The door to the conference room opened. A few doctors filed into the hallway, quietly discussing the case that had just been presented. Some carried stacks of medical records; others were taking off their masks while checking their phones. The tension that had filled the meeting room quickly dissolved, returning the hallway to the familiar sounds of a hospital morning.
Thu Hà stepped aside to make room.
“Come on, everyone, move over a little.”
The five students immediately pressed themselves against the wall. Tú Linh hadn’t even figured out what was going on when the woman standing inside the conference room stepped out. She didn’t walk quickly. One hand held a medical chart, while the other lightly adjusted the cuff of her white coat. Sunlight from the window at the end of the hall slanted across her shoulder-length black hair, making the fine strands around her bangs glimmer a very pale brown.
Tú Linh looked up, then froze. For the first time, she got a clear look at Đinh Thanh An’s face. She had thought someone with a voice that calm would look cold and unapproachable. But no—Thanh An’s features were more delicate than she’d imagined. A straight nose, long, clear eyes, and neat, refined features. Her shoulder-length black hair softly framed her face, and her side-swept bangs gave her a simple yet slightly gentle appearance. No elaborate makeup, no eye-catching jewelry—only a leather-banded watch on her wrist. And yet… Tú Linh kept looking for one second, then another.
Beautiful.
The thought appeared so quickly that even she couldn’t stop it. Thanh An walked past Tú Linh, who instinctively lowered her head. Hearing her friends greet Thanh An, she hurriedly followed suit.
“Good morning, Doctor.”
Thanh An stopped. Her eyes paused on the name tag over Tú Linh’s chest for a few seconds before moving to the other four students.
Without giving it much thought, Thanh An gave a brief nod, then looked at Nurse Hà and asked concisely,
“Internship group?”
Thu Hà replied, “Yes, Doctor. These five were assigned to do their internship in our department.”
Thanh An nodded.
“Okay.”
She was about to continue on when a voice called from behind her.
“Thanh An.”
She turned around. Associate Professor Minh Hùng had just stepped out of the conference room, still carrying the stack of records from earlier.
“Take Case 806 down to the consultation room for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thanh An took the records. Only then did Associate Professor Minh Hùng notice the five young faces lined up against the wall. He looked mildly surprised.
“Are these the new students?”
Thu Hà smiled.
“Yes, the seventeenth group assigned to our department.”
“Oh.”
He looked at the five of them.
“Your first day?”
“Yes, sir.”
Perhaps because he had just finished the conference, his voice was still slightly hoarse, but his expression had softened since he’d been in the meeting room. He looked at Quân.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh… yes… I mean, my name is Lê Minh Quân.”
He nodded.
“You look pretty nervous.”
Quân jumped.
“No, sir… I’m fine.”
Khánh immediately lowered his head beside him. Mai had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
Associate Professor Minh Hùng laughed too.
“It’s okay. Everyone’s like that on their first day, haha.”
He looked at the whole group.
“You’re all seniors?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you had much clinical experience yet?”
Tú Linh answered, “We’ve been to a few departments already, but this is our first time in Oncology.”
Associate Professor Minh Hùng nodded.
“Then take your time getting used to things.”
He didn’t say anything else at length. He simply glanced toward the patient rooms.
“The patients here are in a fairly unique situation. You may encounter cases that make you uncomfortable, sad, or even leave you unsure of what to say.”
He paused.
“If you don’t know what to say, stay quiet.”
The entire group was slightly surprised.
“Don’t force yourself to say something just because you think you’re supposed to. Observe first. Listen to the patient first. Then learn how to respond.”
His voice was calm, nothing like a formal speech—more like advice from someone who had been in the profession for far too long. Tú Linh silently committed his words to memory. Associate Professor Minh Hùng glanced at his watch.
“All right… I need to go downstairs for the consultation.”
He turned to Thanh An.
“Thanh An.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take care of the kids for me.”
Thanh An nodded.
“Of course.”
Associate Professor Minh Hùng looked at the students.
“If there’s anything you don’t understand, ask.”
“Don’t be shy.”
Then he looked at Thu Hà.
“Please help guide them as well.”
“Yes, sir.”
He was about to leave when Quân suddenly spoke up.
“Professor…”
Associate Professor Minh Hùng stopped.
“Yes?”
Quân looked at Thanh An, then back at him.
“Is the deputy department head also in charge of us?”
The moment he realized he’d asked something stupid, Quân clapped a hand over his mouth, his face turning green.
Khánh, Mai, Trang, and Linh immediately turned to stare at him, their eyes practically shouting:
“Oh my God, what did you just ask?”
“What the hell was that?”
“What the fuck did you ask?”
“Huh????”
Mai even secretly tugged on his sleeve, but Associate Professor Minh Hùng only burst out laughing.
“Yes.”
He looked at Thanh An.
“But she’s not the only one.”
Then he pointed toward the end of the hallway.
“There are other doctors in the department you’ll need to learn from. They’re all my students, and they’ll help guide you. You’ll also need to learn from the nurses. Sometimes they understand patients better than doctors do. And don’t worry—just because Thanh An is strict doesn’t mean you have to be afraid of her.”
Quân gave an awkward smile.
“Yes, sir…”
Associate Professor Minh Hùng walked a few steps, then turned back.
“Oh.”
“If Thanh An scolds you…”
He shot her a glance.
“…listen to her.”
Thanh An raised an eyebrow slightly. Associate Professor Minh Hùng looked at her with a teasing smile.
“I’m serious.”
Only after saying that did he really leave. The department head’s figure quickly disappeared around the corner.
The five students remained where they were. No one said anything. Not until Khánh murmured,
“I think…”
Quân immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Shut up.”
Thu Hà burst out laughing.
Thanh An looked at the four others as well.
“Follow me. We’re going downstairs to see the patients.”
The group immediately followed. Tú Linh walked at the back. As she passed the spot where Thanh An had just been standing, she caught a very faint scent lingering in the air. It wasn’t perfume—just the clean smell of soap mingled with the distinctive scent of a hospital. Tú Linh unconsciously looked at the woman’s back ahead of her. Thanh An was flipping through medical charts as she walked, occasionally stopping to ask Thu Hà a few questions about the patients. She didn’t seem at all like someone who had made the entire conference room fall silent with a single sentence.
Thanh An walked ahead, with Thu Hà behind her. The five students followed in a line down the long hallway of the Oncology Department. After their brief conversation with the department head, the tension from the beginning had eased considerably. But for some reason, ever since Thanh An had turned back toward the front, the whole group had automatically lowered their voices.
Maybe it was because the woman leading them didn’t need to turn around to remind them. Her calm demeanor alone was enough to make everyone instinctively watch themselves. Thu Hà looked at the five of them and laughed.
“You don’t have to be this nervous.”
Khánh lowered his voice.
“It’s because the deputy department head seems so strict, so we’re kind of scared.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Thu Hà looked at Thanh An’s back ahead of them.
“Honestly, Doctor An isn’t as difficult as you think.”
Before Khánh could celebrate, Thu Hà continued,
“It’s just that… she doesn’t like mistakes at work.”
Khánh fell silent.
Quân immediately nodded.
“Then she is difficult after all.”
Thu Hà laughed. Thanh An didn’t turn around, but she seemed to have heard him anyway. She spoke slowly.
“I heard that.”
The five of them instantly fell silent. Thu Hà turned her face away, trying not to laugh. The kids all lowered their heads while Thanh An said nothing more. She simply continued walking. After a short distance, she stopped in front of a large assignment board hanging on the wall.
“This is the department’s duty-shift and assignment schedule.”
The five students immediately stepped closer. The board was covered in names divided by room, duty date, and supervising group. Tú Linh glanced over it and saw far too many names: attending physicians, residents, nurses…along with densely written notes beside them. Thanh An pointed to each area.
“The inpatient rooms are this way.”
“The day chemotherapy area is over there.”
“The procedure room is at the end of the hall.”
“The student duty room is downstairs.”
She spoke very briefly, without a single unnecessary word. Then she pointed to a group of names marked in blue.
“These are the residents.”
“During your internship, if you have a question about your clinical work that you can’t ask the attending directly, you can find one of them.”
Mai asked curiously, “Doctor, aren’t you in charge of us?”
Thanh An looked at her.
“I’m responsible for you, but I also have to see patients, teach, and conduct research…so the doctors and residents will help me supervise you.”
“Yes, Doctor…”
She turned back to the board.
“But if you make a mistake…”
She paused for a moment.
“…I’ll still know.”
The smiles immediately vanished from the interns’ faces. Thanh An continued:
“In this department, students are not allowed to sign charts, place orders, write prescriptions, or perform procedures without permission from the person in charge. You may not take pictures of medical records without permission. Do not post patient information on social media. Do not discuss patient information in public areas.”
The more they heard, the straighter the five of them stood.
At the final point, Thanh An closed the chart in her hand.
“And one more thing.”
She looked at the group.
“If you don’t know…”
“Ask.”
Tú Linh raised her head slightly. That sentence had appeared again, just like Associate Professor Minh Hùng’s advice moments ago. Maybe in this department, it wasn’t just a saying. It was a principle. Thanh An checked her watch.
“All right.”
“First, I’ll introduce you to the residents.”
The entire group answered in unison:
“Yes, Doctor.”
Thanh An had only taken a few steps when a call came from the end of the hallway.
“Doctor An!”
A young male doctor in a white coat came running toward them, carrying two stacks of medical records. He stopped in front of Thanh An and bent over slightly to catch his breath.
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Thanh An looked at him.
“What is it?”
“Case 812.”
He held up the records.
“The test results just came back. Could you take a look?”
Thanh An accepted them.
“Sure.”
Only then did the doctor notice the group of students behind her. He blinked.
“Oh.”
“Are these the new students, Nurse Hà?”
Thu Hà smiled.
“That’s right.”
He immediately flashed them a friendly smile.
“Hey, everyone.”
“Hello.”
“I’m Gia Bảo.”
Quân looked at his name tag.
“Are you a resident?”
“Yep, I’m a third-year resident.”
“So are you scary?”
The question had barely left his mouth when the entire group froze.
Gia Bảo stared blankly at him.
Thanh An slowly lifted her head from the records.
Quân immediately realized he’d said something incredibly stupid.
“I mean…”
Gia Bảo laughed.
“It’s okay.”
He leaned in and draped an arm around Quân’s shoulders.
“I’m not scary.”
Then he looked at Thanh An.
“But Doctor An is, hehe.”
Quân immediately laughed along. Thanh An regarded the two of them calmly.
“Gia Bảo.”
“Yes?”
“Case 812.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Report it to me this afternoon.”
Gia Bảo’s smile stiffened.
“Yes, Doctor…”
He turned to the students.
“Hey, can I take back what I just said?”
Khánh, Mai, Trang, and Quân burst out laughing. This time, even Tú Linh couldn’t hold it in. Thanh An said nothing. She simply handed the records back to Gia Bảo.
“Go get to work.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Gia Bảo hugged the records to his chest and ran off.
Quân watched him go.
“I’m starting to feel sorry for him too.”
Thu Hà laughed and looked at the five students.
“In this department, the person who talks the most is usually the one who suffers the most.”
Quân looked at Khánh and Trang.
“I think that line applies to you two.”
“Shut up,” Khánh and Trang said in unison.
Tú Linh chuckled softly. For the first time since entering the Oncology Department, she felt that the place wasn’t as unfamiliar as it had seemed at first. There were strict doctors. Friendly upperclassmen. Nurses who always knew what patients needed. And one woman…who could make the entire group sit up straight just by standing still. Thanh An continued toward the end of the hallway. No one knew that they still had a long morning ahead of them. And no one knew that this very morning would be when the five of them officially formed a team of doctors—a team called the Gossip Squad. Gossiping about who? Obviously, Doctor An.
After letting the kids get acquainted with the department’s doctors on their own, Thanh An took the opportunity to check the medical charts. She skimmed the densely written lines, then closed the chart.
“Rounds.”
The five immediately fell silent, and all the joking stopped. They followed her toward the patient rooms. Tú Linh walked at the very back. She hadn’t intentionally chosen that spot; everyone had been crowding forward, and she had simply fallen a step behind. From the rear, Thanh An’s silhouette stood out against the softly lit hallway.
White coat.
Shoulder-length hair neatly tucked behind her neck.
One hand holding a chart, the other occasionally flipping quickly through the pages.
She didn’t walk quickly, but her steps had their own rhythm, making the people behind her naturally fall into step.
At the first patient room, Thanh An stopped.
She turned around.
“For the first few days, all you need to do is observe.”
The group nodded immediately.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Don’t question patients without permission.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Don’t touch patients without permission.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Don’t block the nurses’ way.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Thanh An looked at the group for another second.
“And if you don’t understand something, ask.”
The door closed behind the five of them. Inside were four hospital beds.
Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, falling across the tile floor in mottled patches of light and shadow. One patient was asleep while a family member sat beside him, gently fanning him. In the bed near the window, a woman in her forties was leaning against her pillows, an IV line attached to her arm.
Thanh An walked over to her bed.
“How are you feeling today?”
The woman looked up. When she saw Thanh An, her tense expression seemed to soften a little.
“I’m better than yesterday, Doctor.”
Thanh An pulled over the chair beside the bed.
“What feels better?”
“The pain is less.”
“Are you still nauseated?”
“A little.”
“Were you able to sleep last night?”
“About two or three hours.”
Thanh An nodded lightly.
“Do you feel nauseated right now?”
“No.”
“How much breakfast were you able to eat?”
The woman pointed to the bowl on the table.
“I almost finished it.”
Thanh An glanced over.
“That’s good.”
She bent over to check the chart, then asked a few more questions.
Tú Linh stood behind her with her notebook already open.
She had learned these questions before.
Where does it hurt?
How bad is the pain?
How have you been eating and drinking?
Have you been nauseated?
How have you been sleeping?
They were all things her professors had repeated over and over in lectures.
But this was the first time Tú Linh had seen them appear in a real conversation.
There was no sample chart.
No answer key at the bottom of the page.
Only a patient sitting in front of a doctor, waiting to be heard.
Thanh An asked her questions very slowly. She didn’t interrupt. When the woman paused to remember, Thanh An waited patiently.
Only after she had gotten all the answers did she lower her head and write in the chart.
“I’ll check your results again this afternoon. Get some rest, okay?”
The woman nodded.
“Yes, Doctor.”
Thanh An stood up. Before leaving, she glanced at the IV bag one more time and checked the drip rate. Only then did she gently pull the blanket back up over the patient’s feet.
It was such a small gesture that no one would have noticed if they hadn’t been paying attention.
But Tú Linh saw it.
She lowered her head and wrote something in her notebook.
Not a vital sign.
Not a medication name.
Just a tiny dot beside the line she had written.
In the next room, an elderly man was receiving an infusion.
The moment he saw Thanh An, he smiled.
“Doctor An.”
“Hello.”
Thanh An pulled over a chair and sat down.
“How are you feeling today?”
“Fine.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Really fine?”
“Really.”
“Then who was complaining about being tired to the nurse yesterday?”
The woman sitting beside him laughed.
“That was Dad.”
The old man glared at his daughter.
“Why’d you tell her?”
Thanh An laughed too.
“It’s okay.”
She looked at the old man.
“If you’re tired, just say you’re tired.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
The old man was silent for a moment before saying,
“I just want to go home.”
The words were very soft.
But the smiles on everyone’s faces slowly faded.
Thanh An didn’t answer right away. She looked at the old man for a moment before saying,
“Then you need to focus on getting better.”
The old man looked at her.
“When will I be able to go home?”
Thanh An made no promises. She only said,
“When your body is doing better.”
“Okay.”
The old man nodded.
“Then I’ll try.”
Tú Linh stood behind them, quietly watching Thanh An.
It wasn’t the first time she had heard a doctor say something like that.
But there was something different about Thanh An.
She didn’t promise things she couldn’t be sure of.
She didn’t say pretty words simply to reassure a patient.
She said only what needed to be said.
Clearly.
Calmly.
And in a way that gave the other person something to hold on to and keep going.
Rounds lasted longer than Tú Linh had expected.
Thanh An led them through every patient room.
Some rooms took only a few minutes.
Others took longer.
Sometimes she had to stop and consult with a nurse.
Sometimes she had to call a doctor in another department to ask about a diagnostic test result.
Sometimes, the moment she stepped out of a patient room, a family member would hurry over.
“Doctor…”
Thanh An still stopped.
She listened.
Answered.
Then continued on.
Tú Linh gradually forgot that she was in the middle of an internship.
She was simply watching.
Watching the way Thanh An held a chart.
Watching the way she stood beside a hospital bed.
Watching the way she called each patient by name instead of referring only to a room number.
Once, a nurse handed her a stack of test results.
Thanh An needed only a few seconds to read them.
“Repeat the CBC this afternoon.”
“Remind the lab to send it before two.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
She handed the papers back.
Then continued walking.
Tú Linh watched her.
The longer she watched, the more she felt that this woman was like a clock wound with perfect precision, accurate down to every beat.
Nothing extra.
Nothing missing.
But when they passed a patient room, Thanh An suddenly stopped.
Inside was a fairly young female patient, perhaps only a few years older than the students. She was sitting by the window, almost all of her hair gone. On the small table in front of her was an unopened carton of milk.
Thanh An looked through the glass.
Then she turned to the students.
“Stay outside this room.”
She spoke very softly.
“Don’t all go in.”
Tú Linh nodded.
“Yes, Doctor.”
Thanh An entered alone.
The door closed.
Tú Linh stood outside, looking through the glass. She couldn’t hear the conversation. She could only see Thanh An pull up a chair beside the bed.
The patient said something.
Thanh An listened.
Then the woman lowered her head.
Her shoulders began to shake.
Thanh An didn’t rush to speak.
She simply sat there.
Beside her.
A long while later, the patient finally lifted her head. Thanh An handed her a tissue, then said a few more words.
Tú Linh didn’t know what they were.
But in the end, the woman nodded.
Thanh An stood up. Before leaving the room, she bent down and pulled the blanket back over the patient.
The door opened.
Thanh An stepped outside.
Her eyes happened to meet Tú Linh’s.
Tú Linh immediately lowered her gaze to her notebook.
“What are you writing?” Thanh An asked.
Tú Linh froze.
“I…”
She looked down at the page.
It was almost completely blank. Aside from a few clinical notes, she hadn’t managed to write anything.
Tú Linh felt a little embarrassed.
“I’m trying to remember how you ask patients questions.”
Thanh An looked at her.
“What do you need to remember that for?”
Tú Linh stared blankly.
Thanh An glanced toward the room they had just left.
“What matters is knowing why you’re asking.”
As soon as she finished speaking, she turned and walked away.
Tú Linh stood there for a few seconds.
Then she slowly closed her notebook.
For the first time since entering the Oncology Department, she stopped trying to write down everything she saw.
She began learning how to observe.
And the first person who made her understand that
was Đinh Thanh An.