Here is another old story. The prompt for this story was to write about an elevator malfunction.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft hiss, the hum of the motor vibrating in the walls. Dr. Nathaniel Graves stood at the back, his gaze fixed on the floor. His eyes, normally sharp and observant, seemed lost in thought today. He glanced at the digital display above the door as it blinked from “P” to “1” to “2,” marking his ascent through the hospital. The hospital was busy, as usual. Staff bustled in every direction, some wheeling patients through corridors, and others talking to patients as machines beeped their sterile, rhythmical chant.

As the elevator climbed toward the fifth floor surgical wing, a sudden stop caused Nathaniel to stumble slightly. His hand, outstretched to steady himself against the polished railing, gripped the metal harder than he intended. The jolt had been far more abrupt than any normal halt; it was sharp, almost as if an unseen force had yanked the elevator to a stop. He caught his breath, feeling the pulse of his own heart beat faster. This wasn’t a usual stop.

For a moment, the faintest groan of machinery echoed, and Nathaniel glanced up, scanning the small cabin. A peculiar silence surrounded him. No chatter from staff members. He heard no beeps or bells from nearby monitors. Nothing.

He reached for the emergency button, hand pausing mid-air. The last thing he wanted was to sound like a paranoid doctor panicking over an elevator malfunction. Still, the unexplained stop, the strange drop—it didn’t sit well with him.

He pressed the button anyway.

Nothing. The small green flickered, then went dark. A knot of anxiety tightened in Nathaniel’s chest. He felt the weight of isolation here. This wasn’t like other moments in his career where he could solve a sudden problem with a quick phone call or a flurry of activity. This was just… silence.

Another minute passed, or maybe it was two. Nathaniel wasn’t sure. The seconds dragged on far too long. He exhaled sharply. At least he wasn’t the only one in here. A woman stood in the far corner, clutching her purse with both hands, her shoulders hunched. She wore a pale green dress, her eyes flickering nervously from side to side.

“Do you think it’ll be alright?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the hum of the stationary elevator.

Nathaniel glanced at her. She wore a tense expression, a stark contrast to the serene emptiness he felt. “It should be fine,” he said, trying to sound reassuring, though he had no reason to believe that. It was hard to dismiss the nagging sense that something was wrong.

As if on cue, the elevator lurches. It shifted in fits and starts, as if the floor beneath them couldn’t quite settle. Then came the abrupt stop—a hard, sudden jerk that threw them both forward.

A gasp escaped the woman’s lips as she stumbled, losing her balance. Nathaniel reached out instinctively, catching her elbow to prevent her from falling. His other hand shot out to brace himself against the railing. But something sharp made him wince as he planted his weight on his right knee. A painful throb shot up his leg, and he cursed quietly under his breath. He realized too late that his knee had collided with the edge of the metal panel.

The woman muttered an apology, but Nathaniel waved her off. He was more concerned with the sharp, searing pain now shooting through his knee. A dull ache settled deep in the joint as he shifted his weight, testing the injury. He had been in worse pain, no doubt, but this was still enough to send a stab of discomfort through him. His body protested, the tension mounting as he realized just how much his knee hurt.

Are you alright?” the woman asked, looking at him with wide, worried eyes.

“I’m fine,” Nathaniel said, though the word felt hollow as he tried to stand with less weight on his knee. He tried to hide it, but the woman noticed anyway.

“You sure?” she pressed. “You don’t look fine.”

“I’ll be okay,” Nathaniel muttered, his voice strained now. “Just a little bump. Don’t worry.”

The elevator’s erratic movement had stopped, and now they were just sitting there, suspended between floors. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, but it always struck him how unsettling the sensation of helplessness could be. In the hospital, he dealt with complaints all day—patients reporting pain, nurses and doctors offering solutions, prescriptions, operations, reassurance. Yet here he was, powerless to do anything about a broken-down elevator and a knee that had suddenly protested.

He slowly lowered himself to sit on the floor, trying not to focus on the throbbing sensation in his leg. “I’ll just wait it out,” he said, speaking more to himself than to her.

The woman shifted uneasily beside him. She didn’t seem to want to sit, but the long stretch of silence pulled at her. Her eyes flitted to the digital display above the door. The numbers stuck on a stubborn “4.” The elevator wasn’t budging.

“Do you think they’ll fix it?” she asked again, more quietly this time, as if she were trying not to disturb the strange stillness that had settled over them both.

“I’m sure they will,” Nathaniel said, his voice lacking the usual confidence he used when speaking to patients. But the more he thought about it, the more the answer seemed unconvincing.

Minutes passed. How many he couldn’t tell. Time had a way of getting lost in places like this. The woman beside him shifted again. He heard her breathing in the stale air, her sharp inhales, her hesitant exhalations.

Then, from deep in the building, he heard the faint sound of footsteps—heavy, purposeful, and close. The sound of someone coming for them. Relief bloomed in his chest, faint but unmistakable. He closed his eyes for a moment, relaxing into the knowledge that help was coming.

When the elevator doors finally opened, the faces of two technicians in dark blue coveralls appeared in the gap. One of them gave a quick glance inside, his eyes locking onto Nathaniel’s face. “You alright?” he asked, surveying the scene in front of him.

Nathaniel nodded, forcing a smile despite the dull ache in his knee. He stood slowly, testing his weight on the injured joint, wincing as the pain flared again.

“I’m fine,” he said again, though he sounded less and less convincing with each passing minute.

The technician nodded, not pressing further. He motioned for them to step out. Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, then turned to the woman, offering her a hand. She took it, grateful but not entirely at ease.

When the doors opened fully, the fresh air of the hallway rushed in, and the sounds of hospital life—voices, footsteps, distant beeping—flooded the space, banishing the eerie stillness that had lingered in the elevator.

Nathaniel walked out carefully, feeling the weight of his knee with each step. The technicians discussed what had caused the malfunction, but Nathaniel’s thoughts had already wandered elsewhere. He might have been fine in the end, but it didn’t erase the unsettling feeling that the silent complaint of his own body, now throbbing with pain, was far harder to ignore than any other malfunction.