Aliya had been dependent on nurses for even the most basic tasks. But on September 22, panic swelled in her throat as she finally managed to use the toilet on her own. Her steps were slow, her legs wobbly, and her head felt like it was still swimming. As she reached the sink, she glanced up and saw her reflection in the mirror. The sight made it hard for her to breathe.

Aliya gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles turning white, trying to steady herself. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and forced herself to look again. It wasn't the bandage covering the cut on her forehead that shocked her; she had expected that. What unsettled her was how different she looked.

She leaned in closer, squinting at the unfamiliar face staring back at her. Her nose was thinner and sharper, a far cry from the broad nasal bridge with a straight profile she had grown up with. The new nose looked almost snub-like. Her lips were fuller, more plump than she remembered. And then there were the multiple piercings in her ears. Aliya's heart raced, and her breathing became shallow. She reached up, her fingers trembling, and touched her face, tracing the new contours of her nose and the fullness of her lips.

"This isn't me," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. Tears welled in her eyes, distorting her reflection in the mirror. Her brow furrowed as she searched for a memory, a reason for the changes, but her mind remained a blank slate. Panic clamped around her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She backed away from the mirror, her steps unsteady, and sank onto the closed toilet lid. Hugging herself tightly, she sought warmth in the cold, sterile bathroom.

The room's chill was intensified by the pristine marble tiles and soft, ambient lighting. The sink, a sleek modern design with a touchless faucet, gleamed under the lights, reflecting the clinical luxury of the space. The faint smell of antiseptic mingled with her rising fear.

A soft knock broke the silence. "Aly... Aliya..." The door creaked open, and Luke peeked in. His cheerful smile faltered at the sight of her pale face and wide, terrified eyes. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Kneeling before her, his expression softened with concern as he searched her face for answers.

"Aliya, what's wrong?" he asked gently, his voice soothing.

She looked at him, her eyes pleading for answers. "Who am I, Luke? I don't recognize myself."

Luke took her hands in his, his grip warm and reassuring. "Aliya, you had an accident. You've been through a lot. It's normal to feel disoriented."

"No," she said, shaking her head, her voice rising. "It's not just that. My face... it doesn't look like me."

He paused, seeing the turmoil in her eyes. "What do you mean?" Luke asked gently.

She looked at him, desperation mingling with confusion. "Who am I?" she repeated, her voice breaking.

Luke knelt beside her, placing a comforting hand on her knee. "You're Aliya," he said softly. "You've been a sensation for four years now, with two hit albums."

Aliya's brow furrowed, struggling to process his words. "I don't remember," she whispered, tears streaming down her face.

Luke's smile was warm but sad. "It's okay," he reassured her. "You're an amazing singer, Aliya. Your voice is incredible. I'm still your biggest fan, even after dealing with your moods every day. That voice of yours is something special."

He stood up, extending a hand to her. She took it hesitantly, her fingers cold and weak in his warm, firm grip. As he pulled her to her feet, the tiled floor felt cold beneath her bare feet. Luke supported her as they made their way back to her bed.

That night, Aliya lay in the sterile bed of her private hospital room, surrounded by the steady hum of machines and the faint antiseptic smell that permeated the air. Her mind was a chaotic storm of fragmented memories and overwhelming emotions. The soft light from the bedside lamp cast a gentle glow on her bruised face, highlighting the stark contrast between the uninjured side and the purple marks on her cheek.

"Can I go back to my 2018 and start from there?" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper as she nestled the unbruised side of her face into the cool pillow. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

She felt a surge of anger and sadness. Dylan hadn't visited her. He was still her husband when her memories stopped, and she wasn't naive; she could piece together that they must not be together anymore. But why? She couldn't remember the events that led to their separation, but she longed to go back and prevent whatever mistake had caused her to lose him. The Dylan she remembered was kind, loving, incapable of breaking her heart.

A hallucination of Dylan appeared in the chair where Luke had sat two hours ago. His familiar features, the strong jawline, the soft brown eyes filled with disappointment, made her heart ache. "How could I have let you walk out of my life like that?" she whispered to the phantom image, her voice cracking. She remembered being irrecoverably in love with Dylan, a love that felt eternal and unbreakable.

The room was filled with a deafening silence. The walls were a beige, designed to be calming, but to Aliya, they felt cold and impersonal. Her gaze shifted to the mini stereo left by Luke on the small wooden shelf across the room. The sleek black device stood out against the polished oak. She knew her songs were played on stations and streaming services now, but the thought brought her no joy. She felt disconnected from the person she used to be. She didn't recognize herself anymore, and the only person who knew her as she once was, Dylan, hadn't even blinked at her accident.

Brutal tears began to fall, and she couldn't stop them. They streamed down her cheeks, wetting the pillow beneath her head. Her body shook with the force of her sobs, a raw, unfiltered expression of her pain and confusion.

Aliya's mind wandered to Vincent, the man everyone hinted might be her current lover. She felt a pang of fear at the thought. She couldn't remember her relationship with him, and the idea that she might have replaced Dylan so quickly frightened her. What kind of person had she become? Did she truly move on so easily?

Her hands clutched the thin hospital blanket, the fabric coarse against her skin. She felt trapped in a life she didn't recognize, surrounded by faces she couldn't place, and burdened by emotions she couldn't understand. The physical pain from her injuries was nothing compared to the emotional turmoil inside her.

The door to her room creaked open softly, and a nurse stepped inside, checking the remaining medicine in her IV bag before jotting down notes on her chart. The nurse offered Aliya a sympathetic smile, but it felt insincere. Aliya turned away, avoiding the pity in her eyes.

As the nurse left, Aliya's gaze fell back on the chair where Dylan's apparition had been. She could still see him, as clear as day in her mind, his presence both a comfort and a torment. "I miss you," she whispered into the empty room, her voice barely audible over the beeping machines.

The hours dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. Aliya lay there, lost in her thoughts, memories swirling just out of reach. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep to offer some escape from the relentless anguish.

But even in sleep, there was no reprieve. Her dreams were a jumble of disjointed images: a wedding day, a smiling Dylan, a faceless man she assumed was Vincent, all blending into a nightmarish tapestry. She woke with a start, her heart racing, and the tears began anew.

Aliya stared at the ceiling, feeling utterly alone. The future seemed terrifyingly uncertain, and the past was a dark void she couldn't penetrate.

On September 23, Aliya was being released from the hospital to go back home. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the bustling city. She longed to leave the sterile, beige walls of her hospital room. It had only been seven days, twelve if she counted the days she was in a coma, but to Aliya, it felt like an eternity. She needed to get out, clear her head, and figure out how to navigate a world that felt strange and unfamiliar.

The problem was, she didn't know what "home" meant anymore. The places she remembered didn't seem to fit. The only homes she could recall were Dylan's cozy house in Vermont or their cramped apartment in New York. Her childhood house in India was comforting but felt distant. The new place she was headed to, a sleek apartment she had no memory of, terrified her.

Dr. Evelyn entered Aliya's hospital room around 9 am, her white coat flaring slightly as she moved. Her kind eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled.

"Good morning, Aliya. I'll have your discharge papers ready soon," she said warmly. "Just take it easy, drink plenty of water, and try to stay off the internet for a while, okay?"

Aliya nodded, her mind swirling with a mix of confusion and exhaustion.

"Thanks, Evelyn," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Evelyn patted her shoulder gently. "You'll be just fine, Aliya. One step at a time."

At 10:22 am, Luke arrived at the hospital, his tall frame casting a shadow that stretched into the room. His usually composed face broke into a warm smile when he saw Aliya, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling with relief and joy. He moved swiftly to her side, each step confident and purposeful. "Ready to go home?" he asked gently, his voice soft yet full of warmth that seemed to reach out and wrap around her.

"Yeah," Aliya replied, trying to muster a smile despite the exhaustion etched into her delicate features. Her dark eyes, though tired, glimmered with gratitude. Luke bent down, his strong arms gentle as he helped her into the wheelchair. The corridor stretched out ahead of them, its length punctuated by the rhythmic hum of hospital machinery and the occasional muffled conversation from behind closed doors. The walls were lined with wood paneling up to waist height, the rich brown a stark contrast to the pale, sterile color of the paint above. Stainless steel door handles gleamed under the grid pattern of recessed lighting in the ceiling, each door likely leading to patient rooms.

Luke's fingers tightened slightly on the wheelchair handles as they approached the end of the hall. "Vincent drove the car," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "He's waiting at the main entrance."

Aliya nodded, her fingers brushing against the edge of the wheelchair armrest. The hospital's cold, clinical atmosphere was something she was eager to leave behind. As they turned the last corner, the faint sound of a crowd outside grew louder, a murmur of voices.

The main entrance came into view, and with it, the sight of a large crowd gathered outside. Fans and paparazzi pressed against the barrier that kept the entrance clear for patients, their faces a mixture of eager anticipation and fierce determination. Cameras flashed incessantly, capturing every movement, every expression. The air was electric with energy, a stark contrast to the quiet, controlled environment inside the hospital.

Luke paused for a moment, his expression shifting to one of mild concern. He glanced down at Aliya, who met his gaze with a look of resignation. "Let's get this over with," she said softly, her voice barely audible over the din outside.

As they neared the doors, the crowd surged forward, desperate for a glimpse of Aliya. The security men pushed them back, but the flashing lights felt intrusive. Luke pushed the wheelchair with firm resolve, his broad shoulders forming a barrier between Aliya and the chaos. The doors slid open, and they were immediately engulfed by noise and frenzy.

"Aliya! Over here!" shouted a photographer, his camera aimed directly at her. "How are you feeling?" called another, while a fan nearby screamed her name, holding up a homemade sign adorned with glitter and hearts.

Aliya kept her head down, her dark eyes flickering with confusion as the crowd of fans surged around her. Their voices melded into a cacophony of sound that only intensified the throbbing in her temples. Flashlights burst in her vision, making her wince. She was touched by their love, but it felt distant and unreal, like a movie she couldn't remember watching.

Luke, with his strong, steady hands, pushed her wheelchair away from the frenzy. His face was a mask of calm, but she could see the worry etched in the lines around his eyes. Beside him, Vincent stood by the car, his tall frame and broad shoulders blocking some of the chaos. His expression was stoic, almost impassive, as he opened the back door, shielding her from the tumult.

"Let's get you home," Vincent said quietly, his voice a deep rumble that barely cut through the noise.

The ride was silent, the car moving smoothly through the city streets. Aliya stared out the window at the blur of cars, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in her chest. She didn't remember the fans, the noise, or even Vincent and Luke. Everything was a disjointed puzzle, pieces scattered in her mind.

When they arrived at her new apartment on W 30th Street with its view of the Hudson River, Aliya hesitated, gripping the car door for support. Vincent quickly moved to her side, his hand hovering near her elbow, ready to catch her if she stumbled. Her legs felt weak, unsteady, as if they might give out at any moment. The dizziness was her constant companion now, making her feel as though the ground might slip out from under her.

Inside the building, the elevator ride felt like it took forever. The enclosed space made Aliya's head spin even more. Vincent turned to Luke with a decisive look. "I'll sleep in the guest room, and Luke will go home," he proclaimed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Aliya glanced at Vincent, wanting to tell him that she didn't feel comfortable with him staying alone with her. She didn't know him well enough. But the words stuck in her throat, replaced by a wave of exhaustion that washed over her. The energy to express her feelings just wasn't there.

When they reached her floor, Aliya's hands trembled as she unlocked the biometric door lock with her finger. The cool metal felt foreign and unwelcoming under her touch. The door clicked open.

"Hey, welcome home," Luke said softly as he pushed the door open and gestured for Aliya to come in.

Aliya slipped off her flats and felt the coolness of the floor through her feet, sending a shiver up her spine. The drapes were down, the heat hadn't been on all day, and everything just felt a bit off. The dim light inside made it hard to believe it was midday. Vincent flipped a switch, bathing the luxurious living room in a warm glow.

"It's nice," Aliya said, her voice thin and strained as she forced a smile. Her eyes darted around, searching for something familiar. "Very... clean."

"Your room's over there," Vincent said, pointing to a closed door across the room.

"Thanks," she whispered. "I really need to rest."

"I'll walk you," Luke offered suddenly, his voice gentle. Vincent's frown deepened, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. Luke stepped forward, offering his arm for support. They walked together to her door, the silence between them heavy.

"Look," Luke said softly, stopping just outside her door. His eyes, dark with concern, searched her face. "Your room's not exactly like your old one. I saw the pictures you showed me."

A shadow of resignation flickered in her eyes as she murmured, "As long as I have a place to sleep." She didn't wait for his response, turning the knob and closing the door quietly behind her.

The room was engulfed in darkness, a stark contrast to the bright living room she had just left. She flicked the lock, feeling along the walls for a light switch. Her fingers skimmed the cold, smooth surface until she found it. The light flickered on, revealing a space drenched in grey and white. It was too luxurious, too pristine to feel like home. The drawn curtains cast long, oppressive shadows across the floor.

Aliya moved further into the room, the silence pressing in around her like a heavy cloak. Her fingers brushed against the sleek, impersonal surfaces of the furniture, each touch amplifying the coldness. She made her way to the bed and sank down onto it. The mattress was soft, comfortable, but it felt like a hotel bed—impersonal and devoid of warmth.

https://youtu.be/kzq5BpbZonU

A song by Aliya Day