Author’s Note for NBR Members:

First of all, I'm delighted that you all are taking precious time out for this.

While reading, please do keep in mind that this is a first draft that started in November 2017(during NaNoWriMo). So it may be extra messy, hehe.

However, I am looking forward to everyone's feedback here!

Also, I'd appreciate it immensely if everyone commented their Comment Topic (CT) here ➡️
Makes sorting out easier for me. XD
 

Questions:

1. Since this is the first chapter, do you find the premise intriguing?

2. Since this is in a male's POV, would you consider it done at least convincingly well? Please explain your opinion.

Further Explanation for Q2:
I thought I'd explain this a bit more.
Personally, I'm not a fan of male POVs seeming overly macho or masculine.
Do you believe that is the case here or not?

3. For this book, I experimented by starting it with medias res. Do you find this method working with the narration?

“No matter what, I'll always support you in your endeavours.”

Liar.

I have always been accused of cynicism over the years, that the results I think of are often more negative than positive. But, in my opinion, they consider both pros and cons before deciding on the type of subject.
Though, not taking into account hopeless hope may be a factor as well.

Someone knocks on the door. Without thinking, I push my chair back and say,
“Enter.”

The door unfastens-- a click resounding-- as two figures walk inside.
A younger woman, of about my age, holds the arm of an elderly woman. The former's peacock blue cloak sweeps across the floor, along with the thin line of an old, forgotten memory. The sort of memory that seems like a monochromatic cloud, rather than an unfolded retelling.

When I slide around the wooden desk in front of me, the older woman shakes her head.
“You needn't worry, Doctor. It's my daughter's hobby to fret over my health.”
She chuckles, while her daughter sighs.

“It is not a very disagreeable hobby regarding one's parents, madam.” Smiling, I proceed to push two chairs before my desk back.

The older woman waves her hand, while younger remains pointedly silent. Though, her attention remains on me when I return to my seat.
After a lingering moment, she turns to her mother and presses her fingertips against her cloak's opening.

My lips press into a straight line momentarily.
“Good morning, Mrs…”

“Penrose,” the older woman coughs.

Where have I heard that surname...

I nod.
“Mrs Penrose, what seems to be the problem?”

February sunlight tries to waft through my office's beige curtains, but to no avail.
It only serves in highlighting the shadows on my visitors’ faces.

“Only a fever with a sore throat, sir,” Mrs Penrose coughs again-- worry coating on her daughter's features.
The latter says,
“What about how you've been so tired these days, Mother?
And what about those past… signs on your body?”

Mrs Penrose jerks her head at her daughter who only shrugs.

I interject,
“I may be a man, but firstly I am a doctor here.
Knowing all of your symptoms is indispensable for treatment, madam.”

Something passes in between mother and daughter-- a silent communication through a simple flick of a hand and perpetuated sighs.
A name comes into my mind-- one that has not dwelled there for a few years, but retains its position nonetheless.

Mathilde… Mathilda?

My head shakes, as a deep breath releases from me.

Miss Penrose’s brown irises glance at my own blue ones, before Mrs Penrose leaning back into her seat signals the former's success,
“Starting from the beginning:
My mother has had an on and off fever for a about three days. Fatigue has become her companion…”

“Hmm-umph,” Mrs Penrose interrupts my nodding,
“Mathilda, you exaggerate…”
The older woman's spooned nails clutch at the arm rest, as she leans forward.

Spooned nails…

“Mother please.” A plead oozes out of Mathilda Penrose's words.
Something that is, at least for me, highly uncommon.

My fingers spiral around the pen im my hands as I look in between the two.

The argument ends with Mrs Penrose resigning and Mathilda Penrose turning to me, still avoiding all forms of direct eye contact.
“She's been experiencing numbness in her body, along with impaired vision and headaches.”

“I will have to take a closer look then.” I pull my chair back again, leaving my pen and paper on the desk.
But stop after seeing Mathilda Penrose rub the back of her neck and Mrs Penrose's hands fidget.

The later consents after a while.
Even while checking her pulse and the overly white cornea of her eyes, I ask for her history, whether this has happened before or not.
Though, I do not press look at those past signs of rashes, when Mrs Penrose shifts uncomfortably again.
Miss Penrose does not intervene during the examination at all.
Running a hand through my hair, I go back to my table. Picking up my pen, a single drop of ink nibbles at the parchment centre till whole phrases cascade down on them.
“I’ve written down the prescription. If symptoms occur, then you are more than welcome to visit again.
You only have to ask one of the nurses for Doctor Matthew Knightley.”
I hold out the parchment to whoever may reach out for it.

And let false hope assure us that these symptoms don't come back.

Mathilda Penrose takes the parchment carefully from my grasp. Her hands form a conservative triangle around it, while her mother also inclines her head to the side.

A raven comes into view, sitting on the outside of the windowsill. It blinks into the office's occupants, before flapping its wings and flying away.

“The medications are of a moderate cost, you needn't worry,” I reassure them.
“Do you have any male relatives who may purchase them for you?”

Mathilda Penrose frowns, shaking her head.
“No, not at all.”

“Then there's a pharmacy near Ward number Five-- one of the nurses will point you to where that is.
But they will need to see my signature at the prescription's bottom.” I point to where my looping signature is.

The frown is gone now, but sti worry is not. It remains on their faces, even as they say,
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Mathilda Penrose stands, helping her mother up as well.

Meanwhile I push my stationery back and glide towards the door, opening it for them.
Mrs Penrose gives me one last smile; Mathilda Penrose tightens the bow of her peacock blue cloak before passing a final glance.

Even though hours pass and more work comes, I keep running a hand through my blond hair. The nostalgia doesn't leave me, but it never tells me where it's come from.

Where have I seen you before?

Hullo everyone, I welcome you all to my second creative work and first novella!
Honestly, I'm just geeking out at the moment, because I've had this little story in mind since like forever.
I hope you all like it at least of quarter of how much excited I am!

Music above is 'Beyond the Stage' from the 2012 film Anna Karenina.
If you haven't seen it, then please watch it.

If you're still reading my author's note, then here's some chocolate 🍫

Also, thanks SO much for all the amazing NBR members who reviewed this chapter. Means a lot, guys ♥️

This chapter is dedicated to my amazing friend Mishi_And_Books who has been here with me since day 1. I can't tell you how much I frigging adore her.
Please do me a favour and check out her profile, frens ♥️

I hope you all have a wonderful week ❤️

Love,
MS Zame