The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 333

"What exactly happened to me?" Sloane's voice was a bit louder now, but still strained. "Wasn't I... wasn't I just heading to class?"

Vivienne's movements stalled.

She looked up, exchanging a fleeting glance with Garrison Foster, then lowered her head again, her tone carefully neutral and concerned. "Heading to class? What class?"

"Sports Physiology."

"You're a student?"

"Yeah, I'm a junior."

"Which university?"

"Riverdale University."

"What's your major?"

"Business Administration, but I'm on an athletic scholarship for swimming."

"Aside from that, what else do you remember?"

Sloane found the question incredibly bizarre. She was lying in a strange hospital bed, surrounded by strangers interrogating her about her memory, as if she had missed out on something monumental.

But she answered anyway, her tone thick with the groggy confusion of someone who had just woken up from a deep sleep: "I'm a junior, right? I just finished swimming this afternoon. Coach pushed me hard, so I was exhausted... Then I ran into these three guys who said they were seeing someone off, but they aren't important... I bought them drinks. Then the bell rang, and as I was running back, my head suddenly hurt so badly. I passed out, and then I woke up here."

She glanced around the room, taking in the machinery, before her eyes settled on Vivienne's face. A sliver of genuine gratitude laced her voice:

"Some good Samaritan must have brought me here. Either way, thank you all."

The hospital room fell dead silent.

Her slightly upturned, almond eyes scanned his face—from his smooth, broad forehead to his pale amber eyes, his sharp nose, his full lips, down to the faint, slightly reddish scar on his jawline.

She studied him meticulously, as if trying to place him, trying desperately to search her memory.

Then, she shook her head.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, her voice filled with genuine apology. "I don't know you. Who are you?"

Garrison stayed crouched in front of her, looking up.

His eyes instantly went red. Tears welled up in them, but he refused to let them fall.

The corners of his lips curved upward—not in bitterness, not in grievance, but in a faint, painfully relieved smile. "Hello, Ms. Taylor. I'm a doctor here," he said, his voice gentle and overwhelmingly restrained. "My name is Garrison Foster."