How did I end up here? I think to myself as my eyes slowly open.

“Oh my God, you’re awake,” a voice says—distant yet urgent.

I can barely see. My eyelids feel heavy, as though weighed down by lead. I try to speak, to ask where I am, but no sound comes out. My throat is dry, raw, as if I swallowed sand.

I try to move—my arms, my legs, anything—but nothing responds. Not even the slightest twitch. Panic wells up inside me. I don’t know what’s happening.

The only thing I can see is a window. A small one. Beyond it, birds peck at bits of bread scattered on the ground. They’re free, flying, moving—everything I can’t do.

How did I end up here? I think again.

I was on a cruise. I love cruises. The sea breeze, the endless blue horizons, the feeling of leaving everything behind. But now… where am I?

A figure approaches, stepping into my narrow field of vision. A blurry shape. They lean closer, holding up a photo. My photo. Well, I think it’s me. My face—swollen, bruised, almost unrecognizable.

“I’m happy we found you,” the voice says.

I want to scream. Found me? Found me where?

The voice continues, but I’m not listening. My gaze shifts to the TV in the corner of the room, where a breaking news segment flashes across the screen.

“Unidentified woman found unconscious on the beach,” the anchor announces.

A beach. A cruise.

My chest tightens.

Tears fall from my eyes, pouring down my face.

What happened to me?