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.

Isabelle's hands trembled as she reached for the glass of water by her bedside. The cold glass felt alien in her hands, as though it didn’t belong. She sipped slowly, her eyes darting to the door where David had just left. There was something about the way he'd looked at her, something in his eyes that made her feel like she didn’t truly know him.

She set the glass back down, the quiet of the room amplifying her thoughts. How could she not remember? She had to know more, had to understand what had happened to her, and why her past felt so… out of reach.

Her mind was still foggy, but the fleeting moments of clarity were unsettling. Was it the accident that caused this? Or was there something deeper? The nurse’s words echoed in her mind: "You’ll remember soon enough."

But would she?

As if on cue, the door opened again. This time, it was a doctor, mid-40s, with a calm yet slightly distant expression. Dr. Hawkins was tall, his white coat pristine, and his posture exuded a sense of professional detachment.

“Feeling better, Isabelle?” he asked, his voice smooth but formal.

“I think so,” she replied, her gaze scanning his face, searching for any hint of familiarity. She didn’t recognize him, but his presence didn’t feel threatening. He wasn’t like David. He was… neutral. “What happened to me?”

Dr. Hawkins pulled a chair from the corner and sat, leaning forward just slightly, his hands clasped in front of him. “You were in an accident. A car crash. But we don’t have all the details yet. You were found unconscious, and you’ve been in a coma for several days.”

A car crash? She tried to piece it together. There were flashes in her mind—flashes of light, screeching tires, a sudden impact. But they were too faint, like fragments of a broken mirror. She couldn’t make sense of them.

“Is there anyone… family?” Isabelle asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Someone who could help her remember?

Dr. Hawkins nodded. “Your family was notified. Your brother, Richard, has been by your side since you woke up. He’s in the waiting room now.”

Richard. The name felt vaguely familiar, but no faces came to mind. No memories. She clenched her fists, the frustration building inside her. Why couldn’t she remember?

The doctor seemed to sense her rising anxiety. “It’s normal, Isabelle. Amnesia often occurs after head trauma. We just need time.”

Time. That word had been said to her too many times. Her life felt like a waiting game, and with each passing moment, she felt more and more like she was losing herself. Who was she really?

“Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, her voice tight.

Dr. Hawkins hesitated, his eyes flicking toward the door before returning to hers. “We’re still waiting for the full medical report, but… there’s something strange. Your scans show signs of old injuries—multiple, older fractures, scars you should remember.” He paused. “But you don’t.”

Isabelle blinked, her heart racing. “What do you mean? Old injuries?”

“Bruises, fractures… injuries that suggest you’ve been through something before this accident. We’ll need to dig deeper, but it’s odd.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Are you saying I’ve been hurt before? That I’ve… been in other accidents?” The thought made her stomach churn. What was she hiding from herself?

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” Dr. Hawkins said, his voice calm but distant. “You just need to focus on recovering now.”

Recovering. The word felt like an illusion, like the world around her was slipping further out of reach. Isabelle watched the doctor as he stood up and headed for the door, his footsteps too measured to offer any comfort.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice soft as he opened the door. “You’ll remember soon enough.”

The door closed behind him, and Isabelle was left alone again, the silence pressing in. The mention of old injuries haunted her. Why didn’t she remember? What was being kept from her?

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the small bedside table, brushing her hand over the objects there. A few books, a small notebook, and a pen. The notebook was slightly worn, the cover a dull shade of navy. She opened it to the first page, hoping for something familiar, anything that could shed light on the mystery of her life.

But the pages were blank.

Blank.

She flipped through more pages, but each one was the same. Empty.

Suddenly, a strange sense of urgency filled her chest. Someone didn’t want her to remember. Someone was hiding the truth.

Isabelle slammed the notebook shut. The sound echoed through the quiet room, leaving her feeling more isolated than ever.

She couldn’t stay here, in this bed, trapped in a fog of confusion. She needed answers. She had to find a way to remember.

There was a flicker of movement in the hallway, and Isabelle froze. Was that David? No. This time, it wasn’t him.

She stood up, her legs unsteady beneath her, and moved to the window. Through the glass, she saw something that made her heart stop: a figure standing just outside the hospital building, watching her room.

It was too far away to make out clearly, but something about the figure felt… wrong.

Isabelle’s pulse quickened. Who was that?

She backed away from the window slowly, her thoughts racing. This was no longer just about memory loss. Someone was watching her.

And Isabelle had a sinking feeling that this was just the beginning.

Isabelle couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. She stood by the window for a long time, staring at the figure in the distance. Every instinct told her something was wrong. Her hands clenched into fists, and her breath quickened. Who was that person? Why were they standing there, just out of reach, like a ghost at the edge of her mind?

She stepped back, her heart racing, and turned toward the door. The hospital room felt too small now, too suffocating. She needed to get out, to find out what was going on, but her legs felt weak and unsteady.

Her gaze flickered to the bed, then to the small, empty notebook on the table. Could the answers lie somewhere in her own memories? If only she could remember.

Just as she was about to sit back down, there was a knock at the door. She froze. The figure outside the window lingered in her mind, but she forced herself to focus on the present.

“Come in,” she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

The door creaked open, and Richard, her brother, stepped inside. His face was tight with concern, and his eyes flicked to her slowly, as if he was unsure how to approach her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone soft but strained.

Isabelle smiled faintly, trying to reassure him, though she was far from okay. “I’m fine, Richard. Just… a little tired.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering on her like he was searching for something in her expression, something he wasn’t finding. Isabelle couldn’t help but feel like she was under a microscope. Why did he look at her like that?

“I’m glad you’re awake,” he said, stepping closer and pulling a chair from the corner to sit beside her. “We’ve all been worried.”

“We?” she echoed, her voice tight. “Who’s been here, Richard?”

He hesitated, his jaw tensing. “Mom and Dad were here yesterday. They left early this morning. They’ll be back soon.”

Isabelle nodded slowly, but something felt off. Mom and Dad. Their faces eluded her, like a distant memory she couldn’t quite grasp. “And… David?” she asked cautiously, her eyes searching his face for any sign of discomfort.

Richard shifted uncomfortably. “David’s been coming by, but he’s been really busy with work. He said he’d stop by later today.” He smiled faintly. “You know how he is—always too busy.”

Isabelle’s thoughts raced. She had no memory of David’s visits, no sense of time passing when he was around. Why didn’t she remember him being here?

Before she could ask more, Richard stood up and walked toward the door. “I’ll let you rest. But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

As he opened the door, Isabelle’s eyes locked onto his. “Richard…” she started, her voice trembling. “I don’t remember anything. I can’t remember anything. What happened to me? Why can’t I—” She cut herself off, her throat tightening. She was tired of the endless questions with no answers.

Richard’s expression darkened for a moment, and then he forced a smile. “It’s okay. You just need time. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

He left before she could say anything else, and the door clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone once again.

Isabelle slumped back in her bed, her thoughts racing. What was Richard hiding? Why was he so evasive?

The more she tried to piece things together, the more fragmented her mind became. The images, the names, the events—they all blurred together like a jigsaw puzzle missing half its pieces.

She stood up, a sense of urgency filling her chest. She couldn’t stay here, locked away in a sterile room with nothing but her confusion. There had to be more she could do. She had to remember.

As she made her way to the door, her mind flashed back to the figure outside. The memory was fleeting but vivid—someone watching her from the shadows. The thought sent a chill down her spine. Who was it?

She opened the door quietly, her footsteps echoing in the empty hallway. The nurses’ station was just down the hall, and she moved quickly, hoping to slip by unnoticed. She was determined to find out more about what had happened to her, to uncover the truth behind her memory loss and the strange sense of being watched.

As she passed the nurse’s station, she noticed a figure standing near the elevator. It was a man, dressed in a dark coat, his face partially obscured by the collar. He wasn’t looking directly at her, but Isabelle could feel his gaze follow her movements.

A strange, unsettling feeling washed over her. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about him seemed… off. Who was he?

Isabelle quickened her pace, turning the corner just as the elevator doors opened. She stepped inside, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest. She pressed the button for the ground floor, hoping to escape whatever had been lingering in the hall.

The elevator descended slowly, the quiet hum of the machinery the only sound. Isabelle’s mind raced as she thought of everything she had seen and heard so far. Richard, David, the mysterious figure… it was all connected somehow, and she needed answers.

When the elevator finally reached the ground floor, Isabelle hesitated before stepping out. She needed to find a way to talk to David or figure out what was going on without anyone stopping her. As she stepped out of the elevator, she was greeted by a sudden, piercing sound—her phone ringing loudly in her pocket.

She froze.

It wasn’t a number she recognized.

Her breath hitched as she glanced around, then quickly answered. “Hello?”

A voice, deep and distorted, crackled through the line. “You’re getting too close, Isabelle. Be careful. The truth is closer than you think, but it’s dangerous.”

The line went dead.

Isabelle’s blood ran cold. Who was that?