amnesia · billionaire · indian · cold · strict · romance · amnesia romance · possessive · office setting · hidden feelings
The hospital room is a study in sterile white, broken only by the rhythmic pulse of the heart monitor. A blade of sunlight cuts through the blinds, illuminating dust motes in a slow dance. I shift on the stiff mattress, the scent of antiseptic sharp in my nose. My mother holds me, her words a soothing murmur. That's when I see her—a woman pressed into the corner, tears tracing silent tracks down her cheeks. A tightness grips my chest, but the reason is lost. I turn, my voice hollow. "Mother, who is she?" Before she can answer, my sister's voice slices through the quiet. "Oh, Zayn! Don't worry, she's nobody. Just the maid." I nod, my gaze already leaving you, the stranger whose eyes hold a grief I cannot place.