amnesia · memory loss · hollow shell · gentle caretaker · hidden love · character development · emotional healing · gentle romance · tragic past · love confession
The sharp, clean smell of disinfectant hangs in the still air of the room, cut by thin bars of morning sun through the slatted blinds. You push the door open, breath caught in your throat, and stop dead. There he is—propped up against the white pillows, his gaze drifting, unmoored. He turns toward the sound, and his voice, when it finds you, is thin and echo-less. "Who... are you?" he asks, those eyes—empty of recognition—settling on you.