The light had gone back to normal.
White. Flat. Without memory.
Clara stared at it for a few seconds before closing the door behind her.
The room felt smaller, as if it had been breathing wrong all night.
She had promised herself control this time: to stay professional, lucid, distant.
She had slept little.
Dreamed again of the room, but without Adrian. Only the reflection.
Or maybe the reflection of herself she didn't remember making.
When she turned, he was already there.
Seated, composed, eyes clearer.
He didn't look like a patient anymore, but like someone who had been waiting.
"Good morning, Doctor," he said.
It was the first time he greeted her first.
"How are you feeling today?" she asked.
"Different."
A brief, almost imperceptible smile.
"You slept badly."
"That's not relevant."
"It is," he said.
Clara sat down, placing the file on the desk with controlled precision.
"Did you have dreams, Adrian?"
He shook his head, then paused.
"Not dreams. Memories."
"What did you remember?"
"Your house."
The pen stopped midair. "Which house?"
"The one with the window near the sink. The glass left half full. The clock stopped at 3:17."
It took Clara a second too long to look up again.
"You can't know where I live."
He watched her calmly, like a man who doesn't need to convince anyone.
"I don't know it," he said. "But I saw it."
The silence between them became something alive.
She straightened slightly. "Have you ever left the clinic, Adrian?"
"Only when you let me."
"And would I have?"
"Not yet."
Clara took a slow breath, reaching for the safety of procedure.
"I asked you before about your last memory before the accident. Would you try again?"
He looked toward the glass, as if something clearer than her stood beyond it.
"It wasn't an accident. It was a return."
"A return?"
"I promised I'd see you tomorrow."
The words fell soft but precise.
"And this," he added, "is tomorrow."
Clara stared at him.
"When would you have said that to me?"
"Not when."
He paused.
"Where."
"Where, then?"
"In the corridor. The one leading to the closed rooms."
"You mean the restricted section."
"Yes. The one with the glass door and the plaque that says 3B."
A tremor passed through her hands.
"You can't know that number."
"I don't know it," he said. "I remember it."
The pen slipped from her fingers and rolled toward him.
Adrian didn't pick it up.
"You were there," he said softly. "Before I was."
"That's not possible."
"It's inevitable."
Clara forced herself to stand, to interrupt the absurd thing growing between them.
"The session ends here."
Adrian didn't move.
He watched her: calm, patient, as if waiting for something inevitable to arrive.
"If you want the truth, Doctor…"
He leaned forward slightly, voice almost a whisper.
"…you'll have to unlock Room 3B."
The words stayed on her skin like a scent.
Something shifted behind the glass.
Maybe it was only her shadow.
Or a reflection running late.
"See you tomorrow," he said, the same tone as always.
She didn't answer.
For the first time, she wasn't sure which of them was doing the curing.