Name of my Love | on hold

one

Silver lining

I'm thirsty.

My throat is very dry.

I hear soft murmurings in the background. When the noises tend to grow close, I forcefully lift my heavy eyelids to decipher what's happening. White intense light falls across my face which makes me squint my eyes. While the view in front of me remain unsorted, a sharp pain pierces through my head causing me to yelp out softly.

Somewhere near me, a woman is speaking something, but I can't make out any distinct words. There's another voice that resonates along which later goes away with fading footsteps. I focus harder on the lady's voice and open my eyes instead of feeling gravity pull it down with dizziness.

With the second trial, the intensity reduces on its own, and my eyes automatically adjust to the brightness, catching up the view in front of me. And as my senses start to re-establish, the familiarity of the constant smell of iodoform and medicines permeating the air begins to sting my head. I realize the persistent volatile smell is penetrating through my nostrils ever since I'm here; lying over a hospital bed.

A lady in greyish white uniform stares my form and mouth some more words which echoes in my head sporadically, like a foreign language.

Unable to understand, I manage to part my lips and let out a dry, "sorry?"

I squint my eyes at the translucent eyesight, and it takes a few seconds before I could vividly see her in my normal vision. She's a young lady, probably in her late twenties with a pointed nose and cat-like small and sharp eyes accompanied with almost black irises. She simply stares at me and rolls her tongue, asking something. I blankly gaze at her lips. The lump in my throat and the weak pulse of mine have made me lethargic to try to converse.

She knits her brows when I do not respond and later just sighs. I flex my fingers to revitalize the blood circulation, a slight pain on the back of my hand retells me the position of IV syringes planted firmly on my skin. Breathing in, I try to push myself on my feet. Seeing me struggle, she leans forward and gingerly help me gets seated up. She places a pillow behind my back for the support and checks the drip followed by my pulse rate.

The room seems to be a general ward seeing other patients lying like frozen stones on their beds, covered by turquoise blankets. The unwavering stillness makes me feel intimidated by the sight. Are they alive?

My attention ventures back to the nurse who is showing me two of her fingers across my face, simultaneously saying something. To check my eyesight, I guess.

"What?" I mumble, confusion crowning my face. I feel compelled to answer when she frowns, still shaking her fingers. "It's two."

She narrows her eyes in an expression of disbelief. "Not a Korean?"

Her question catalyses another question, which I suppose, is more important. Who am I?

Shit. Who am I?

"I-I don't know," I nod my head sideways, partial-panic crawling underneath my skin. I force myself to think harder to recall my identity. "Who-what is my name?"

She looks surprised by my question, and it concludes what I don't want to consider at any cost. She doesn't seem to be knowing anything about me, otherwise she wouldn't have hesitated to reply back.