A few days after Sam moved into my room, I noticed something strange—I felt a sense of happiness I couldn't explain, as though another part of me, deep inside, was celebrating. It was like a heartbeat of joy, a rhythm I couldn't ignore. But before this, I had been trying to piece together the fragments of what happened after the accident.
One day, I visited the hospital where both my surgery and hers had been performed. It struck me as odd—why would we be taken to a hospital so far from where the accident occurred?
I spoke to the doctor who had been in charge of our case. He revealed something unsettling. "This accident," he said, "holds many secrets. It wasn't just any accident. And as for her fiancé, he seemed unaware of what had truly happened. One of her friends—or maybe a relative—told us to keep everything confidential."
I asked about my original body, the one that had belonged to me before the accident. "Did anyone claim it?" I asked, realizing painfully that I had no family to grieve for me.
The doctor hesitated before replying. "Yes," he said. "About four or five months after the accident, a group of people came looking for the other girl—you. They insisted they were family and begged us to hand over the body. It seemed odd, but they were persistent, and eventually, we complied."
I felt a pang of guilt. Those people—were they really my family, or just pretending to be? Memories of my last moments rushed back. I had been reckless that night, determined to drown my pain in alcohol, despite everyone's warnings not to drink and drive.
The doctor then showed me photos of my injuries. My body had been severely damaged. "Before the truck hit your car," he explained, "it was just a normal accident. But after the truck crash, things turned sinister. This girl," he gestured to the image of her, "was still alive. It looks like someone deliberately hurt her before the crash. As for you, the impact caused severe brain trauma, leaving us no choice but to transplant her brain into your body."
Later, back in my room, I shared some of this with Sam. As we ate, I mentioned my visit to the hospital. His reaction was immediate. "Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to go with you. There's so much I need to know."
I tested him with a question, unsure of how much he truly understood. "You really didn't know about Kram's accident?"
He seemed genuinely shaken and showed me how he had spent six months searching for Kram after the accident. Only after a year of fruitless efforts had he decided to return to college and finish his studies.
I told him what the doctor had said—that someone close to Kram had insisted on keeping the accident a secret. Sam's face darkened. "If you get any messages from Avi, let me see them immediately," he said firmly. "I need to ask him some questions. Message him in a few days and arrange to meet him."
That night, as we prepared to sleep, Sam insisted on taking the floor. I hesitated, feeling an odd pull—like Kram herself wanted him close. "You can sleep on the bed with me," I offered.
He shook his head. "Not now. Rest for tonight. If you really have two souls... then, Kram, I love you. I always have. But I need time to believe this—to believe us."
For the next 2–3 weeks, Sam and I spent a lot of time together. We talked about everything—he shared stories about his life and his love for Kram, while I opened up about my own life.
But before I could make sense of everything that had happened, I realized I wanted to know more about Sam and Kram's love story.
One morning, Sam went out to buy groceries. While he was away, I decided to take a bath. I turned on some music, letting myself relax and enjoy the moment. After my bath, I felt like dancing, so I wrapped a towel around myself—just over my underwear—and began to move to the rhythm.
About five minutes into my impromptu dance session, Sam came home. I froze in embarrassment, especially when my towel slipped and fell. Thankfully, he was facing away from me. Blushing furiously, I grabbed the towel and bolted back to the bathroom to get dressed.
When I came out, Sam was in the kitchen, cooking. He looked so effortlessly handsome, and I couldn't help but feel something different—a warmth I hadn't felt before. Over the past few weeks, his care and support had started to mean more to me. I wondered if he felt the same.
Before dinner, I turned on the TV to watch a series. Sam called out, "Let's eat; the food is ready."
I smiled and replied, "Why don't we eat and watch together?"
Without hesitation, he brought our plates to the living room and set them up in front of the TV.
As we ate, I couldn't hold back my curiosity anymore. "Tell me about you and Kram. What was your love story?" I asked.
He gave me a small smile and said, "First, let's finish eating. Then I'll tell you everything."
Once we were done, we settled on the sofa. Sam took a deep breath and began to share their story, his voice soft yet filled with emotion.