Who Are You?
When Mia woke, the first thing she noticed wasn’t pain. It was the noise. Someone was pushing a cart down the hallway. One of its wheels must have been faulty. Every revolution brought a faint scrape against the floor. Once. Again. Someone coughed in the next room. Farther away, elevator doors opened and a voice said something she couldn’t make out. A phone rang at the nurses’ station and was answered almost immediately. And beside her, a monitor kept up its steady electronic beeping. Mia opened her eyes.
A white ceiling. An unfamiliar light fixture. The smell of disinfectant. She looked down at the IV in the back of her right hand. A hospital. That much was immediately clear. What she couldn’t understand was why she was there. She tried to push herself upright. That was when the pain caught up with her. Her shoulder seized, sending a sharp pull across her chest. She drew in a breath and fell back against the pillow. Someone beside her stood at once.
“Mia?”
A nurse came to the bedside.
“Don’t move yet.”
Mia didn’t answer. Frowning, she looked toward the door. The nurse was still talking, but Mia could also hear a plastic bag crinkling outside, a metal tray tapping lightly against a cart, and the rush of running water from somewhere she couldn’t begin to place. It was too close. Every sound was too close. She had spent years on tennis courts, judging ball placement, footsteps, and the crack of a racket on contact. She knew how sound was supposed to travel. It was supposed to have distance. Now it didn’t.
As if someone had crammed the entire building into her hospital room.
“Mia?”
The nurse tried again.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
Her voice came out rough. After two seconds, she added, “Too well.” The nurse gave her a look and pressed the button beside the bed.
“The doctor will be here in a moment. Please don’t move.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“The doctor will explain.”
“Why am I in the hospital?”
The nurse hesitated. Only for an instant, but Mia saw it. She looked down and examined herself again. Her wrist was immobilized. There were scrapes across the back of her hand and along her forearm. Monitoring electrodes were attached to her chest. Her shoulder hurt badly. She tried to remember. Training? A match? Driving? Nothing. Farther back, then. Her name was Maria Weiss. She was twenty-three, a professional tennis player.
She had lived in Korea as a child. She remembered her parents. Her apartment. The plant by the kitchen window that had been half-dead for six months and that she still couldn’t bring herself to throw away. The old kettle that clicked off twice whenever she boiled water, the one she kept saying she would replace and never did. All of it was there. But when she reached for anything more recent— There was nothing to reach for. Mia shut her eyes and tried again. Nothing. Not blurred. Not hidden behind a fog. Gone.
The doctor arrived soon after. He checked her pupils, then asked a series of very simple questions. Her name. Her date of birth. Her occupation. She answered every one correctly.
“Do you know where you are?”
Mia glanced at the unfamiliar outline of mountains beyond the window.
“A hospital.”
He nodded.
“Which city?”
“I don’t know.”
He didn’t look surprised.
“Do you know what year it is?”
Mia told him. His pen paused above the chart. Just once. She watched him.
“Was that wrong?”
The doctor lowered the chart a little.
“That was last year.”
Mia went still.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re safe now.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
For a moment, he said nothing.
“It’s the following year now.”
Mia stared at him. The clock on the wall kept ticking. A drop slid through the IV line. Then another. A quiet laugh escaped her. There was no humor in it.
“I slept for a year?”
“No.”
“Then why am I missing one?”
The doctor pulled up the chair beside her bed and sat down.
“Based on the tests we’ve done so far, you may be experiencing partial retrograde amnesia.”
The monitor beside her began beeping faster. Mia didn’t look at it.
“How much?”
“We can’t determine the exact extent yet.”
“Why?”
This time, the doctor didn’t avoid the question.
“You were in an accident.”
The hand Mia had resting on the sheet went still. There was still nothing in her head. No impact. No sound. No image. Not even the smallest fragment that could prove any of it had happened.
“What kind of accident?”
“We’ll go through the details once you’re a little more stable.”
Mia looked at him.
“Was anyone else involved?”
The doctor didn’t answer immediately. Her hand tightened around the sheet.
“I wasn’t alone, was I?”
“There was another injured person traveling with you.”
“How is he?”
“He’s still receiving treatment.”
“Who is he?”
The doctor hesitated. That was enough. Mia’s heartbeat surged. The sounds she had barely managed to push into the background crowded in again. Heels striking the corridor floor. Paper turning. A door shutting. Someone calling a name somewhere far away. Even the disinfectant suddenly seemed stronger. Mia pressed a hand to her temple. The movement tugged at her shoulder, and she gasped. The nurse was beside her at once.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s too loud.”
“What is?”
“Outside.”
The nurse glanced toward the closed door.
“It’s quiet out there.”
Mia didn’t answer. Of course it was. That was the worst part. The monitor beeped faster and faster. The nurse leaned over to check the readings. The doctor said something. Mia couldn’t make it out. Because at that moment, the door opened. A man stood in the doorway. He was tall, still wearing a dark coat. A trace of the cold outside seemed to cling to his shoulders, as if he’d only just arrived. His hand remained on the door handle. He didn’t come in.
Mia looked up at him. First at his face. Then his eyes. She searched them for something—anything. A name. A place. A conversation. Even a blurred image she might be able to recognize. Nothing. A stranger. But the moment she reached that conclusion— The monitor slowed by a beat. Mia barely registered it.
Then another beat. And another. The footsteps that had been pounding in her ears seemed to move farther away. The nurse’s plastic packaging no longer sounded as though it were being crumpled against her eardrum. Her shoulders, held tense since she’d woken, began to settle. Mia looked down. At some point, she had let go of the sheet. She looked back toward the door. The man was watching her too. He hadn’t moved closer. He hadn’t even spoken. He stood on the other side of the threshold, as though the doorway marked a line he had no right to cross.
Then Mia caught a faint scent. Not the hospital. Something cold. Like a forest after rain: damp bark and a faint trace of fir. Before she could place it, the man released the handle. He seemed about to leave. Her body noticed before her mind did. The noises that had retreated edged closer again. Her fingers tightened around the sheet. She blinked, startled by her own reaction. The man had already taken half a step back.
“Wait.”
The word surprised her as much as anyone. Everyone in the room turned toward her. She had no idea why she’d stopped a man she didn’t know. He stopped anyway. He didn’t come back in. He simply waited. Mia studied him for several seconds.
Then she asked, “Who are you?” He didn’t answer at once. The monitor beside her bed continued to beep. Once. Again. Slower than before. And still slowing.
