The new semester began without a hitch. The September weather was surprisingly warm; the sun was still gilding the leaves with a summery glow, and the air was clear and soft. The university hummed with students' voices, the hallways once again full of life after the summer lull.

My abdomen had been aching for a couple of days. My appetite was gone, too. After the second class, I stopped by the cafeteria but only got a coffee.

After the history lecture, our academic supervisor came in. Cleanup duty. Fall semester. Some were sent to the cafeteria, some to the department office, but Lera and I were sent to the campus clinic.

We stepped outside. The sun was shining brightly, but the air had become crisper and fresher. We approached the campus clinic. In the hallway, a woman of about forty greeted us, her light brown hair pulled into a bun. A baggy gray dress peeked out from under her coat. The nurse. She said:

"Alright, girls, it's simple: wipe down the window sills in the hallway and dust the plants. Buckets and rags are in the supply closet. Get to work."

Lera and I exchanged glances, grabbed the supplies, and got to work. The nurse returned to the office. The thought of making Alexander Ivanovich's day a little easier made me smile. About six students were waiting outside the office. We started cleaning. No one paid us any attention; everyone went into the office one by one. Time crawled by, but people kept coming and going.

After a while, we heard the nurse say:

"There's no more line. Alexander Ivanovich, I need to take my dog to the vet. A routine vaccination. Remember, I told you this morning?"

"Yes. Go ahead. I'll manage, don't worry."

The nurse left, and Lera whistled:

"She seems pretty comfortable leaving work in the middle of the day. And Alexander Ivanovich let her go. How kind."

I was silent, wiping the windowsill.

"And actually," Lera continued, "Alexander Ivanovich is a handsome man. He looks like someone with very strong hands."

I felt my cheeks burn. This was too much.

"It's not nice to judge people by their looks." The words came out harsher than intended. "Besides, you have a boyfriend."

Lera laughed.

"Yeah. If it weren't for my Andrey, I'd make an appointment with him just because. But you don't have anyone. Do you like Alexander Ivanovich?"

I took off my gloves. My heart was hammering; staying calm was hard.

"Yes, I like him very much." My voice came out steadier than expected. I looked intently at Lera.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but quickly changed the subject:

"Why are you so pale? You didn't even eat in the cafeteria."

"My stomach hurts," I answered. "It'll pass."

"All done? Good."

The voice behind me made me freeze. I turned around.

"Oksana, step into the office. You're pale. I need to examine you."

Alexander Ivanovich was standing in the doorway of the office. Calm, as always. A white coat over a black T-shirt with a white collar. He approached us. The faint scent of sandalwood reminded me of our first meeting.

"Lera, you're free to go," he said evenly. "Give me the form. I'll sign it next to your names. Thank you for your work."

He signed quickly, then returned the form.

"Give it to the academic supervisor."

Lera nodded and took the form. Alexander Ivanovich returned to the office with an even stride. The hallway was filled with the scent of sandalwood. Lera shot me a quick glance.

"See you later."

The door clicked shut.

I entered his office, my knees trembling. He closed the door and gestured toward the examination table.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, looking at me with his calm brown eyes.

"There's a heaviness and pain below my navel," I said quietly. "For a few days now."

"Nausea, vomiting?"

"No."

"Passing gas?"

"Yes," I said, quieter than usual.

"What kind of pain is it?"

"More like a dull ache."

He nodded.

"Lie down. Let's take a look."

I lay on my back. His fingers rested on my stomach, pressing gently in different places. I squeezed my eyes shut—one spot was particularly unpleasant.

"Does it hurt here?"

"It's more of a dull ache."

"And here?" He moved his hand slightly lower.

"The same."

"Here?"

"Also unpleasant."

He paused his hand just below my navel, pressed deeper, listening to my reaction. Then he took his hand away and looked at me.

"How long have you been constipated?"

I felt my cheeks start to burn.

"Three days."

He nodded, as if he already knew.

"I see. Constipation. You need an enema."

I opened my eyes.

"Maybe prunes?" I asked hopefully. "Or a massage? You've done massage before. You know how."

He shook his head.

"That won't help right now. Three days is too long. We need to relieve the constipation."

"I don't want an enema," I breathed.

He sat down next to me. Close. His voice became quieter.

"I understand. But it will help. Quickly and effectively. If we leave the constipation untreated, you may develop a fever. I'm speaking as a doctor. I'm willing to give you an abdominal massage, but only after the enema. We need to act now. The enema is necessary. We'll get through this quickly."

I looked into his eyes. There was no coldness in them.

"Okay," I whispered.

"Turn on your side. Bend your knees."

I obeyed. His hands touched me, and I felt again what I'd remembered all summer: warmth, reliability, safety. He began preparing everything for the enema. Carefully but confidently, he inserted the nozzle. As the warm water rushed inside me, my eyes drifted shut.

"Wait five minutes," he said. "Then go to the toilet."

I followed his instruction, then returned to the office.

He was sitting at the desk, but when I entered, he stood up and came over to me. He put on fresh gloves.

"Lie down again," he said. "Let's check."

I lay down on the table once more. His fingers rested on my stomach, pressing gently. Now it didn't hurt. It was almost pleasant.

"Good," he said. "But we need to repeat it."

I looked at him in horror.

"Again?" I stared at him.

"Yes. Your bowel still needs some help. One more enema should do it."

I closed my eyes and let him do what was necessary. His fingers lubricated my anus with gel. Again the enema nozzle and warm water. Alexander Ivanovich placed his palm on my lower abdomen, trying to relax me. It was a strange sensation. I could almost say I liked it, but my feelings were dulled by nervousness.

"That's it," he said after a few minutes. "Now everything is fine. Go to the toilet and start a fifteen-minute timer on your phone. Then take a shower and come back. Here's a towel."

I went to the toilet. Fifteen minutes passed. I returned to the office to put my phone in my bag. Now I needed to take a shower. Warm water washed over me, soothing and relaxing. I opened a bottle of shower gel; it had a light herbal scent.

When I came back, after the shower gel, the scent of sandalwood seemed stronger.

"Lie on your back, bend your knees."

Alexander Ivanovich placed one hand on my stomach. I closed my eyes. He gave me a massage. Now without gloves. His palms radiated a pleasant, slightly tingling warmth. He placed one hand on top of the other and made circular motions. Then he pressed three fingers on some point to the left of my navel.

I opened myself to his touch. I felt my stomach relax. The soft but firm pressure helped me forget the dull ache. It was pleasant. Almost soothing. I closed my eyes to better enjoy the moment. It felt wonderful to be completely relaxed.

"Oksana. How do you feel?" he asked evenly.

"Much better," I answered.

"I told you so. You shouldn't have put it off so long."

For a whole week afterward, I could still feel his palms against my skin—as warm and gentle as the autumn sun.