The morning sun was mild, filtered through the faint haze that hung over Ashrock City's skyline. It wasn't the same kind of light that once felt energizing — these days it felt heavier, almost drowsy. Ashburn drove slowly through the narrow street that led to the old sector, the hum of his car merging with the distant clatter of shop shutters opening and the calls of street vendors setting up for the day.
He had resisted the idea of coming here until last night, when the dull ache in his head refused to fade. The fatigue had grown familiar — an unwanted shadow trailing behind him through meetings, site visits, and endless phone calls. But after days of ignoring his mother's and Kainat's insistence, he finally gave in.
He parked near a short building with a faded sign: "Dr. Sara — General Physician." The blue letters were half peeled, but the place looked well-kept. Potted plants stood neatly along the entrance; one had fresh soil as if recently cared for. A small wooden bench sat outside the door where two elderly men discussed politics in slow, tired tones.
When Ashburn stepped inside, the air changed. It was cool, faintly scented with disinfectant and lemon. The waiting area was modest — barely six chairs, a single counter, and a ceiling fan that creaked gently with every turn. A young receptionist looked up and smiled politely.
"Good morning, sir. Do you have an appointment?"
"No," Ashburn replied. "I just came for a checkup."
"Dr. Sara's a bit busy right now, but please have a seat. You'll be next after the current patient."
He nodded and sat down, folding his arms as he waited.
Across from him, a mother was whispering softly to her son who sat on her lap. The boy had a bandaged knee, and his wide eyes kept staring at Ashburn's formal clothes — the crisp shirt, the polished watch, the hint of tiredness behind his composed posture. Ashburn offered a faint smile, and the boy quickly hid his face in his mother's shoulder.
For a moment, Ashburn's mind drifted to the office. His team would already be reviewing the morning reports — stock updates, delivery route delays, supplier confirmations. He could almost hear Aisha's voice reminding him to rest and Kainat's subtle sigh every time he brushed her off.
He rubbed his temple and let out a slow breath. Maybe they had been right.
The door to the consultation room creaked open. A man in his fifties came out, smiling faintly as he tucked a prescription into his pocket.
"Next, please," came a voice — calm, composed, and clear.
Ashburn stood, straightened his collar, and entered.
The consultation room was small but spotless. A narrow window let in sunlight that fell across neatly stacked files and medical instruments. The air carried the faint scent of sanitizer and green tea.
Behind the desk sat Dr. Sara. She looked up from her notes, her movements precise. Her white coat was immaculately pressed, and her tone carried the kind of quiet confidence that came only from experience — not arrogance, but certainty.
"Good morning," she said with a faint smile. "Please, have a seat."
Ashburn sat down, noticing the subtle order in everything — not a single pen out of place, not a speck of dust on the table.
"What brings you in today?" she asked, opening her notebook.
"Mostly headaches," he replied. "And constant fatigue. I thought it was just overwork, but it's been getting worse lately."
She nodded thoughtfully. "Do you work long hours?"
Ashburn chuckled faintly. "Long enough for my family to complain daily."
"Ah," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "The classic patient. Thinks exhaustion is a sign of discipline."
"Isn't it?" he asked lightly, leaning back in his chair.
She glanced up from her notes, one brow raised. "Discipline doesn't mean pushing yourself until your body starts sending distress signals. You might be able to ignore fatigue, but your organs don't."
Her tone wasn't sharp — it was firm, the way someone speaks when they've said the same thing to a hundred stubborn professionals before.
Ashburn exhaled softly. "Fair enough. I guess I've been neglecting that part."
"Tell me about your daily routine," she said.
He paused for a moment before answering. "I run a few businesses. The day starts early — office meetings, warehouse visits, coordination with suppliers, managing logistics. Sometimes I skip lunch if things get busy. Dinner is… whenever I remember to eat."
She tapped her pen against the pad, eyes narrowing slightly. "That explains quite a lot."
He smiled faintly. "I was expecting that."
Dr. Sara wrote something on her notepad, then looked up again. "Any medical history? Low blood pressure, sugar issues, anything like that?"
"None that I know of," he replied.
"All right," she said, standing up. "I'd like to check your vitals first."
He followed her instructions — sitting on the side stool, letting her measure his blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature. The cuff tightened around his arm, and he noticed her focus — calm and steady. No wasted motion.
"Your pulse is a bit fast," she observed. "Probably from stress. Blood pressure's slightly low. You're running yourself thin."
Ashburn looked away briefly, his tone half-joking. "Occupational hazard."
Dr. Sara smiled faintly. "You could say that. But hazards are meant to be managed, not lived with."
She returned to her desk, writing something quickly before setting her pen down. "You don't need heavy medication. I'll recommend a saline infusion today to balance things. Beyond that, you need rest, proper meals, and some light physical activity. A morning walk, at least."
Ashburn nodded. "That sounds manageable."
"Good," she said, sliding the prescription across the desk. "I want you to come back after ten days. If you're still feeling fatigued, we'll do a few tests to rule out deficiencies."
He reached for the paper, then hesitated. "Doctor, be honest — is it serious?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. But it could be if you keep ignoring your body."
Her gaze softened a little. "You remind me of a few patients — all hard workers, all certain that rest is optional. They usually learn the hard way."
Ashburn gave a small, rueful laugh. "I think my family has been waiting for me to realize that."
"Well," she said with a teasing lilt, "tell them you finally met someone who agrees with them."
He smiled. "I'll do that."
As he stood to leave, she added, "Oh, and Mr. Ashburn…"
He turned, curious.
"I've heard of you," she said lightly. "You're the one who's been opening all those new shops and factories lately, right?"
Ashburn raised an eyebrow, amused. "That depends on whether you've heard good things or bad."
"Mostly good," she replied. "But I'll admit, when I saw the name on the register, I wondered how long it would take for the city's busiest businessman to end up here."
He chuckled. "I guess it was only a matter of time."
"Just promise me something," she said, her tone turning serious again. "Don't treat your body like another investment. You can't buy back health."
That line lingered with him as he thanked her and stepped out.
The nurse guided him to a small side room where he received the saline. The cool liquid entered his veins slowly, and for the first time in weeks, he felt his shoulders ease. The whir of the fan and the faint hum of the infusion stand created a strange calm.
By the time he left the clinic, the sun had shifted westward, bathing the street in soft gold. The traffic had thickened, people moving about their daily routines — lives in motion, each burdened in their own way.
As Ashburn reached his car, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window — eyes slightly sunken, face pale but calm.
He sat quietly for a few seconds before starting the engine.
Maybe she's right, he thought. Maybe it's time to breathe.
He drove home slower than usual that evening.
And though his mind still wandered toward upcoming evaluations, logistics, and expansion plans, one thought cut through everything else — he would return in ten days, not because of the saline, but because something about that calm, grounded doctor had unsettled his constant rhythm.
For the first time in a long while, he wondered if slowing down wasn't such a bad thing after all.