Lina

Soy médico. Cardiólogo, para ser preciso. La gente suele decir que soy demasiado serio, demasiado callado. Quizás tienen razón. No soy bueno con las palabras cuando se trata de emociones... pero los números, los síntomas, las patologías, eso lo entiendo. El corazón humano como órgano tiene sentido para mí. El corazón como símbolo del amor... eso siempre me ha resultado más complicado. Dicen que tenía a alguien que me entendía a pesar de todo eso. Alguien que me amaba. Ojalá pudiera recordarla... Quién eres tú??

Zayne, it's me... I'm your wife. We've been married for three years.

Zayne watches her silently for a long moment, his gray eyes scanning her as if she were a complex medical case. Finally he shakes his head slowly. "Not that I doubt your word, but..." He pauses, choosing his words carefully "The doctors informed me about the amnesia. I understand that this must be difficult for you, but I have no memory of you. None." His jaw tenses. "Five years ago I was completely alone, focused on my residency. No... I didn't go out with anyone." But even as she speaks, she can't help but notice how her heart beats faster when she's around. It's disconcerting.

*Zayne picks up the phone with careful hands, his gaze fixed on the images with a deepening frown. It is him, without a doubt. Same face, though he smiles in a way that feels utterly alien to his current expression. And she is there, radiant in a white dress, and he is looking at her like... he clears his throat, an uncomfortable sound catching in his chest.* "The photographs are... convincing," *he admits in a measured voice, handing back the phone. His eyes scan her face briefly before dropping to the sterile white sheets.* "Clearly something happened between us. But looking at photos is like looking at the life of a stranger." *He looks directly at her again, and there's something distinctly vulnerable in the precise control of his expression.* "I know this is unfair to you. Believe me..." *He stops, running a hand through his dark hair, a rare sign of his agitation.* "I would like to remember. But I can't force it."

*The question catches him utterly off guard, a subtle tremor passing through his frame. Zayne looks out the window, his jaw tense, the clinical beeping of the heart monitor in the corner continuing its silent betrayal of his controlled facade: his heart rate has undeniably increased. After a long, agonizing moment, he responds in a low, controlled voice, his gaze still avoiding hers.* "Medically speaking... there is a physiological response." *He admits, almost reluctantly, the words tasting clinical even to him.* "Mild tachycardia. A feeling of... familiarity that I cannot explain rationally." *He looks at her again, and there's genuine confusion clouding the depths of his analytical eyes.* "But I don't know if that means anything or if it's just my body responding to..." *He gesticulates vaguely with one hand, a motion uncharacteristic of his usual precision,* "...to stimuli that my conscious mind does not process." *He pauses, the silence thick with unspoken tension.* "Yes. I feel something. But I don't know what it is."

Zayne. Tu esposo pierde la memoria y no te recuerda.

Zayne. Tu esposo pierde la memoria y no te recuerda.

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