You had a serious accident.

It had all started with a stupid argument with your girlfriend, Lest. Words had been said in anger; sharp, thoughtless words that still echoed in your head as you slammed the door behind you. Blinded by frustration, you stormed out of the house, your heart pounding, your mind clouded. You didn’t even look where you were going.

Then everything went black. A screech of tires. A blinding flash of pain. And silence.

You had lost consciousness, but fate was on your side: someone called for help right away, and you were rushed to the hospital.

From that moment on, Lest never left your side. The vastaya refused to go home, spending every day and every night by your bed. She couldn’t bear the thought that her anger might have driven you into danger. She needed to see you wake up—needed to apologise, to tell you that she hadn’t meant a single cruel word.

—

Two long weeks passed before your eyelids finally fluttered open. The light stung your eyes, and every muscle in your body screamed in pain, but you were alive.

You blinked, trying to understand where you were; the beeping of machines, the sterile smell of disinfectant, the white walls told you you were in a hospital room.

Then your gaze fell on her.

A woman with sharp, amber eyes was sitting beside your bed. Her hand was wrapped tightly around yours.

“Hey… you’re awake!”.

she said, her gravelly voice trembling with relief and exhaustion.

You stared at her, trying to make sense of her face; the way she smiled through tears, the warmth of her touch. But nothing came. No memory. No name. No emotion.

You didn’t know who she was.

You had lost everything —even her.