His Amnesiac Woman

Who is He?

A/N: this book is a part of fiction.
No offense to anyone living or dead
No offense to any medical condition

Written and published by
@thebluethroat

No one else gets to copy this.

If you cannot think of writing.
It's completely fine.

Respect a writer and just come and read
Please do not copy someone else's imagination.
It's nothing to be proud of.

I  will not let go, of anyone copying and pasting.
Thank you

Enjoy. ❤❤

Inputs in the comments sections are welcomed
Insults are not.
Neither to me, nor any of my fellow readers.

_________________________________

Her:

My eyes fluttered a few more times, my eyebrows were drawn together to each other forming glabella wrinkles, my pupils constricted before my eyes finally decided to open.
The artificial lights just over my face on the ceiling almost immediately had my eyes closed again.

I opened it again, licking my lips in an attempt to quench the drought in my throat. I was stuck in the bed with tubes entering in body from all over the place.
I laid there looking around to the quiet setting, trying to register my surroundings and recollect how did I end up landing here.

The room was a light shade of blue and white combined, similar to the lose outfit that I was in. There were bandages over my wrists and I didn’t know why.

I was lying since I was too weak to get up or move my leg. I couldn’t recollect shit except the fact that I left my home for work wearing a black and white striped shirt with an ankle length jeans.

How did I manage to come here, dressed up in this filthy gown.

A saw a lady in white apron coming through the door of the room I was in.
The door was utterly quiet when it opened and it was only her presence that grabbed my attention.

As quickly as she came , she went back through the same door, coming again with a man in his late 40s that had a stethoscope around him.

DOCTOR.

Do all doctors have this typical appearance?
Old, bald, with serious face.

I didn’t require a stethoscope around his neck to make out he was a medical practitioner.

The ‘runner lady’ started scribbling something on her notepad looking at the monitors  that were placed next to my bed, while the doctor stood at the foot end, fidgeting with something I couldn’t see. I just stared at him in confusion.

He finally decided to move a little and attend his patient.

Thank you.

I was not interested in whatever he has to say about my condition rather I was more curious about knowing things about me that he would have answers to.

Like how did I end up here.

“How are you Ms. Ginart?”

That’s me. Xael Ginart, a dance teacher for kids from age group 4-15.

I was having a terrible headache to a point that all my attention was constantly being diverted to it, no matter what. 

The tubes making way underneath my skin were hurting me.