This man was just so annoying. He did too much. We were not even in a relationship.
Last night after he was done with the LED light, I complained about a slight headache, just once and now he was forcing me to get dressed so we could go to the hospital, like it was an emergency.
Yes, I'd been having serious headaches for a while now. And yes, strange memories kept flashing in my head—broken images, half sounds, pieces that refused to fit together.
But none of them made sense, and I didn't want to make it a bigger deal than it already was.
I stood in front of the mirror, irritation boiling inside me as I adjusted my spaghetti strap top. My fingers shook slightly as I applied a soft nude lip gloss, trying to calm myself down.
I was still applying it when a sharp knock landed on the door. I startled, my hand slipping. I almost smeared the gloss across my cheek.
Another knock followed, calmer this time. Then his voice.
I sighed, capped the gloss, and stepped away from the mirror. I walked to the door and pulled it open. Raisem stood there.
He was dressed too well for just a hospital visit. He wore a fitted shirt tucked neatly into dark trousers, sleeves rolled slightly at the wrist.
I froze for a second. He looked so hot.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
I crossed my arms immediately.
"Raisem, I literally begged you all night that I didn't want to go to the hospital. It's just a headache, and just a few drugs will work," I said.
He didn't respond. Not even a word. He only looked at me for a moment, jaw tight, then turned slightly towards the stairs.
"I'll be waiting in the car," he said, his voice final.
The door clicked softly as he stepped away.
I huffed under my breath. I couldn't even change his mind. He was as stubborn as a goat.
Grabbing my bag, I walked after him, eyes narrowing as I took him in again.
"Why are you dressed like this? It's just the hospital," I asked, confusion written all over my face. H
"I'm one of the F1 commentator for the upcoming race, and Alex is one of the racers. I have to be there, plus today's my personal interview." he said.
Oh, wow. That was actually really nice. And it meant I'd get the chance to see Alex again, maybe even apologize properly for breaking his arm.
"Can I come with you?" I asked quickly.
He stopped walking and turned to look at me.
"Only if you stop begging me that you don't want to go to the hospital," he said.
"I'll go," I said immediately, a wide smile spreading across my face.
He sighed, shaking his head slightly, then continued walking.
The drive was quick. We arrived at the same hospital I had been admitted to before. The moment I stepped inside, something twisted in my chest.
A nurse guided us to a room, and when we walked in, I saw Austin.
"Austin," I said with a smile, rushing toward him.
"Hey, Ara," he said warmly. "How are you feeling now, and how's your headache?"
"It's okay," I replied.
"Raisem told me about the reoccurring headache and you getting little flashes of your memory," Austin said calmly.
I turned slowly to look at Raisem. Wasn't this too much?
I didn't have a job. I wasn't doing anything. I couldn't even afford all this. I kept feeding on his money, and it made my chest tight with guilt—like I owed him something I could never repay.
"Thank you for coming, Ara," Austin said gently. "I understand you were in a serious accident, and now you're getting headaches and sudden memory flashes about that night. Let's start by talking about those symptoms."
"Sometimes I remember small pieces—like I see a movement or hear a sound but it goes away again. And the headaches start right after," I replied.
"I see," Austin nodded. "I'm going to do a neurological exam to test your reflexes, balance, coordination, and memory. We'll also do some cognitive questions to see how your short-term memory and orientation are functioning."
After the tests, he continued,
"Your physical exam is mostly normal, but your memory and attention score suggests some difficulty with continuous recall, which is common after concussions. I'd like to do imaging to ensure there isn't any swelling or bleeding. We'll start with an MRI, and possibly a CT scan if needed."
A few minutes later, I was sent for the MRI imaging. Raisem stayed close the entire time. He didn't speak, but his presence was solid—like an anchor.
I'd seen my mum go through this before, so it wasn't scary. I just wanted it over with. When it was done, Austin approached me again.
"Your scans don't show bleeding or a major structural injury, which is good," he said.
"What you're experiencing is consistent with post-concussion syndrome. Your brain is still recovering from the trauma, and symptoms like headaches and memory flashes can linger." He added.
"Okay." I replied, I was even about confused.
"We'll treat the headaches with medication and support your cognitive recovery with a follow-up plan." Austin said holding my hands.
He made me feel safe.
"What about the memory flashes?" I asked.
"Those are your brain reconnecting bits of information," he said with a smile. "There's no specific test that can fix them, but regular follow-up, cognitive rest, and gradual mental activity will help. If symptoms worsen or new ones arise, come back immediately."
"Thank you," I said.
"Ara, can you please excuse us. I need to speak with Raisem privately," Austin turned to face Raisem.
I nodded and left quietly. It wasn't my business anyway.
I stood in the hallway waiting when I noticed a vending machine. An old woman in a wheelchair rolled closer to me, holding a drink.
She extended a few coins toward me.
"Give it a try," she said with a smile.
"Thank you," I replied.
The chocolate bars behind the glass seemed to call my name. I stepped closer and slid a coin into the slot. The machine clicked… then went silent. I pressed the button. Nothing.
The glowing price mocked me. I sighed and tried another coin. Still nothing. I used all the coins she gave me and still couldn't get the chocolate.
I stepped back, defeated. I couldn't even get an ordinary chocolate bar. What a shame.
Then I felt a warm breath near my shoulder.
Raisem stepped beside me, stretched his arm, and slid a few coins into the machine.
It chimed and the chocolate dropped.
He handed it to me and our fingers brushed.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
He watched me for a moment. Then, he started his drama.
"Why did you lie to me?" Raisem asked suddenly.
I froze.
"I don't understand what you're saying," I replied.
"Why didn't you tell me about the headache? You told me it only happened twice, but you have them every day," his tone sharp and firm.
My grip tightened around the chocolate.
"I just didn't want to bother you. You've done a lot for me, and I feel so indebted. I don't even have a way to repay you," I spoke in all sincerity.
"So that's why you lied about your health," he scoffed.
"You once told me we shouldn't be concerned or interfere in each other's lives, and this is my personal life,"
"Not when it's about your health," he growled softly, clearly holding himself back.
His anger wasn't loud but it was deep. I looked up at him, heart pounding.
"Why are you so upset?" I asked.