A searing light floods my vision, forcing my eyes open. I blink, struggling to focus as everything around me swims in and out of view. My limbs feel like they belong to someone else, heavy and slow to respond. Gradually, the numbness in my hands fades, and a hazy figure begins to form in front of me.
"Take it easy. There's no rush." A calm, steady voice—a woman's—breaks through the fog in my mind.
I try to lift my hand to rub my eyes, but my arms are weighed down, as if I've been lying here for ages. The bed beneath me is soft, cradling my body in its warmth, pulling me deeper into the cocoon.
"Where… where am I?" The words scrape from my throat, dry and raspy.
Footsteps approach, and as my vision clears, I see her. A tall woman with flawless caramel skin and soft black hair pulled back from her face. Her expression is calm but concerned, and she jots something down on a clipboard before placing a hand on my forehead. A reassuring gesture, though it does little to ease the confusion swirling in my head.
"My name is Dr. Shultz," she says, adjusting her glasses. "You're in the Makuii Island Emergency Hospital. I know this must be disorienting. Do you remember anything before waking up?"
I shake my head weakly, my mind blank. As I sit up, the blanket slips, revealing an IV in my arm. I stare at the tube, feeling detached from everything happening around me.
"You were found on the shore after a plane crash," Dr. Shultz explains. "A man called it in anonymously. You were the only survivor."
"Wreckage? A man?" My thoughts race, but they're as slippery as water. "Who was he? Does he know me?"
Dr. Shultz's eyes soften. "We don't know. He didn't leave any information. From what we gathered, you were the sole survivor. I'm sorry." She hesitates, then adds, "You've suffered memory loss, likely due to the trauma."
The room tilts slightly as her words sink in. Amnesia. No memory of who I am or how I got here. The pressure builds in my chest, threatening to crush me.
"I know this is overwhelming," she says gently. "You'll need time to heal. Rest, and we'll take it one step at a time."
She steps back, leaving me alone with my thoughts, my mind reeling. I stare at the ceiling, the sterile lights above flickering as if mocking me. Slowly, I begin to take in the room around me. The white walls, the black door with a small window at its center, the camera above it watching every move. Even the shiny floor reflects my reflection—a stranger with curly brown hair, hollow-eyed and lost.
On the bedside table, a newspaper catches my eye. The headline reads: "Sole Survivor of Plane Crash Found on Makuii Island." My hand trembles as I reach for it.
The article confirms everything—six passengers, five bodies. Me, the only survivor. The words blur as my chest tightens, and I slam the paper back down. My breath comes in short gasps. Why can't I remember?
Desperation claws at me as I glance around the room, searching for something familiar. I inch to the edge of the bed, my legs weak and trembling as I stand. I grab the IV stand for support, dragging it with me as I stumble toward the door.
Locked. Of course, it's locked.
I peer through the window, but there's nothing—just the camera, lifeless and unblinking. A tear slips down my cheek, and I turn back to the bed, collapsing into it. I curl into myself, letting the darkness close in. Sleep, at least, offers a brief escape.
***
The days blur together. Dr. Shultz visits every morning, asking if I remember anything. Every day, I tell her no. Every night, I cry myself to sleep, lost in a world I can't make sense of.
But today is different. There's a soft knock on the door, and when Dr. Shultz enters, she's not alone. Two men with badges follow her, along with a couple I don't recognize.
The woman catches my eye first. Her deep caramel skin is the same shade as mine, and her long black hair cascades in soft curls. She stands by the door, her piercing blue eyes locked on me, tears silently falling down her cheeks. The man beside her is tall and sharp in a navy suit, his green eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes me uneasy. He steps forward, kneeling beside the bed.
"Hey," he says softly. "I'm William, and that's Valarie," he gestures toward the woman. "We're your family—your aunt and uncle."
He holds up a small photograph. A little girl in a red dress, her brown curls tied with a ribbon, smiles at the camera, carefree and full of life.
"This is you," William says gently. "Your name is Tai."
Tai. My name. It feels distant, like it belongs to someone else.
"We've come to take you home," Valarie says, her voice trembling as she approaches.
I look between them, my heart torn between disbelief and the hope that what they're saying is true. Could they really be my family? Everything feels surreal, like I'm living someone else's life.
"They've provided the proof of your relationship, already" Dr. Shultz adds. "It's all legitimate."
It all seems too easy.
Within the hour, I'm being discharged.