Bella stepped into the room, and an unexplainable warmth enveloped her. It was as if the space itself recognized her. Her fingers trailed along the edge of the bed.
"This is my room," she mumbled, her hope intensifying. She believed she would soon remember everything.
Her gaze drifted toward the table by the window, where everything was neatly arranged. The pen stand held an assortment of pens and pencils, lined up meticulously. A small stack of sketchbooks rested beside them. A vase of fresh flowers added a touch of life, their delicate fragrance filling the air.
Drawn by an invisible force, Bella reached for a sketchbook and flipped it open. The pages were filled with intricate designs—elegant dresses, detailed patterns, and bold strokes that spoke of creativity and passion.
"These designs…" she whispered, her heart pounding. She didn't recall ever sketching them, yet a deep part of her knew they were hers.