Aryan's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the sight before him. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, his mind was racing, trying to process whether this was a dream or reality. His eyes widened in shock as he rubbed them, hoping that the surreal image beside him would disappear. But no matter how many times he blinked or rubbed his eyes, the figure lying beside him remained, as vivid and real as the bed he was lying on.
"This can't be real… this has to be a dream," Aryan whispered to himself in disbelief. He reached up and slapped his own face, once, twice, three times, harder with each strike. His cheek began to sting, a sharp pain spreading across his face. The sensation was undeniably real. He winced, rubbing his reddened cheek, but his gaze was still locked on the woman beside him.
With a trembling voice, he whispered again, "Who… who is this woman?" He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, and the shock seemed to paralyze him for a moment.
His breath caught in his throat as he took in her appearance, she was stunning, almost ethereal, like an angel that had fallen from the heavens. Her long, wavy hair was the color of deep sapphire, cascading over her shoulders and down her back like a waterfall of blue silk. Each strand shimmered under the soft morning light, giving her an otherworldly glow. But it wasn't just her hair that captivated Aryan, her face was breathtaking. Her skin was pale and flawless, with delicate features that seemed too perfect to belong to this world. Her lips, a soft shade of rose, were slightly parted as if she were in deep, peaceful sleep, and her high cheekbones gave her an elegant, regal look.
But what struck Aryan the most were her eyes, though they were closed at that moment, he could remember the faint movement behind her eyelids, hinting at the depth and intensity they might hold when open. He imagined them to be as mesmerizing as the rest of her, perhaps a bright, vivid color that would pierce through the soul.
Yet, as Aryan's gaze traveled down her body, he noticed something that snapped him out of his momentary awe. Her clothing, though once beautiful, was torn and stained with dried blood. She wore a traditional Hanfu, the kind of ancient, flowing garment that seemed out of place in the modern world. The robe, once a brilliant shade of white with intricate blue embroidery, was now tattered. Large sections of the fabric were ripped, revealing smooth, pale skin beneath, but also deep, dark bruises and cuts that marred her perfect appearance. Blood, dried and darkened, smeared across her side, her sleeves, and the hem of her dress. Her injuries seemed recent too fresh for Aryan to ignore.
The torn Hanfu hung loosely around her body, the delicate sash that was meant to hold it together barely managing to keep the fabric in place. One sleeve had been completely torn away, leaving her right arm exposed, and the material across her chest was frayed, showing signs of a struggle or perhaps a battle. The bottom of her robe was stained with dirt and blood, the once-beautiful garment now a tragic reminder of the pain and violence she had endured.
Aryan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. Who was this woman? How had she ended up in his bed, wounded and unconscious? His mind raced with questions, none of which had clear answers.
Shaking, Aryan tried to back away, his body still lying on the bed. In his panic, he hadn't realized that he was too close to the edge. Before he knew it, he had shifted too far and his body slid off the side of the bed. The moment seemed to stretch as he tumbled, his stomach lurching with fear as gravity pulled him down.
His small bed, simple and unremarkable, was low to the ground, and his wheelchair sat beside it, a reminder of his recent loss of mobility. The sheets, still crumpled from his sleep, slipped along with him as his body toppled over the edge. Aryan's hands flailed as he tried to catch himself, but it was too late—he hit the cold, hard floor with a thud.
"Aww!" Aryan yelped in surprise as the impact rattled his body. The sharp pain that shot through his arms and back only added to his panic. He struggled to move, instinctively trying to stand up, but the crushing reality of his situation quickly set in. His legs useless, unresponsive lay limply beneath him. He had forgotten, in his fear and confusion, that his lower body no longer functioned.
Gritting his teeth, Aryan tried to pull himself up, his arms trembling with effort. But the shock and the pain overwhelmed him, leaving him in a heap on the floor, gasping for breath. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still racing, unable to process everything that had happened in such a short span of time.
Just then, a soft sound broke the silence a quiet groan coming from the woman on the bed. Aryan froze, his heart skipping a beat as he heard her stirring. Slowly, the woman began to wake, her eyelids fluttering open. She blinked several times, her eyes unfocused and hazy, as if she were trying to make sense of her surroundings.
Aryan watched her in stunned silence, unable to move or speak. The woman's lips parted, and she let out a soft, confused murmur.
"Where… where am I?" she whispered, her voice weak and hoarse.
Her gaze slowly drifted around the room, taking in the unfamiliar environment. Aryan could see the confusion in her eyes as she struggled to make sense of where she was. She winced slightly, bringing a hand to her head as though she were in pain. It was clear she was disoriented, and from the look of her injuries, she had been through something terrible.
Her eyes eventually landed on Aryan, who was still sprawled on the floor, his face pale and his breathing shallow. For a moment, their gazes locked, and an intense wave of uncertainty passed between them. Aryan could see the questions forming in her mind, the same questions he had been asking himself since the moment he saw her.
"Who… who are you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "And… who am I?"
Her words sent a chill down Aryan's spine. She didn't know who she was. The panic that had been slowly building inside Aryan now exploded into full-blown fear. This woman this beautiful, injured, mysterious woman had no memory of who she was or how she had ended up in his bed.
Aryan's mouth opened, but no words came out. His throat felt tight, and he couldn't think of what to say. How could he possibly explain the situation when he didn't even understand it himself?
After what felt like an eternity, Aryan managed to find his voice, though it was shaky and uncertain. "I-I don't know," he stammered. "I don't know who you are, or how you got here."
The woman's brow furrowed in confusion. She tried to sit up, wincing as the movement caused her pain. Her hand instinctively went to one of the deeper cuts on her arm, pressing against it as though to stop the bleeding, even though the wound had already begun to scab over. She looked down at herself, at the bloodstained, torn hanfu she was wearing, and a flicker of fear crossed her face.
"What… happened to me?" she whispered, her voice filled with both fear and confusion. "Why am I hurt?"
Aryan had no answers. He could only sit there, lying on the floor, staring up at the woman who had somehow appeared in his bed, covered in blood and bruises. His mind raced, desperately trying to piece together some explanation, but nothing made sense. There was no logical reason for her to be here no explanation for how she had ended up in his apartment, injured and with no memory of who she was.
The silence between them stretched on, thick with tension and unanswered questions. Aryan felt like he was standing on the edge of something huge, something terrifying, and he had no idea what to do next.
Finally, the woman spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't remember anything," she said, her eyes wide with fear. "I don't know who I am… or where I came from."
Aryan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His mind was blank, overwhelmed by the impossibility of the situation.
"I... I don't know," he finally managed to stammer. "I don't know who you are or how you got here. I just... found you."
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly as if trying to determine whether she could trust him. Her hand moved instinctively to her neck, searching for something, but she froze when she realized it was gone.
"The necklace..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Where is the necklace?"
Aryan's heart skipped a beat. He glanced down at the blue crystal that hung around his neck, glowing faintly in the dim light of the room.
It was the same necklace.
Aryan's mind reeled. Could this necklace be the connection between them? Could it explain how she had appeared out of nowhere, wounded and lost, in his bed? He didn't know, but one thing was certain the crystal held more power than he could have ever imagined.
The woman's eyes locked onto the crystal, recognition flickering in her gaze. "That necklace... It belongs to me," she said softly, her voice a mixture of desperation and fear.