Chapter Three – Don't Leave Me
Morning sunlight streamed faintly through the blinds, turning the hospital room a muted gold. The storm had passed, leaving the world outside washed and quiet. But inside, silence felt heavy.
Elena stood by the window, arms folded, her thoughts knotted. She'd stayed longer than she should have. Too long. There was dough to knead at the bakery, deliveries waiting, and Mrs. Graham probably tapping her foot impatiently for her morning bread.
This wasn't her responsibility.
She glanced at the man in the bed—the stranger., The man gave off that aristrocratic vibe, though she still couldn't place it. It felt like someone from another world, far away from her small city with its peeling lampposts and flower stalls.
He lay still, eyes closed, face pale against the white pillow. Machines beeped softly at his side, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Peaceful. Vulnerable.
Too vulnerable.
Her stomach tightened. She should go. She'd done her good deed, stayed the night, even held his gaze when he woke confused and afraid. It was time to slip back into her real life.
Gathering her bag, she tiptoed toward the door.
"Elena."
Her name—rasped, hoarse, but clear—froze her in place.
She turned. His eyes were open now, storm-grey and piercing despite their weariness. He looked right at her, and something inside her wavered.
"You were leaving," he murmured, accusation soft but sharp.
Elena swallowed. "I was… going to get back to my life. You don't need me here anymore. The doctors will—"
"Don't."
The word cracked in the air, weak yet desperate.
She hesitated, her hand still on the door handle. "Don't what?"
His throat worked as he pushed himself slightly upright, wincing at the effort. His gaze clung to hers, raw and unguarded.
"Don't leave me."
Elena's heart clenched.
The words shouldn't have undone her. He was a stranger. A man she didn't know. But the way he said them—not with command, not with arrogance, but with the quiet plea of someone who had nothing left—stripped her defenses bare.
She moved back toward the bed slowly. "You don't even know who I am."
"I don't know anything," he admitted, voice rough. "Not my name, not my past… nothing. But I know you." His gaze softened, almost breaking. "You're the first thing I remember."
Her breath caught.
It was irrational. Illogical. But the sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt.
"You shouldn't depend on me," she whispered, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
"Then why are you still here?"
The question stilled her. She didn't have an answer. She wanted to say it was guilt, obligation, kindness. But the truth was murkier. Something about the way he looked at her—as though she was the only thread tethering him to the world—made walking away feel impossible.
The door creaked open then, and Dr. Patel stepped inside with a nurse. He paused, watching the tension between them. "How are we feeling this morning?"
Adrian didn't look at him. His gaze stayed on Elena, as if the doctor's question didn't matter unless she answered it.
"He's… awake," Elena said finally, her voice softer than she intended.
Dr. Patel's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Mr., how are you feeling? Any memories returning?"
"No," Adrian said flatly. "But…" His eyes flicked toward Elena. "…she makes it easier."
The doctor glanced between them, his expression unreadable, but Elena swore she saw the faintest hint of approval. "Interesting. Familiar presence is sometimes grounding. Miss Elena, I'd encourage you to visit when you can. Patients in trauma often need consistency."
Elena opened her mouth to protest, but Adrian spoke first. "She'll stay."
Her head snapped toward him. "Excuse me?"
He met her eyes, calm now, though the plea lingered in his tone. "You'll come back. Right?"
For a heartbeat, silence filled the room.
The nurse adjusted the IV drip, and Dr. Patel murmured something about tests, but Elena barely heard them. All she could hear was the echo of his words—half command, half prayer.
She should have said no. She should have told him she had her own life, her own responsibilities. But when she saw the flicker of fear behind his steady gaze, the answer caught in her throat.
"I'll come back," she whispered.
Relief washed across his face, subtle but undeniable. He leaned back against the pillows, his body easing as though those three words were enough to anchor him for now.
Elena sat down again, her bag forgotten at her feet. She told herself it was just temporary, just until he stabilized. But deep down, a strange truth stirred—a truth she wasn't ready to name.
She wasn't sure if she could leave him even if she tried.
---