Lost and Found In Love (WRITING IN PROGRESS)

Chapter 5

The morning light filtered through the half-drawn blinds in William's hospital room, casting a faint golden hue across the walls. He sat propped up against the pillows, absently turning the blank business card in his hands. He'd spent most of the early hours like this, caught in a loop of frustration and determination. Every detail felt like it should mean something, but none of it connected.

When Clara entered, she carried her usual clipboard and a cup of coffee in one hand, a subtle smile on her face. The sight of her had become a welcome constant in his disjointed life. Her presence brought stability, a reminder that he wasn't navigating this maze alone.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, setting the coffee down on the rolling table beside him.

"Morning," William replied, his tone softer than it had been in days. He glanced at the coffee, then at her. "For me?"

"Of course," she said, sitting in her usual chair by his bedside. "You're a tough patient, you know. Keeping you caffeinated is part of my survival strategy."

William chuckled, the sound surprising even himself. "Well, you're doing a good job. I might not remember much, but I'm pretty sure no one else ever brought me coffee."

Clara grinned, pulling out her notebook. "That's because I'm one of a kind," she teased. "Now, how are you feeling today?"

"Same as always," he said, his smile fading. "Like I'm stuck in someone else's life, trying to figure out where I fit."

Clara nodded, her expression sympathetic. "That's normal," she said. "But you've been making progress, even if it doesn't feel like it. Yesterday's lead on Weston-Hale was a big step."

"Was it?" William asked, his tone skeptical. "We still don't know if it'll lead anywhere."

"Not yet," Clara admitted. "But we're closer than we were. And that's something."

Her optimism was unwavering, and William found himself clinging to it more than he cared to admit. He picked up the coffee, taking a tentative sip. It was strong and slightly bitter, but the warmth was comforting.

"So, what's the plan for today?" he asked, setting the cup down.

"More memory exercises," Clara said, flipping open her notebook. "Unless you have something else in mind?"

William hesitated, then shook his head. "No. Let's stick with what works."

Clara nodded, scribbling something in her notebook. "All right. Let's start with something simple. Can you tell me about the first thing that comes to mind when you think of home?"

William frowned, his fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket. "Warm," he said finally. "Safe. But... distant."

"Distant how?" Clara prompted gently.

"Like it's something I had once but lost," he said, his voice quiet. "I can't picture it, but I feel it. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Clara said, her pen moving quickly across the page. "Feelings are often the first things to surface. They can be more powerful than images or words."

William nodded, though the answer didn't feel like much of a victory. "What about you?" he asked suddenly, catching Clara off guard.

"What about me?" she repeated, looking up from her notes.

"What's home like for you?" he asked, his curiosity genuine.

Clara hesitated, her expression softening. "It's a small apartment," she said after a moment. "Nothing fancy, but cozy. Lots of plants, lots of books. It's my safe space."