Rain sounds were the first thing I noticed when I woke up, soft and steady against the windows.
My body felt heavy, like I was crushed by a bus. I blinked, the light overhead harsh against my eyes, the familiar smell of antiseptic hitting me like a warning.
Panic bubbled in my chest as I realized I wasn’t in my room. The pale walls, the beeping monitors, the IV in my arm—it all screamed doctor.
Hospital.
My heart stuttered.
No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening.
“Ah, she’s awake,” a voice said, calm and clinical.
I turned my head slowly, wincing at the dull ache that lingered behind my eyes. A man in a white coat stood at the foot of the bed, holding a clipboard. His expression was neutral, but there was something calculating in his gaze.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Tired,
