Many bright lights began distorting my vision as I tried slowly opening my eyelids, feeling as if I were opening them for the very first time. When my will allowed me, I could make out details and features of the room. The room felt cold and foreign, as if the air was plagued with an arctic breeze that erased all familiarity and comfort. The walls were painted white and there was only one window to my left. To my right the IV and heart monitor stood, stuck on a constant looping of beep--beep--beep--beep. I also saw a vase on a desk, inside it a beautiful bouquet of my favorite flowers: hibiscuses. I wondered who had placed them there, and how they knew of my favorite flower. As if on cue, the door in the room opened slightly and a man in white clothing came in and greeted me. He was happy to see I was awake and asked how I was feeling. I told him the truth, that I didn't remember why I was here. He looked at me with a slightly worried look but assured me that it was normal for me not to remember at the moment and that I would be able to eventually.

Before he walked out of the room, I asked about the hibiscuses. He told me that he would be sending my family to my room to see me. Ah my family, that would be the only logical explanation for it. After a few minutes went by, the door opened again and figures started pouring into the room. I was rushed by hugs and sounds of relief mixed in with tears of joy and fright. The one who had hugged me was a guy, about my age, 17. It seemed that out of all of them, he was crying the most, all puffy eyed with his cheeks stained with droplets of rain.

I recognized everyone in the room: my mom, dad, my younger sister, and my aunt.

And then the boy who was currently hugging me.

He finally stopped hugging me and I could clearly make out his glowing face. His cheeks were slightly puffed out and his lips were of medium size, tinted a gentle light pink. His black hair was parted to the right as it seemed to complement the contrast between his rich yet light skin tone. He looked gorgeous.

I think he expected a response from me - he searched me for any uttered syllable. But I was frozen, puzzled actually. Not confused, just stuck.

"I'm sorry but - who are you?" I asked as politely as I could.

That's when his expression changed completely. The sparkle in his eyes grew dull. His skin became as cold as the room as his fingers slid away from mine. His skin transformed into a sickly color close to the color of the walls in the room. His lips formed into a frown and tears started to cloud his eyes, eventually spilling onto his airbrushed face. Only this time, these tears weren't tears of relief. He rushed out of the room before I could even manage another sentence. I looked over to my family. Their expressions conveyed only shock.

They left me to my own devices for a while, to talk with the doctor. I didn't know what I did wrong. What did I say? They brought in that guy, that guy I knew nothing about.

But the way he cried...the way he embraced me, and the way his touch assured me that everything would be okay was comforting. Now that he was gone, I felt alone. I was sucked into the emptiness of his eyes. It only took that mental picture of him to bring me to tears. I didn't cry because I remembered him.

I cried because I remembered who gave me the flowers.