The car ride home was horrible, to say the least. The windshield wipers flicked across the glass panel that separated Lilian from the brutal torrential rain and ice which felled all living things who were poor enough not to be sheltered. She cringed a little bit as the icy water rippled along her car, bouncing off its once sleek and black shell, now a bit battered due to the sparse years of use. A familiar little beeping noise emanated from the black recesses of the purse beside her. Cautiously, she reached a hand into the purse while still keeping an eye on the road, and with a few memorized strokes, took hold of the phone and put it on speaker. A grating but sweet voice returned her somewhat meek 'Hello?'.

He proceeded to tell her the obvious about the weather, and she could only smile for the brief whisks of worry that graced some syllables, despite the calm and collected demeanour he tried to hold over the phone. After an exchange of love from both ends, and a reminder of their plans tonight, she gave a hasty goodbye and sent him a few sealed kisses. On the other end of the phone, his calloused fingers tenderly ran over the little velvet box in his pocket, the faintest of smiles touching his lips as he said a goodbye, hoping to see her within the next ten minutes as she proclaimed she was close.

However, some cruel twist of fate didn't allow it to be so. The next thing she remembered was not the odd sweetness in his voice, that often accompanied delight and surprise. Nor the way he told her how beautiful she was, even if she would arrive dripping wet with rosy, frost bitten cheeks and dishevelled hair. The next thing she remembered was the disgusting screeching sound. It was like a child screaming, an animal howling, and an amalgamation of unnatural, revolting noises all blended into one as the truck ahead had vainly attempted to slam down the breaks, and glided toward her like a death bringing cherub.

Glass shattered, fabric tore, plastic cracked, and metal was skewered. A rag doll was all that she could be as the two vehicles collided and became one within a matter of seconds. Now all the woman could hear as her dimming vision faded and ears searched past the painful buzz, was the rampant abuse of water against the mangled car and the howling of the wind. It seeped into her bones from the cracked windows, mixing with exhaust and blood and fire.

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Pulsating machines and white rooms passed her by, little insect like needles latched to her arms with tape covering them so in her bewilderment, she wouldn't claw them out and bleed all over the sheets. She could sometimes see figures standing by the stiff bed, sobs and hushed words, muttering to each other in a disenchanting chorus. As if they could hurt her any more than she was now. Every so often as she drifted between the waking world and her subconscious, she could hear snippets of their conversation. "Head trauma.", "Short term memory loss.", "Rehabilitation.", "Be patient.". She was so angry whenever she heard these things. Why, of all the possible phrases that reached her confused ears, did it have to be those things?

People came to visit her every now and then, leaving little tokens of sympathy for her condition and piles of Get Well cards; all sorts of trivial objects to distract her from what was real. Sometimes she would have a good day and remember who a few of these visitors were. A gnarled older man with thick white stubble on his face, it contrasted the salt and pepper hue of his hair, which most likely used to be black. His blue eyes were slightly faded as he clenched the small hand of a woman beside him. She was so fragile looking, shoulder length gingery hair blanched with grey like her husband's, and tears welling up in her huge, brown eyes.

Her sister Triana often came to visit, as well. She was the happier of the small crowd of relatives that went to and fro past the white doors that kept her apart from the rest of the world. Her hair was soft like brown sugar, and smelled of it too, and the milky complexion nearly matched her own. Except, Lilian had darker, wilder hair that stopped at her chest, right below the alert nubs of flesh that ached in this cold room, beneath that uncomfortable hospital gown. Triana patted her hand, touched her hair, kissed her temples, and made her feel wholesome again. Once particular day as Triana was busy sitting beside her in an old wooden chair, a young man entered the room.

At first, he seemed out of place; or at least that was what Lilian thought of him. His eyes didn't come near hers, a lovely hazel that matched his own. She was surprised to even be able to see him with extraordinary detail that day, as a headache plagued her for the past week. He seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at her, and she had no idea why this man would waltz right into her room and then refuse to even act like he was there. It was irritating her a little, but the medication suppressed any actual frustration beyond small annoyances. Triana looked up, inhaling a deep, sad breath, then made a beckoning motion with her hand.

He took a step forward, then moved a few inches back, as if debating on going further. At least, he moved a few paces closer, and then closer still, until he was on the opposite side of the bed as Triana. He looked down at her, and here she could see the lines of worry etched into his brow and forehead, carving little depths of emotion into his handsome face. Tilting her head a bit, Lilian turned to face him somewhat, curious. His olive skinned hands clenched at the plastic and metal rail beside her bed, turning his knuckles white as he remained motionless and didn't let a single thing slip past his taut lips. A hand eventually ran up his neck to rub at the mop of dark brown hair there, somewhat unkepmt.

Her nose tingled and her eyes welled up, but she was amazed at the treacherous actions of her body. He struck something in her that she was not aware of, and it made her want to cry. Reaching a hand out, he edged it closer to her lithe, pale fingers, obscured with the little tubes and needles. His rough fingers brushed against hers, so quivering yet gentle despite his broad frame. Lilian paused, pulling her fingers away after a few seconds of contact, that for him must have felt like hours. Triana looked ahead beyond her sister and the man, to the blank white wall of the room, as if trying to keep herself from saying anything either. Then everything got the better of Lilian, for the first time in the months she spent at the hospital, her lips parted.

"Do I know you?" She asked, drawling her words out slowly and in a cracked but soft voice, not used to the sound of her vocal cords being put to use after they were forgotten of. He smiled. A quick, desperate smile that filled her with even more sadness. It was like walls of water had crashed into her heart and there was no way to staunch the flood. He leaned forward, his free hand clenched over his abdomen, against the unbuttoned  black coat he wore, and Lilian did not move away. Her eyes followed his for as long as humanely possible until they disappeared beyond her line of sight, and a deliberate press of his lips to her forehead was felt.

The gasp was caught in her throat, voicelessly demanding an explanation to all of these feelings, the stoic orderly with endless pills and draughts, why she was still in this hell hole when she could recognize her family. "I wish you knew me." He said, his voice was like velvet, smooth and passionate, though faintly jagged as something seemed caught in his throat. His hand slipped down into his pocket, fingers idly touching the little velvet box.

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That was the last time Lilian saw him, because he walked away the very next moment and did not look back. She hated him for that. Having to watch this perfect stranger walk away, someone that made her bosom swell but could stir not a single recollection of in mind. Triana cried and cried after he left, and Lilian turned to her with imploring eyes. Triana just sobbed a little bit more into the old book she had in her hand. It was a year since that day, and her family brought her home. Things were being done so well, but she couldn't help but feel sheltered in some way. Always being spoken to, like she was being reminded, but why? Each little errand the young woman was given to run only gave her more incentive to go out and find that stranger. That wonderful man. The very thought of him was never mentioned again either.

But now and then she would catch herself tearing her eyes away from the task at hand while she walked down the busy streets, as a mop of dark brown and unkempt hair caught her eye.