Hell's Floor

I raised my eyebrows and looked at the nurse.

She looked at me back with even greater confusion and signalled she did not know what he was talking about.

I heaved a sigh.

A marriage counselor now?

Me?

A single 33-year old virgin woman?

Not what I'm paid for.

I looked at him coldly.

"I do not know your wife, Mr Lin. Whoever and wherever she is, I'm unable to help you further. Now if you don't mind, I'll excuse myself."

Mr Lin was alarmed.

He quickly stood up, bringing the tubes connected to him with him.

The nurse and I were similarly alarmed by his sudden actions.

Who knew what patients on this floor might do?

"Wait... Wait!"

I was clearly uncomfortable but we were only women in this room.

"Mr Lin. Please do not move. You're already injured and we don't want these injuries to worsen."

I looked at him with a piercing cold glare as if to warn him.

"If you have any issues with your wife, I suggest you call her or call a marriage counselor. This is a hospital ward. Not a marriage clinic."

He was clearly panicking but held himself back.

"Wait, what do you mean?"

He looked at me with a pitiful puppy dog eyes which made me inadvertently take a step back.

"You..."

What was with that wronged and pitiful look?

I had a bad feeling about this.

"But you are my wife."

I felt like hitting my head on the wall.

I'm obviously dealing with a madman here.

I kept my professional smile as if he had just asked me about my day.

Thinking the attending doctor was his wife?

That was somewhere up the alley of thinking the nurse or doctor was his family.

Typical cra... delirious post-accident behaviour.

I quickly went out with the nurse, both of us looking at each other as if to agree that it's best to not linger.

We ignore the protesting shouts from the room and the other nurses let us through, it was a common scenario for them.

I quickly greeted the attending nurses and passed the patient's information to the head nurse before leaving.

When I left the ward, I felt greatly relieved.

The last time I was here two years ago, I was mistaken as the patient's long lost sister.

It took a few months and my family coming to talk to him, plus paternity tests to convince the patient that we were not related in any way.

Well, this time it should be easy.

I'm obviously not married and there are no legal documents to prove that.

I've done my part.

And like the single dog I am, I needed to get ready for my blind date marriage meeting later.

Luckily, I made my escape earlier than expected, hence I should treat myself a little to a facial before the meeting.

As I walked away from the hospital with a jovial step, I had obviously underestimated mentally ill patients.

***

"Miss Fu Wen Jia. You look ravishing in person. Perfectly delectable in that white dress. Like a pure whipped cream Angel! Your picture do you no justice!"

I stiffly smiled at the compliment from the strong bulky man before me.

Looks were not bad. Age: two years older than me. Family: of similar standard. Profession: Chef.

I looked at the man before me and accepted his compliment.

I guess his strong point was that he was at least passionate about his job, looking at how he sees me as some delectable morsel.

I acted demure and submissive, as my poor mother had insisted I do. After all, the man was marrying an educated lady.

No one wanted to marry an educated lady nowadays. Even if the lady was a doctor.

Since my male colleagues were either old, weird, married or were attached, I had no choice but to follow my mother's call to find someone else.

Apparently, I was not a hot commodity in the marriage market due to my age and profession.

Hence, this Shang Min guy was moth- I mean, my best hope for a family.

I smiled.

"Mr Yang, I too am in awe at how enterprising you are. Starting your own bakery at 28 and now I believe, your shop has been doing well so far?"

The wheat-skinned man before me grinned when I mentioned his shop. 'Chef' was what his marriage card said, but 'Baker' might be more accurate. Perhaps the less than manly profession was why this man was not married. But I'm not one to judge. It's just how our culture is like, demarcating roles for gender and defining in ludicrous terms what success means for each gender.

I demurely smiled as he went on about his shop and the struggles he faced.

It was intriguing and I was mostly quiet as I listened to him rant on. My silence was partly due to how tired I was while a major reason was because my mom told me to be silent 3/4 of the marriage meeting. The defining characteristic of demure, submissive women was that they were ready to listen to their spouses quietly.

I could ignore my mom's advice. But I was tired.

I smiled while trying to keep myself awake. My goal was simple. Quiet demure beauty.

So being silent was a strategy.

Not because I was lazy.

Absolutely not.

I was nodding my head at selected moments of his story when suddenly, someone grabbed my hand

My god.

Alarms rang in my head.

This drama-like development.

Disrupting a marriage meeting.

I turned to see who my overbearing President male lead was.

Only to see my mental patient staring back at me.