothing, easing the anxiety of those suffering from illness.
Dr. Prao explained self-care methods in detail, answering questions with confident, clear responses. She spent time with each patient without rushing, ensuring they fully understood her health advice.
The first patient finished, followed by the second, third, and fourth—each with different ailments. The young doctor remained smiling and attentive, showing no signs of fatigue, even though it was well-known that elderly patients could often be stubborn and skilled at bargaining.
The last outpatient of the morning shift was an auntie in her mid-sixties. She smiled as she sat across from the beautiful young doctor.
"Hello, Auntie. How are you feeling today?" Dr. Prao asked in her usual gentle tone.
"You're even more beautiful than the rumors say, Doctor. Such lovely skin," the auntie said. "Someone recommended you for treating chronic conditions—they said you're excellent. But I never imagined you'd be this beautiful."
"Thank you so much," Dr. Prao replied with a smile before asking, "What brings you in today, Auntie?"
"I get dizzy a lot—like the room is spinning when I turn my head quickly."
The auntie spoke with concern. Dr. Prao gave a small reassuring smile, as if to say it wasn't serious—common for people her age facing various ailments. She pulled her chair closer, shone a flashlight to check the patient's eyes and eye movements, asked detailed follow-up questions, and listened to her chest with a stethoscope.
Dr. Prao's slender, fair hands moved confidently yet politely. Her gaze never left the patient for a moment. Every sentence ended with a soft "kha" or "ka," making the middle-aged woman feel warm and safe in the young doctor's care. The nurse nearby smiled, noticing how quickly the patient relaxed.
"I'll prescribe something to improve blood circulation—it should help reduce the dizziness and vertigo," the doctor explained, deliberately calling herself "noo" (little one) to create a closer, more intimate atmosphere.
"That sounds perfect," the auntie replied.
"Any questions?" Dr. Prao asked.
"Are you married yet, Doctor?" the auntie blurted out unexpectedly. Prao paused briefly but nodded.
"I'm married—almost three years now."
"Oh, what a shame. I wanted to introduce you to my son," the auntie said, leaning in as if to admire the doctor's heaven-sent features. She continued, "You're even prettier than I imagined."
Dr. Prao smiled shyly at the endless compliments. She glanced at the senior nurse, who gave a knowing look that it was time to escort the patient to prepare for medication.
After finishing the outpatients, Dr. Prao stood, slipped on her clean white coat over her dark blue dress, and headed toward the inpatient building. She checked her wristwatch to see if she was running late for ward rounds.
Many eyes glanced at the beautiful doctor—not just from patients and relatives, but from hospital staff as well.
A group of male orderlies stood near the emergency room entrance.
"There she is—your girl, Phot," the first orderly teased.
"She's not mine, P'Boon. Dr. Prao is married," the younger orderly named Supoj replied to his senior coworker.
"Married or not, you've had your eye on her since she started here," a third orderly chimed in with a chuckle.
"Enough, Dol. I don't want to get fired."
Supoj shot back at his peer, though he couldn't deny it. His eyes secretly followed the graceful, slender figure of the hospital's shining star—Dr. Prao Napa—whose beauty and talent had spread far and wide at Bangkok Medical.
What his coworkers said wasn't far from the truth. Supoj had been captivated by Dr. Prao Napa since first seeing her two years ago when he started working here. Her beauty was striking: a perfectly proportioned face, an enviable figure, and an elegant demeanor. She wasn't just outwardly refined; she truly came from high society—both her parents were doctors too.
Not long after Dr. Prao joined, she married a young doctor from another hospital.
Even if she were single, Supoj knew his chances were practically zero. Their statuses were worlds apart—like sky and abyss. Dr. Prao Napa was a rising star physician, not only stunning but exceptionally skilled, while he was just a lowly orderly.
"If you don't want her, I will," P'Boon joked with a hearty laugh.
Supoj chuckled and shook his head at his senior's usual teasing. Soon, the three—Boon, Phot, and Dol—were called to transport an accident victim newly arrived in emergency and went their separate ways.
Dr. Prao reached the inpatient ward. A nurse greeted her and briefed the latest updates. She nodded and prepared to begin rounds, checking on admitted patients in each room.
But before starting, her husband called.
"Hello, P'Teer," she answered.
"I'll be home late today—there's a surgery," Teerapat told his wife.
"Okay," Dr. Prao replied. "Don't forget to eat, or your stomach will act up again."
Her voice carried concern; she knew her husband often skipped meals during surgeries—a regular occurrence.
"Roger that, Doctor," Teerapat said with a soft laugh. "What about you, Prao? Heading to rounds? What time will you finish?"
"I'll need to clear paperwork and check patient labs first. Probably late afternoon."
"Got it," Dr. Teer said before hanging up.
Dr. Prao pocketed her phone into her coat and began ward rounds, unaware that a pair of eyes watched her silently from the end of the corridor. Those eyes belonged not to a patient or relative, but to Supoj, the young orderly delivering medical equipment. He lingered longer than necessary before quietly walking away.