The woman's eyes slowly opened. Her vision felt like a single thin line of light seeping through her eyelids. The light slowly expanded, blinding, then formed a vague shadow of a cold, white ceiling. Too white, too foreign. She blinked once, twice—and only then did she realize she was lying down, her body feeling heavy, as if she had just returned from a long journey.
Above her, an IV bag hung, dripping with a regular rhythm. Interspersed with that, another sound emerged—hasty footsteps, the rustle of fabric, faint whispers. When her eyes opened wider, she saw people surrounding her. They were all dressed in all white. Nurses. So many of them. All moving fast as if welcoming something they had been waiting for.
But she didn't recognize any of them. Their hands worked deftly checking the tubes, pressing her arm, adjusting the position of the pillow. Amidst the crowd, only one person was different. There was a man standing slightly farther away, leaning against the wall with a face that looked a little worried. A thick beard covered his chin, obscuring most of his expression. His curly hair was messy, as if he had been through a long, sleepless night. His white skin looked red as if he had spent a lot of time in the heat of the sun.
He did not move closer. Only watched.
Meanwhile, a woman in a white uniform—neater, more authoritative than the nurses—approached and examined her directly.
"Hi, I am your doctor, who has been taking care of you for this past week. My name is Dr. Jihan Reksa. Try to blink, sweetie," the doctor commanded, gently yet clearly. The woman complied.
"Good..." The doctor gave a small smile.
"Do you know where you are, dear?"
She tried to look around again, but everything remained unfamiliar. The cold room. The white light. The pungent smell of antiseptic.
"In a hospital?" she replied hesitantly.
"Good." The doctor noted something on a tablet. "What is your name?"
The question made the world seem to drift even further away. A name. A small thing that should come out automatically. But now—there was nothing in her head. She tried to dig, to force it.
"Umm..." She swallowed, afraid of her own answer. "I don't remember, Doc."
The doctor stopped writing. Looked at her.
Several nurses beside her exchanged glances and then started writing something down. The sound of a pen scratching on paper made her even more confused.
"Do you remember what happened to you?"
The question should have been easy. But the silence came again—a silence so vast it felt like it was sucking the air out of her. No images. No events. No indication of who she was or how she ended up here.
"Umm... I don't know, Doctor. Why? Why did I forget?"
The doctor smiled gently, "It's alright. We will find out what happened to you together, okay? For now, you need to get enough rest."
Then the doctor turned to the man in the navy jacket. "And sir, please come with me."
The man flinched slightly. As if he had just realized he was ordered to follow. He looked at the woman on the bed—for a long time, almost as if he wanted to speak, but his words died before they could come out.
The nurses slowly left one by one. The sound of their footsteps faded down the hallway. The doctor walked, calling the man, and he followed.
Until finally, the door closed.
And the silence came.
For the first time since opening her eyes, the woman felt alone in the utterly foreign room. Accompanied only by the gentle chime of the IV drip and the sound of the monitor.
She tried to move her fingers. Pain. Her shoulder. Pain. Her body felt as if it had just fought a war against something she could never remember.
She looked back up at the white ceiling. Flat. Plain. Offering no clues at all.
Who was she?
The question kept hanging, filling the room. Beneath it all, there was a fear. What if she fell asleep and woke up still not remembering anything?
She inhaled slowly. Her chest rose and fell with a slow, careful rhythm. There was no choice but to wait, even though she didn't know what she was waiting for.
Some time passed in the stillness that made the room feel larger than it should. Only the sound of the monitoring machine continued to tick, constant like a breath trying to soothe. The woman closed her eyes briefly, trying to feel her own body, but all she got was a slight dizziness whenever she tried to recall anything.
The sound of the door opening softly broke the silence.
Someone entered. Their steps were slow, careful, as if afraid to disturb. When the woman turned, she saw the man from earlier—the one who stood at the edge of the room and said nothing.
Now the man carried a small plastic bag. The warm aroma of porridge slowly filled the air in the room.
He sat on the chair beside the bed. And only from this close distance did the woman notice something she hadn't realized before: there was a faint scar on the man's lip. A thin line, but it looked recent. Something that would look painful if touched.
"The doctor said you can eat and drink now," the man said in a heavy voice.
He poured water into a small plastic cup, slowly tilting it to the woman's lips. The woman opened her mouth hesitantly, sipping a little. Then she was fed the porridge—spoonful by spoonful—and although what she received was only a bland taste.
The man sighed deeply. A breath that seemed to hold hundreds of unspoken things.
"You've been unconscious for a week," he said softly. "And... you've forgotten your name. Forgotten everything you've been through." He paused for a moment, looked at the floor, then looked back at her. "So... what's the last thing you remember?"
The question made the woman's chest feel heavy. She tried to dig for something—anything—but all that came up was darkness. Formless, soundless, eventless darkness.
"I just feel like... this is the first time I've opened my eyes," the woman said in a small voice. "There are no memories at all."
One second of silence. Two seconds. The man bowed his head slightly.
"Alright," he finally said. His voice was calm, but there was something broken deep within it. "For now... you'll stay with me after you leave here. While you try to remember your past."
He pulled his chair closer, then said in a voice softer than before.
"Let me introduce myself... my name is Rio."
The name hung silently in the air. The woman felt it, trying to link the name to something in her head—but it remained empty.
"Since you've forgotten your name," Rio continued slowly, "what would you like your name to be?"
The question made the woman fall silent. She thought of a name. Any name. After a while, she finally looked up and said softly,
"My name is Ira."
She looked at Rio, and somehow felt it was the right name. "Nice to meet you, Rio."
Rio nodded slightly. A faint smile appeared on his face, although his eyes still held an untraceable worry.
"Nice to meet you, Ira."
And in the silent hospital room, Ira felt for the first time something akin to a beginning. A beginning she didn't necessarily choose, but one she now had to live.