The Queen of her own story

Prologue The first thing Nandana felt when she opened her eyes was a dull pain in her head. She slowly blinked, staring at the unfamiliar white ceiling above her. For a few seconds, she simply lay there, trying to understand where she was. The room was quiet except for the soft sound of rain hitting the window. Everything around her looked strange—the bed, the curtains, the small table beside her. She couldn't remember seeing any of it before. When she tried to move, a sharp pain ran through her head, making her wince. “Don't move too quickly, sweetheart,” a woman's voice said beside her. Nandana turned her head and saw an elderly woman sitting beside the bed. The woman looked exhausted, but the moment their eyes met, tears immediately filled hers. She reached for Nandana's hand and held it tightly, as if she was afraid to let go. Nandana stared at her. She didn't know this woman. “Who are you?” she whispered. The woman's face fell. For a moment, she just looked at Nandana as though she couldn't believe what she had heard. “It's me, dear. I'm your mother.” Nandana frowned. Her mother? She looked around the room again, hoping that something would suddenly feel familiar. Nothing did. There was an elderly man standing near the window, watching her with worried eyes, and a young man was standing a little behind him. He looked only a few years older than her. Unlike the others, he wasn't crying. He was simply staring at her, his expression impossible to read. “That's your father,” the elderly woman said, pointing toward the man near the window. Then she looked at the young man. “And he's your brother.” Nandana looked at each of them one by one. Mother. Father. Brother. The words were familiar, but the faces were strangers. She slowly pulled her hand away from the woman's grip. “I don't remember any of you.” The room became completely silent. Her mother's eyes filled with tears again, while her father lowered his head. The young man continued looking at Nandana, but there was something strange in his eyes—something she couldn't understand. Nandana swallowed. “What is my name?” Her mother stared at her for a few seconds before answering softly, “Nandana.” Nandana repeated the name in her mind. Nandana. It sounded beautiful, but strangely unfamiliar, as though she were hearing it for the first time. “How old am I?” “Nineteen,” her father answered quietly. Nandana's heart sank. Nineteen years. She had lived nineteen years, yet there wasn't a single memory inside her head. She didn't remember her childhood, her school, her friends, her home, or even the people who were claiming to be her family. “What happened to me?” she asked. Her father exchanged a quick glance with her mother. “You had an accident,” he finally said. “Where?” “You were found near the old highway.” “By whom?” Her father hesitated. “We found you.” Nandana looked at him carefully. Something about the way he answered made her uneasy. She wanted to ask more, but suddenly a strange image flashed through her mind. Darkness. Rain. A road. Someone running. And a voice shouting her name. She grabbed her head and gasped. Her mother immediately stood up. “Nandana! What happened?” “I… I saw something.” “What did you see?” Nandana looked around the room, breathing heavily. “I don't know. I can't remember.” Her mother gently held her shoulders. “Don't force yourself. The doctor said your memories may come back slowly.” Nandana nodded, but her eyes moved toward the young man standing near the door. He was staring at her. And this time, she noticed something. Fear. He looked afraid. Not because she was hurt. But because she might remember. Nandana didn't know who she was before that day. She didn't know what had happened to her. She didn't know whether the people standing around her were truly her family. But as she lay there listening to the rain outside, one question kept repeating in her mind. If they were telling her the truth, then why did she feel like she had never belonged to them?