It was 2015. He was the course doctor at the PGA tour at Whistling Straits. She was his new-ish girlfriend enjoying the views on the course, the gameplay of the pros and the warm sunshine. There were benefits to dating Ashok, many of which seemed to revolve around awesome sporting events and even more awesome venues in Kohler. There were other things too, of course. His winning smile, his gentle nature, the care and consideration he treated her with, the child-like energy he exuded when talk turned to his beloved Corvette. Oh, and those four children he gushed about. She hadn’t met them yet, but that wasn’t necessary to realize how great they were. So, there she stood, sunshine at her back, the wind off of Lake Michigan blowing her brown hair away from her face. She’d been at this hole for awhile, but she figured he’d be by as the foursome moved on. Then it happened. The crowd started to rustle, a low buzz of conversation that grew to higher tones of concern and panic. An amplified voice announced the game was to be suspended. A tornado warning had been issued. She looked around, not sure where to head amongst the hills and valleys of the Irish course. And there he was, running over to her. “Come on, let’s get you out of here” he called as he ushered her into his medical golf cart. He dodged the groups and tents. “Shouldn’t you be…?” she started to ask. But Ashok was focused and not really listening. He pulled up in front of a shelter, escorting her out of the golf cart and to the door. He smiled at her, then looked over his shoulder. She was sure his duties were elsewhere. “Okay?” he asked her, looking expectantly into her eyes. She nodded. “Good. I love you. Bye.” And off he ran, back to the cart, back to the course, and back to his job. And there she stood, stuck to the ground and speechless. He hadn’t said that before.