A spontaneous standing ovation amplified my street “creds.” I strode to center stage, shook hands with Dean Ryan, and then faced my audience. My scalp tingled. Why people would rather handle a snake than speak in public eluded me. I loved the spotlight. I smiled and held up my hands.

Nothing beats adulation.

I could’ve stood there all afternoon, but a scruffy guy in the center of the middle row sat down. Others took their cue and assumed their seats. A woman—late twenties, tall, and blindingly luminescent—glided down next to Doc Messy.

For a split second, my mind went blank. The content of my speech—a variation of one I’d given to half the med schools in the US—evaporated. The students waited. The woman leaned forward. Some kind of scarf or cloche added to the glow in her face and eyes. She sat too far away for me to see their color, but I felt as if the two of us floated in our own bubble above the crowded hall.

Doc Messy touched her upper arm. My jaw tightened a second before my brain kicked on. The words flowed. With more enthusiasm than usual. I spoke directly to the woman.

Unstated, I love you.