Isabelle's eyes fluttered open to sterile white light. For a split second, it felt like a dream, but the pain in her head snapped her back to reality. Her mind was foggy, and the sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air. She tried to sit up, but a sharp wave of dizziness forced her back onto the pillow.
Where was she?
The room was unfamiliar—no warm touches, no personal photographs, nothing familiar to hold on to. She could hear the beeping of a heart monitor beside her, and the soft hum of hospital equipment in the background.
"Hey, you're awake," a soft voice said.
Isabelle turned her head slowly. A nurse stood in the doorway, her face covered in a mask, but her eyes smiled.
"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked, stepping into the room.
Isabelle tried to answer, but her throat was dry, as if she hadn't spoken in days.
"I… I don't remember how I got here," she managed to whisper, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. The words didn't feel like they belonged to her. Was she even Isabelle?
The nurse paused, her expression flickering with something Isabelle couldn't quite read. "You were in an accident," the nurse said. "Don't worry. You're safe now."
Accident? Her mind scrambled to put together the fragments, but everything came up blank. No memories. Not even a feeling of what happened. It was as if someone had wiped her mind clean.
"What happened?" Isabelle asked again, her voice trembling slightly.
The nurse smiled again, a bit too brightly. "It's okay. You don't have to worry about that now. You'll remember soon enough. Just rest."
Isabelle nodded, though doubt gnawed at her. "You'll remember soon enough." The words echoed in her mind, but something about them felt wrong.
She stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments that were slipping away. What was her life like before this?
The nurse left the room, and the silence returned—heavy, thick. Isabelle tried to calm herself, but the weight of not knowing who she was, what had happened, gnawed at her. The haze in her mind swirled, and she closed her eyes, trying to focus on anything familiar.
Nothing.
A few hours later, Isabelle was alone in the room, her thoughts a tangled mess. Then, a soft knock on the door.
"Isabelle?"
Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of the voice—familiar, soothing, and yet… unsettling.
"Come in," she called softly, though she wasn't sure she should be allowing anyone into her mind like this, in such a fragile state.
The door creaked open, and a tall man stepped inside. He was dressed casually, his brown hair tousled as though he hadn't bothered to fix it. His expression was neutral, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something Isabelle couldn't quite place.
"David?" she asked, the name feeling right, but still unsure.
He paused, his lips curving into a small smile. "You remember me?"
"I… think so." Isabelle couldn't shake the feeling that this person wasn't a part of her past, but a piece of her present that didn't quite belong.
David sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers tapping on the metal frame. "We've been through a lot, Isabelle. I know it's hard to remember. Just take it slow. It'll come back."
Something in his words didn't sit right with her. "It'll come back." Was that really how memory worked?
David's presence felt like an anchor, but an anchor to what? She felt as though there was something behind his eyes—a guardedness he couldn't hide. Why couldn't she trust him?
Isabelle couldn't remember much, but she knew one thing for sure: something was off, and David was somehow involved.
Her heart raced, and a chill ran down her spine as she caught a glimpse of the reflection in the glass by the door.
A shadow, standing just beyond the threshold.