002-Lost In Thought
1138 Words
Sam’s day at work passed in a quick haze, accompanied by patient visits and routine rounds. But beneath her calm conduct, an unshakable sense of unease simmered. Flashes of strange places and voices tugged at the rims of her mind, vivid yet ghostly, like whispers from a life she couldn’t place. The harder she made an effort to ignore them, the louder they echoed.
By lunchtime, she headed to the cafe, her steps mechanical and her thoughts a whirl of fragmented visions. She spotted Leah, her closest colleague and the one person who could read her like an open book, already seated with her signature coffee in hand.
Leah’s eye flicked up as she moved toward her, and her usual teasing smile stuttered. “Finally. I was beginning to think you were dodging me.”
Sam slid into the seat opposite, her tray untouched. “Avoiding you? Why would I even do that?” Sam responded. ”Well, I’ve just been...distracted,” she added.
Leah’s brows rose. “Distracted? Just say distant. You’ve been acting off for days. What’s going on?”
Sam hesitated, her fingers flirting with the edge of her coffee cup. “It’s nothing. Just tired.”
Leah wasn’t buying it. She leaned in, her voice dropping. “Come on, Sam. You almost signed off on the wrong patient this morning. That’s not just tiredness.” She paused. “Daniel? Family pressure? Something else? Just talk to me.
Sam sighed, the weight of her thoughts too hefty to keep to herself anymore. “It’s… weird. Lately, I’ve been having these flashes. They feel like memories, but they don’t make sense.”
Leah frowned, setting her cup down. “Flashes of what?…that sounds weird.”
Sam’s voice dropped. “Little things. A park I don’t remember stopping by. A house I’ve never lived in. A voice calling unto me, but it’s not Daniel’s voice. It feels... familiar somehow, but I can’t place a finger on it.”
Leah’s utterance shifted from curiosity to concern. “That’s… strange. Have you hit your head recently? Maybe it’s a concussion.”
“No,” Sam responded quickly, then paused. “None that I can recall,” she added.
“Well, that’s ironic,” Leah said with a smirk. “A doctor who doesn’t know if she’s had a head injury.”
Sam couldn’t help but chuckle softly, though the anxiety remained. “It’s not a head injury,” Sam scoots. “I’d remember that.”
Leah leaned back, her eye scanning her. “If this isn’t physical, it should be stress or trauma, or you're just hallucinating.
The word hit like a jolt. “Trauma? Hallucination? Far from that, Leah, my life’s been normal.”
“Are you sure about that? If it's not hallucination or trauma, let’s say maybe you’re working too hard. If that is the case, you should get some time off and maybe apply for a break. Have you talked to Daniel about it?”
Sam hesitated, realizing how strange it would sound. “I don’t want him to worry. He’s already fussing over me.”
Leah laughed, her eyes flickering. “You have a good man. Most guys would be excited to let you handle breakfast and everything else on your own.”
Sam faked a smile, nodding. “Yeah, I know, right? I'm lucky.”
Leah puffed out air. “Well, considering we’re doctors. Memory gaps aren’t normal, Sam. You need to get this checked out.”
Sam laughed in disguise, the sound brittle. “Right. And say what? ‘Hi, I’m Dr. Taylor, and I might be losing my mind.’ No thanks. That’s not exactly going to inspire confidence in my patients, and they’re never going to see me the same.”
Leah leaned back, studying her friend. “You’re overthinking it. It’s probably nothing serious. But ignoring it isn’t helping. For all you know, it could be nothing, or you’ve worked yourself up. We both know you do that.”
Before Sam could respond, a voice broke in.
“Dr. Taylor?”
Both women turned coincidentally to see a man standing by their table. A tall man, salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, and his kind eyes radiated gratitude. Sam recognized him immediately.
“Mr...,” Sam hesitated, still pondering the full name.
“Mr. Maison,“ he added.
“My bad, I have too many names to grab,” she said warmly, standing to greet him. “How’s Lucy doing?”
His face lit up. “She’s doing much better, all thanks to you. I just wanted to stop by and say how grateful we are. Lucy talks about you all the time—how kind you’ve been. You’ve made a difference in my little girl’s health.”
Sam’s chest heated up at his words. “I’m pleased she’s doing well. She’s a brilliant kid. It’s easy to care for her.”
Mr. Maison nodded, his smile faltering for a moment as if debating whether to say more. Then, untangled. “Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to say thank you. Truly.”
Sam reciprocated his smile, watching as he walked away. As soon as he was out of earshot, Leah leaned forward, her eyes narrowed.
“Did you see that?” Leah interrupted, her tone suddenly serious.
“See what?” Sam asked, settling back into her chair.
“The way he looked at you,” Leah said, her voice dropping. “It wasn’t just gratitude. It was like… recognition. Like he knew something about you.”
Sam scoffed. “Leah, come on. He’s just thankful. Lucy’s been through a lot.”
“Maybe,” Leah said, her voice skeptical. “But it felt like more than that.”
Sam rumbled her eyes but couldn’t shake the faint echo of unease crawling back into her chest. Leah was always that way, so Sam wasn't surprised.
Leah snapped her fingers. “Back to the flashes. You need to take this seriously, Sam. Memory gaps don’t just appear out of nowhere. They’re triggered—by sounds, smells, faces…”
Sam opened her mouth to respond, but the words stuck in her throat as another flash rushed in.
The house again—dark timber floors and a window with light curtains. Now a child’s voice, playing around with toys.
Sam winked, her breath hitching. The cafeteria noise faded into the scene as the memory clawed at her, demanding attention.
“Sam?” Leah’s voice penetrated her.
Sam nodded her head, forcing a smile. “Sorry. Zoned out again.”
Leah wobbled her head, her voice soft yet probing. “Really? Sam? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, Sam couldn’t respond. This was something bigger than she could comprehend.
- Writer
