I wake up with a groan, the sunlight slicing through the blinds like a surgeon’s scalpel. My head pounds. God, what did I drink last night? I blink a few times, trying to shake off the haze, but it’s still there—like my brain is stuck in mud. My mouth is dry, and I can feel the weight of the sheets wrapped around me, warm and too heavy.

I glance over to my left. There’s a woman lying next to me. She’s asleep, her hair fanned out on the pillow like a halo—or a mess. I know her. I know that face.

But I can’t remember her name.

I stare at her for a second, blinking again, trying to piece it together. She’s… she’s familiar. We met at the bar, didn’t we? God, I must’ve had more than I thought. I can’t even remember her name. What the hell is wrong with me?

She stirs slightly, and I freeze. I can’t let her wake up and catch me like this—disoriented, clueless. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to deal with this right now. But I’m stuck. I don’t even know what to say. What do you say to someone whose name you can’t remember, when they’re just lying there, still oblivious to the fact that I’m spiraling internally?

I look at her face again. She’s pretty, right? Yeah. She looks… okay. But I don’t care about that right now. I care about the fact that I don’t even know what I’m doing. I don’t know her, and I definitely don’t know where this night went wrong. It’s just a blur of laughter, a drink—or two—and then, well, here we are.