"She… feels strange to me. Is she okay?" the young man asked once he'd recovered from the shock.
"We'll need to run several tests to figure out what's going on. An MRI might help us rule out head trauma or neurological damage," the doctor replied calmly. "Don't worry, Mike. She'll be okay. I'll go make the appointment now and come back once it's done."
The young man named Mike gave a faint smile but didn't respond. His eyes were fixed once again on the closed bathroom door.
Amnesia?
He didn't want to believe it. This wasn't the first time she'd lied. But something about this time… it unsettled him. His gut told him this wasn't just another act.
Down a quiet hospital corridor, the young doctor pulled out his phone after checking no one was around.
"Hello, Matteo. It's me. She's awake. But… it seems she has memory loss. Says she doesn't remember anything—not even her own name. Could be amnesia, but we'll confirm it after running some tests."
There was a pause, then an abrupt bark of laughter from the other end.
"Amnesia? Do you actually believe her?" Matteo's voice snapped through the line, sharp enough to make the doctor wince. "This isn't the first time she's faked something. What does she want now? Attention? Sympathy? For everyone to forgive her again? Love her like before?"
"Hey, relax, okay?" the doctor muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "I know you hate her guts, but she's still your sister. She just survived a car accident, and she needs family support—especially from you. You're her second older brother."
"I'm not taking her side. I'm just saying… show up. Visit her. After all, you'll have to face her eventually."
There was silence. Then a sigh.
"Anyway. I'll keep you updated. Talk later."
The doctor hung up and leaned against the wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
This family's a mess.
*
*
*
Inside the bathroom, I press my back against the door, breathing hard. My chest rises and falls like I've just run a marathon.
Okay. Okay. What the hell is going on?
I shuffle toward the sink, avoiding the mirror until I can't anymore. The moment I lift my head, my heart skips a beat.
There she is.
A girl with wide, doe-like eyes. Smooth, porcelain skin. A face that belongs on a billboard or a drama poster—not on me. I reach out with trembling fingers and touch the reflection's cheek.
It's soft. Warm.
Real.
My hands trail down to the bandage on my forehead. Below that, delicate eyebrows. Pink lips. A faint scar just under the chin.
"I'm not… Mia," I whisper.
But I am. Or I was.
I grip the sink tighter. The girl in the mirror does the same. My thirty-year-old self is gone. No tired under-eyes. No callused hands from part-time jobs. No weight of real-world failure pressing down on my shoulders.
Just this… younger, polished version of me.
My stomach twists.
This has to be a dream. A coma? Hallucination?
A soft knock at the door jolts me back.
"Miss? Are you okay?" It's the handsome doctor's voice—steady, but cautious.
"Y-Yes! I just… need a minute!" I croak.
Through the thin door, I catch another voice. A whisper. Male.
"…do you think she really doesn't remember?"
The words are soft. Almost hesitant.
"I don't know," the doctor replies. "It doesn't seem like she's faking it. But… Mia was unpredictable. Quiet, but… intense."
A pause.
"She's different now. Her eyes. Her voice. Like someone else is living in her skin."
I freeze.
The silence that follows is heavy. The weight of it presses against the door like a warning.
I stare at the girl in the mirror one more time.
"I'm not you," I whisper. "But I'll find out who you were."