I wake up with a sharp, searing pain in my head. It feels like the world just smashed into me, and I am trying to piece it together. My eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I can't understand where I am. The smell of antiseptic and the beeping of machines fill the air, and I realize—too slowly—that I am in a hospital bed.
I look up, followed by the question: Why am I here? What happened to me? I try to remember how I ended up in a hospital bed with several injuries, but it's like a part of my memory has been erased. Funny how I'm thinking about the one movie I watched once, where the girl lost her memory due to an accident and had to start her life over again. It was hard, sure, but I hope that's not the case with me. I try to remember my name. If I remember my name, then I'll remember everything.
"Miss Rae?" A soft voice calls.
"That's me." I say, and I'm a hundred percent sure my name is Rae, no comments.
"How are you feeling?" he asks. His face is kind of blurry from my vision—I mean, everything is blurry already—and I can only tell that I'm in a hospital bed thanks to the rest of my working senses.
"Ahh—not well," I say.
"Do you remember what happened to you?" he asks.
"It would be better if you told me," I say, still trying to see clearly. I blink my eyes, trying to focus, and then slowly my vision clears. There it is: a doctor wearing an apron and a stethoscope around his neck. He's wearing glasses, but even though his eyes are guarded by the glasses, and my vision is still kind of blurry, I can see his green eyes. It's strange how they're not totally green, but a little bit brown, like sunlight touching the leaves.
"According to the report, it happened on December 31st at 4:30 PM. A young woman, age 25, was reportedly hit by a truck, resulting in a severe head injury and a slight fracture in the left leg. Fortunately, she was admitted to the nearest hospital in time and saved from further damage." After reading the report, he looks at me with his straight face.
"And why doesn't she remember any of it?" I ask, still lying in the bed.
"We'll know after some tests," he says. As he is leaving, my eyes fall on his name tag: Asher Lively.
After the doctor left, one of the nurses came in to remind me to take my medications: a violet, a yellow, and a red-blue capsule. Seeing them is almost nostalgic. I can't quite figure out why, but it's strange how I already know their taste even before I take them. The nurse waits for me to take them as I make a face.
"Can you please call my sister?" I ask, swallowing the first pill. Soon, its bitterness fills my mouth.
"I believe she has been informed," the nurse says, and she leaves shortly after that.
Lily, my older sister, is someone I can always count on. I wonder why she isn't here yet, even though she's been informed. I'm so sure that the first thing she did when she found out about the accident was panic and faint. And when she regained consciousness, I can only imagine her panic spiraling all over again.
Lying in bed all day is definitely not my thing. Even though my head is still throbbing and my leg refuses to work properly, I'm grateful the divine spared my hands. I can't imagine anything happening to them. They are my breadwinners, my connection to the world of art, my most precious treasure. What is life if not a great artwork?
I manage to sit up, though my head feels like I'm carrying a 50-kilogram weight. The dizziness is overwhelming, but I push through it.
Doctor Asher walks in, clipboard in hand. As he approaches, I can't help but notice his broad shoulders and the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose—like golden sand brushed onto his skin. It's almost unreal how someone can look this divine.
I'm momentarily stunned, but before I can say anything, Lily bursts into the room. Her blonde curls bounce with her hurried steps, and she practically shoves Doctor Asher aside as she rushes to me.
"Oh, my baby!" she gasps, panic etched all over her face. I instantly regret not pretending to be unconscious.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I say quickly as she inspects my injuries. Her hands grip mine tightly as she sits beside me, her eyes scanning every inch of me."They told me you were in critical condition," she says, her voice trembling.
Doctor Asher steps forward, and Lily looks at him as though he just appeared out of thin air.
"Hello, Miss Kape," he says politely.
"Doctor Asher, right?" she asks.
"Yes, we spoke on the phone," he replies with a calm, measured tone.
"You told me my sister was in serious condition," Lily says, her voice still shaking.
"She was," Doctor Asher says. "When she was brought in, her pulse was dangerously low, and she had lost a significant amount of blood. It seemed nearly impossible to save her. But this morning, she seems completely fine. I'm still trying to understand how it happened."
He looks at me then, his green eyes filled with a strange mix of curiosity and suspicion, as if I'm some kind of unsolvable puzzle. I shake my head, unable to make sense of it myself.
After a while, Lily leaves to get me some fruits, and Doctor Asher remains. I notice how he lingers, his attention fixed on the monitor attached to me.
"What were my chances of surviving last night?" I ask.
"Not even one percent," he says without looking up, jotting something on his clipboard.
"So, I was practically dead," I murmur.
"According to my calculations, you shouldn't even be sitting up right now. You should either be dead or in a deep coma. But that's only the second most fascinating thing about this case," he says, finally turning toward me.
"What's the first?" I ask, my curiosity piqued.
He pauses, his expression unreadable. "You really don't remember anything?"
I shake my head, frustration bubbling inside me.
"When you were brought in," he says slowly, "you weren't entirely unconscious. You were hovering between consciousness and oblivion."
"Really?" I ask, searching my mind for any fragment of memory but finding none.
"You kept calling out a name," he continues, his voice quieter now.
"A name?" I ask, leaning forward despite the ache in my head. "What name?"
He hesitates, as if choosing his words carefully. "Asher. You were calling for me."