what purpose would that serve ? / @soulearned
she’d seen him before — too many times for it to be coincidence. always hanging around the hospital but never quite in it. like he was orbiting the place, skimming the edges of rooms he had no business being in. not a visitor, not staff, not sick, not well. just there, with his bleached hair like a flare & those eyes that tracked everything like he was building a dossier in his head. samira didn’t judge, not usually — she’d met too many people who didn’t fit the box they’d been shoved into. but she noticed things. like how he never asked questions, just listened. like he knew too much for someone who never wore a badge. & now he was in front of her, voice low & sardonic, asking: what purpose would that serve? like the idea of care was something to be debated.
she looked at him, really looked, & decided he was the kind of tired that didn’t come from lack of sleep. the kind of haunted that didn’t announce itself with theatrics. ❝not everything has to serve something, ❞ she said. ❝some things just need to be done because they’re kind. or because someone’s hurting. or because silence is too cruel. ❞ her voice didn’t sharpen, there was no anger in it, just clarity, like the feeling of clean hands in warm water. maybe he thought people in scrubs didn’t see him. but samira saw everything, especially the ones who tried hardest not to be seen. & this man — this strange, still man — felt more like a question than a threat. but questions, in her experience, had a way of circling back when you least expected.
