The first sound that I wake up to is a light beeping noise coming from my left.

My eyes open slowly, but a blurry fog greets me. It takes minutes for my vision to adjust and focus on my surroundings. I lay on a bed in a small room, alone. My hands are feeling strangely uncomfortable and when I look at them, I finally understand. Machines surround me. Several tubes tape to my arms and even my nose. I watch as the IV drip pumps me with a translucent fluid — the substance that's probably keeping me alive till this day.

Everything around me is stark white. The walls, the sheets, the curtains... As I stare at the ceiling above me, a question runs through my mind.

Where am I?

For a couple of minutes, I remain in a daze. My head continues to feel heavy and my eyelids weigh like rocks. Glancing towards the right of the room, I notice how the mellow sunlight is filtering through the glass window. My nose picks up a sweet fragrance coming from the bed-stand beside me and I soon spot a vase of purple lavenders. There is a powerful urge to reach out my fingers towards them and feel their soft petals, but those hands and legs of mine are defying me. Weighing me down like rocks.

Am I...paralysed?

Fear rises in me. I struggle to get my limbs moving, letting out soft groans. The noises that I make do not go unheard because the door to my room slides open without a warning. A nurse curiously pops her head into the room and when she notices that I'm awake, her face immediately turns into a look of disbelief.

"Joe?" she yells to whoever is outside. "Get the doctor in right now! The patient in room 207 is awake!"

Thereafter, it is like all hell breaks loose. Everything is a frantic blur as people turn up in my room to check on my condition. They probe me everywhere. If I showed my discomfort, none of them seem to care about it. When a doctor—a man in his late thirties with a friendly smile—shows up, he shines a light into my eyes and checks my pupils.

I want to scream at him so badly to leave me alone.

And I do it, but it turns out that my vocal cords have failed me as well. When I try to speak, a weird gurgle noise escapes my lips instead.

"Good morning, Miss Perez," he greets warmly. "Can you hear me?"

When I give a small nod, his smile widens.

"How are you feeling? Good?" Nod. "Do you know where you are?" Nod. "Do you remember what happened before this?" Shake. "What about your name?"

When I shake my head again, his smile slips. Sympathy flashes in his eyes – something which I don't quite understand. He whispers something to his colleague standing next to him, but I can't catch his words.

He leans towards me. "You went through a little of an ordeal," he explains to me. "Try not to move too much and get some rest, alright?"

He turns to the nurse who is checking the machines. "Vitals?"

"Stable, sir."

A look of satisfaction crosses his face before he performs a few more checks on me. When the procedures are finally over, he reassures me one more time before everyone, except a nurse, shuffles out of the room.

I sigh in relief. There is finally room for me to breathe and time for my brain to process everything that has happened earlier. At this point of time, I've already figured out that I'm in a hospital, but another question remains – why am I here in the first place?

I try to think back to the past and search my mind for memories that will explain my reason for being here. But I come up with nothing. Frustration hits me and all I can do is to let out a quiet huff.

Half an hour later, the door slides open and someone bursts into the room. A voice calls for me and I turn to meet the person slowly, locking eyes with a woman in her late-thirties. She is the first person I meet who isn't wearing a hospital uniform.

When she approaches me, her eyes are brimming with tears.

"Riley?"

I stare at her wordlessly. I don't recognize the name coming out of her mouth. She appears as if she knows me, but I don't. I watch as she reaches for my hand; her face melting into the gentlest smile. Her eyes scan my face lovingly, her fingers brushing strands of my hair away from my hair.

"I can't believe you're awake," she says happily, a tear slipping from her eye. "Thank God that you came back to us. If I lose you too, I won't be able to live with it."

But I stare back at her blankly.

Who are you?

I have written the question across my face and she gives me the answer that I need. "I'm your aunt," she says. "Your mother's younger sister."

When my confusion grows a notch, her hand flies to my cheek, and she strokes my face softly. Looking as if she's afraid that I'm going to panic and have a meltdown.

She chooses her words carefully. "I understand everything seems odd to you right now," she says. "I don't wish to overwhelm you with details, especially when you've just woken up. To put it simply, you were in a car accident, but you survived. For now, you need to rest. If you can't remember things, you don't have to overexert yourself. It takes time for you to recover, and I'll be here to help you every step of the way."

The weight of her words hit me. I didn't expect myself to have experienced that sort of dangerous situation, but that explains everything—my bedridden state and my lack of memories.

And none of these things makes me fear as much as me wondering what the future holds for me. What is going to happen to me from here onwards? Where am I going to live? Will I be able to lead life as a normal person again?

But do I want to find my old identity?