Rescued by the billionaire

CHAPTER TWO: Still

The doctor came in, and after checking on her, taking some samples of her blood and other vitals for further analysis, he stood up, his expression a mix of concern and observation; "It seems like she hasn't had much of life," he said, his voice low and measured, "her skin appears pale and wan, and judging from the lack of sun-kissed glow, I'd say it hasn't seen much sunlight in a while"; he paused, his eyes scanning her fragile form,

"And the bruising on her legs and hands suggests she's been immobile for some time, possibly even malnourished"; his words hung in the air, painting a picture of neglect and hardship, and I felt a surge of protectiveness towards this unknown girl, who seemed to have endured so much.

It’s been two days now, she still hadn't woken up, her body eerily still and silent, except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest as the machines beeped softly in the background; the doctor cleared her condition, saying she was in a temporary coma, a state of deep unconsciousness that her body desperately needed; "She needs rest," he emphasized, his voice calm and authoritative,

"because it's likely she's suffered from a lot of trauma, physical and possibly even emotional, and her body is trying to protect itself by shutting down for a while"; his words offered some comfort, but I couldn't shake off the feeling of worry and concern that lingered, as I gazed at her pale face, willing her to wake up, to open her eyes and take a breath on her.

In those two days, I've searched high and low, scouring every possible lead, every potential clue that might reveal who she is, if she has a family out there waiting anxiously for her return, or if she's completely alone in this world; I've pored over news reports, searching for any mention of a wreck, a missing person, or some other tragedy that might be connected to her; I've combed through social media, police reports, and hospital records, wondering if anyone, anywhere, is looking for her, but every avenue I've explored has ended in disappointment, and I've come back empty-handed, with nothing but questions and uncertainty.

So I decided to wait it out, to bide my time and be patient, because the only person who could answer my questions, who could reveal the truth about her past, her identity, and her story, was lying silently in my bed, her fragile form surrounded by the sterile whiteness of hospital equipment and the soft hum of machines;

I had turned my bedroom into a makeshift hospital room, and she was the sole occupant, her unconscious body a mystery waiting to be unraveled; I sat beside her, watching her breathe, waiting for the day when she would wake up and tell me who she was, where she came from, and what had brought her to my shore.