Between Two Minds

Part 1

As sunlight streams into the room, its warm glow tenderly wakes me from a state of slumber. I reluctantly open my eyes and see that the radiance of the sun paints a soft glow, casting delicate patterns upon every surface. White lace curtains block the light somewhat, and a captivating scent lingers in the air—an intoxicating blend of wood and musk. It reminds me of images of a lush rainforest, the earth still moist from a recent downpour. Inhaling deeply, I relish the lingering petrichor that fills the room, awakening my senses.

However, gradually, the realization that I don't recognize this space dawns over me, and panic flares in my chest. My heart quickens as I absorb the unfamiliar surroundings. It's all very new, and I'm overcome with a sense of disorientation.

I survey the room, taking in the sage green walls and the crisp white interior, but none of it resonates with my memory. Everything feels foreign and unsettling. Across from the bed I'm in, there's a white rest chair with a floor lamp beside it. To my left, an empty white bookshelf screams for some form of life, while to my right, a dresser, also in white, is accompanied by empty frames hanging from the wall. The emptiness of this room mirrors the void in my mind, and a profound sense of unease washes over me. Where am I? How did I end up here? And, most importantly, WHO AM I?

The questions swirl in my mind, amplifying my confusion and the ever-present fear that something is terribly wrong. The void I feel inside myself resonates strongly, a haunting absence that gnaws at the fringes of my consciousness.

Driven by a maze of questions, I get out of bed and walk towards the mirror on the dresser. It calls to me, offering a glimpse of my own reflection, as if holding the key to my identity. I see a young woman before me, with a slender figure. Cascading curls of rich, coffee-brown hair frame her body, flowing gently down her shoulders. Her eyes, a captivating fusion of deep brown and black, mirror curiosity and uncertainty. It's as if she, too, is caught up in the mystery that surrounds her existence.

The mirror fails to provide immediate answers. Instead, it deepens the mystery, leaving me grappling with the unanswered riddles. I remain adrift, unaware of my whereabouts, the significance of this place, and most importantly, my identity.

I have no recollection of the woman staring back at me. I don't know her name or where she is from.

As I survey the room once more, a mounting sense of panic begins to swell within me. The air feels stifling, constricting my thoughts and making it difficult to stand upright. Determined to escape this suffocating atmosphere, I stumble toward the source of sunlight, which reveals itself to be a door leading to a sprawling terrace. My head still swims with dizziness and disorientation.

I grasp the handle, turning it with trembling fingers, and swing open the door, stepping out onto the terrace. A deep breath fills my lungs, infused with the crispness of the open air. The sight before me is mesmerizing. I'm standing on a terrace overlooking a dense forest that seems to stretch for miles. The lush green canopy of trees and the chirping of birds provide a stark contrast to the sterile interior of the room I have just left.

I walk around the terrace, taking in the scenery. The manor I'm in is situated in the heart of the forest, with no sign of civilization in sight. It's as if I'm being transported to a different time and place.

Just as I contemplate returning inside, my attention moves to a peculiar sight. There's a path leading down from the terrace disappearing into the depths of the forest.

As I stand on the terrace, contemplating the path that leads deeper into the forest, a sudden knock on the door startles me, pulling me out of my thoughts. I turn and watch as a woman in her mid-40s enters the room. Stepping back inside, I notice a fleeting expression of surprise cross her face before she conceals it with a plastic smile. "You're awake," she says, still managing to hold onto that smile.

My heart races as I take in her appearance. She's dressed in what appears to be a uniform: a black pencil skirt paired with a black shirt, all topped off with a white apron. Her blonde hair is neatly arranged in a bun surrounded by braids, and her skin, though pale, somehow complements her hazel eyes. It's only when I realize I've been staring at her that I clear my throat.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "Yes, I am awake. Excuse me for asking this, but do I know you?"

"No, dear," she responds, her smile softening. "Come on in. You should be resting. I'm sure you must be worn out. Lie down while I call the doctor to examine you," she says, ushering me into the room.

Her concern feels genuine, and I do feel tired. The overwhelming confusion only intensifies this feeling, so I decide to follow her suggestion. With her assistance, I climb onto the bed. With one final, reassuring smile, she turns around and exits the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

I'm acutely aware that something is medically wrong with me. It was evident from the moment I woke up and couldn't remember my own name or face. Calling a doctor makes sense, but it raises a pressing question: if I were sick in any manner, why am I in a manor instead of a hospital?

After about 30 minutes of restless waiting, the woman returns with a tray in her hand.

"I'm sorry, dear," she says, her smile appearing kinder. "Dr. Langdon is nowhere to be found. I tried calling him a few times but couldn't get a hold of him. Until he returns, I got you some water and some juice. I hope you like oranges!"

I don't know how to respond to that statement. I remember the taste of oranges, but I don't know if I like them or if I used to like them.

"I don't really know," I tell her honestly. I continue, "Do you, by any chance, know what my name is?"

The woman frowns at my question and shakes her head, then replies, "I am just a caretaker in the manor, so I don't know what your name is. My apologies. But I am sure you will remember it soon. I hear losing memory initially is a common symptom of head injuries, but the doctor will be the best person to help you with that."

With that, she confirms my worst fear: memory loss. I take a deep breath and reach for the glass of juice, hoping that it would help me somehow, as if any memory loss case was ever resolved by orange juice.

Taking a sip of the cool liquid quenches my thirst but obviously doesn't help my condition. I internally laugh at myself before returning my attention to the woman. "Thank you for this. May I at least know your name?"

She chuckles at my tone and says, "Melinda, that's my name, but you can call me Linda." I nod at her and ask her the question that has been on my mind, well, apart from the thousand questions about my identity, of course. "Linda, do you think I can take a walk around the house?"

"Oh," she sounds surprised but agrees and even offers to come with me. I decline her offer as politely as I can. "You've seemed to have taken enough care of me, but I really just need some air and space," I say, and even though she doesn't seem completely convinced, she nods.

I finish my glass of juice and put on the slippers next to my bed, frowning a bit when they fit my feet perfectly. Just as I am about to walk towards the door, Linda or Melinda stops me. "You can't possibly go out in that," she says, pointing at the cream-coloured gown I am wearing. That's when I realize that the gown is the only piece of clothing on my body; I am not wearing any underwear as well. "I'll go get you some decent clothes," she continues and leaves the room once more, this time returning within moments with a fresh pair of brown cotton pants and a white crop top, along with a bra and underwear.

Once I've changed into the new clothes, I walk back to the mirror, taking a mental note of how perfectly they fit me, as though they had been bought for me. This is something I would have to think about later, but right now, my mind keeps wandering back to the pathway in the forest. I pin all the rest of the thoughts away and walk out of my room.

On my way out I notice that the rest of the house exudes a similar ambience to my room: beautiful yet lacking life. Unlike my room, the hallways are painted a deep forest green, but the furniture and decor still maintain their pristine white. The combination of colours creates an oddly tranquil atmosphere, as if designed specifically to soothe and calm the minds of those within. Under different circumstances, this house would have brought me joy. I might have found solace in its embrace. But right now, none of it offers any respite. Once again, I decide to ignore my thoughts and focus on getting out of the house.