I sit up slowly in the hospital bed and pull the blanket closer to my chest. The room smells like lemon soap and cold metal, but then a sweet, soft, familiar smell comes in.

Blooms.

I blink at the tall person coming towards me. Adrian. He has a bunch of light pink roses tucked under his arm.

He smiles softly. "Good morning, Lana."

First, I look at the roses. Rose petals are like soft eyelids. Pink like the sun setting on a warm day. My chest hurts. I don't know why.

I swallow. "Why those flowers?"

He stops next to the bed and raises the bouquet a bit. "You've always loved these." Roses in the garden that are pink. You said they made your mornings easier.

My fingers curl up tightly under the blanket.

Always. Loved. Good morning.

He talks like he knows my heart better than I do.

I say softly, "I didn't say that."

"You used to," he says softly.

He puts the flowers on the little table next to me. He brushes a fallen petal with his fingers and watches it for a second, as if that little thing means something to him.

I pull back until my back touches the bed rail.

His eyes are on me again. "How did you sleep?" To your left, right? You always look to your left when you want to feel safe.

My breath stops.

My hands move under the blanket, pressing against my own legs as if I can hide the shaking.

I ask, "How do you know that?"

He seems shocked. "Lana... I'm your husband. Every night, I watched you sleep.

I can't breathe. A weird heat is creeping up my neck. Not mad. Not scared. Something that is mixed. Something is wrong.

He moves closer. "Sometimes you curl your fingers like this-"

He shows me by softly folding his fingers in like a little bird that is resting.

I do that. I saw it this morning.

My stomach hurts.

He shouldn't know these things.

"How-" My voice breaks. "How can you say it like you're sure?"

He sits down in the chair next to my bed. Slowly. With care. As if he doesn't want to scare me.

He says, "I'm sure because I lived with you." "I woke up next to you. I know how you act. Your scent. Your feelings. All of it.

The words hang heavy in the air.

I look at him. Look closely.

He keeps looking at me. They drink me in, soft and deep, as if he's trying to remember my face again.

It feels too close.

I put my hand behind my ear and lift it up without thinking. His eyes follow the movement, and something sharp flashes in them, as if he remembers something I don't.

I clear my throat. "Thank you for the flowers." Why?

He smiles again, this time a small, warm smile. "You always said that fresh flowers helped you breathe better in the morning."

I stop.

That word is always there.

I shake my head. "Stop acting like you know everything."

"I don't know everything," he says softly. "But I know you."

"No," I say quickly. "You know one side of me. Not me.

His smile goes away and is replaced by something sad. His fingers grip the chair's arm tightly.

He whispers, "You used to say the same thing when you were mad." "You would turn away and not look at me." Like this.

I quickly look up and meet his eyes.

He raises his hands softly, as if to calm a scared animal. Lana, I'm not trying to hurt you.

My shoulders get tight.

"I'm just being honest with you."

The room gets quiet. The only sound in the room is the soft hum of the air conditioner.

He leans forward a little. "Do you want your coffee?" I know you like your coffee in the morning to be strong. Two tablespoons of sugar. No milk.

My heart skips a beat.

I can almost taste the coffee in my mouth.

Very strong.

Nice.

Black.

How does he know that?

I swallow hard. "Stop. "Just stop for a second."

He stops moving. His jaw gets tense. A muscle near his temple twitches.

"Okay," he says softly. "I'll stop."

But his eyes-his eyes keep looking at me.

I don't know why, but it seems like he's looking inside me. Something from the past. A loss.

My chest goes up and down too quickly. I hold on to the blanket again.

I have a question for him. Something easy. Something that hurts. Something that will cut through this fog around me.

I whisper, "Adrian." "Are you telling me the truth?"

His whole body stops moving.

He blinks once. Slowly.

Then he sits back in the chair, straightens his shoulders, and speaks in a low, steady voice. "No." "I've never lied to you."

I frown. "But you could."

"Yes," he says in a low voice. "But I'm not."

I turn my head a little to watch him.

He doesn't move, but he does watch me.

This man knows how I sleep. I love the flowers. The way I drink coffee. The way I move my hands. How I look away when my chest feels tight.

He knows a lot.

And I don't know anything.

He suddenly reaches into a small bag that is next to his chair.

I can't breathe.

"What are you taking out?" I ask quickly.

He raises one hand to calm me down again. "It's fine." It's just your stuff.

My stuff?

He takes out a small hair ribbon that is cream-coloured. Gentle. Worn out on the edges.

A little spark inside me makes me jump.

He gives it to them. "You used to wear this every day."

I look at it.

My lungs feel tight. My fingers are twitching.

The ribbon makes me feel warm and shaky inside. Like a memory that tries to swim up but slips away before it gets to the light.

I shake my head. "No." I don't... I don't remember that.

His face drops. Just a little. But I can see it.

He wraps his hand around the ribbon and pulls it back to his chest, where he presses it for a moment. Like holding something close to your heart.

"I remember," he says quietly.

I quickly look away and focus on the pink roses. The small fan in the corner makes their petals shake.

Why do I feel like someone is watching me even when he isn't?

"Adrian," I say softly. "What if you're not right?"

He looks up. "About what?"

"About me."

My voice shakes. "About us."

Be quiet.

He gets up slowly. The chair makes a little noise on the floor.

He moves closer to the bed, but stops just short of it. His eyes soften again, but there is something dark hiding under the softness. Something deep down. Something from the past.

He says softly, "Lana, I loved you." I still love you. And you loved me too.

My stomach hurts.

I look at him and search his face.

He talks again, but this time his voice is lower. "And you don't forget love." Not really.

My fingers hold on to the blanket until it looks like crumpled paper.

"I don't remember anything," I say softly.

His eyes shine with pain and hope mixed together. "Then I'll help you remember."

He reaches out slowly and carefully, like he's touching a scared child.

His hand stops just a few inches from mine.

"Can I?" he asks.

I look at his hand.

At his long fingers.

At the ribbon still stuck between them.

My breath is shaking.

I don't know if I want him to be closer or farther away.

I don't know anything.

"Please," he whispers. "Let me remind you."

For a second, the room seems too small. It's too hot. Too much of him.

The way he smells. His voice. His past.

My head is spinning.

My heart is beating loudly.

My skin feels tingly.

This man, who says he is not a stranger, knows everything about me.

Everything but one thing-

The truth that I know.

I look at his hand once more.

Then I say something to answer-

And the door flies open.

We both jump.

A nurse runs inside, her face tight with worry.

She says, "Mr. Reyes, we need you outside right away," out of breath. There is a problem.

Adrian stiffens up.

He slowly turns to face the nurse.

But his eyes... his eyes stay on me.

I swallow.

He asks, "What problem?"

The nurse looks at me and then at him again. She lowers her voice.

"It's about her file."

My heart stops.

Her file?

My file?

The nurse steps back into the hallway and waves at him urgently.

Adrian stops for a moment.

His jaw gets tight.

His eyes narrow a little, as if something dangerous just brushed against the door.

He then steps out after her.

The door shuts.

And I sit there by myself, looking at the pink roses...

...wondering what is in my file that made Adrian's face go blank.

And I was wondering why... why the nurse looked scared.

Chapter 5 HER EYES KNOW HIM

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