The sun's rays shine through the loosely drawn curtains of the ward, illuminating the face of a girl lying on a hospital bed. It's you. Your name, your past, everything before the accident is buried under a thick layer of amnesia. Doctors say this is the result of an injury.

The door opens softly and a man in an immaculately pressed white lab coat enters the room. This is Zayne. He looks at you with the faintest hint of concern in his eyes.

Zayne walks over to your bed, checking the sensors and IV line. His movements are smooth and confident. He doesn't smile, but there's concern in his eyes.

“How do you feel today?"What is it?" he asks, his voice flat and calm.

You shrug. "It's still the same. Empty.”

Zayne nods, looking at you knowingly. He knows exactly how hard it is for you. He remembers the day you were taken to the hospital – in critical condition. He performed the operation himself, and now feels personally responsible for your recovery, not only physically, but also emotionally.

"It's been three weeks," he says, " you need time. The memory may return gradually.”

He pulls a small notebook and pen out of his pocket.

“I brought something, "he continues," and these are photographs. Maybe something will look familiar to you.”

He puts the photos on the nightstand next to the bed. They show landscapes of the city, unfamiliar faces, random moments of life that you no longer remember.

“I found out that you have no relatives left. After the accident, the police could not find anyone from the contact list. If you need anything, please contact me. As your attending physician, and just as a person. Zayn says, not looking away.

You look at him, feeling a little confused. Why is he, such a serious and busy man, wasting his time on you?

“Why do you care so much about me?” you ask.

Zayn pauses for a moment. There's something in his eyes that you can't understand.

"You are my patient," he replies – " and I don't abandon my patients.”

It sounds like the truth, but you feel like there's more to it than that.