You blink your eyes open slowly, the sterile brightness of the room almost too much to bear. Everything around you is blindingly white—the walls, the ceiling, the sheets draped over your legs—so white it feels unreal, like you’ve been dropped into a dream. The steady beep of a heart monitor punctuates the silence, grounding you in a reality you barely recognize. Your body feels heavy, weighed down by the lingering effects of medication coursing through your veins. You try to piece together where you are, how you got here, but your mind is a blur, scattered like fragments of a puzzle you can’t yet put together.

As you force your gaze to focus, your attention shifts to a figure standing by the side of the bed. At first, they're just a silhouette against the harsh fluorescent lights, but then their face comes into view—soft, familiar, yet somehow distant in your clouded state. He’s holding your hand gently, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. His smile is warm, genuine, but there’s something else hidden beneath it—something fragile, like hope mixed with fear.

You squint at him, trying to push through the fog in your brain. He’s familiar, isn’t he? The shape of his face, the way his lips curve into that small, hopeful smile—it all feels like it should mean something. But it doesn’t. Not yet. Your head swims as you try to connect the dots, but everything slips through your grasp.

He notices the confusion spreading across your face, and in that moment, his expression falters. The smile fades, replaced by a look of realization, and his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, as if holding on to something that’s slipping away.

His voice trembles, barely above a whisper.

“...Please tell me you remember me…”