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Poppy glanced down at the man now sleeping in her bed.  And recalled the horrifying events of this morning.  She’d just left her dorm room and was standing on the corner trying to hail a taxi when the beautiful man had come flying out of her building.  He had jogged a few feet before tripping over something.  She still remembered the expression of shock that had assailed his gorgeous countenance as he’d gone flying through the air.  She had watched in horror as he had fallen to the ground, hitting his head on the cement.  He had lain still.  Instantly.  His consciousness stolen from him by that hard pavement. 

Terrified, she had flown to his side.  Only to discover a wound flooding his face with blood.  Her heart tripping over itself, she had bent to whisper in his ear, “Sir!  Sir!  Wake up!  Please wake up!”

But he had continued to lie prone.  Silent.  Not even a groan had escaped his lips.  Not then.  So she had glanced frantically around.  Trying to find some help.  But no one else seemed to have noticed the man’s predicament.  

So she had torn her own T-shirt.  Reaching down, she had grabbed the one she was wearing and tried to pull it apart.  To create a bandage for him.  But it wouldn’t rip. 

Grunting in frustration, she had glanced back up at his face.  Alarmed that blood continued to seep out of his hair.  Much of which was now plastered to his forehead.

“Please.  Please wake up.  I don’t know what to do for you.  I’m not sure who to call.  I don’t even know the emergency services phone number here!  And my phone died last night.  I can’t call anyone anyway!  If you could just wake up, I could take you inside.  You could lie down in a real bed.  Instead of on this cold pavement.”  She shook his shoulder.

And a groan escaped his lips.  She sat up straight as she gasped.  “Sir!”

An awful moan surfaced.  Then two glorious, chocolate eyes opened.  But they didn’t focus on her.  An elegant hand came up to touch his head.  “Why does my head hurt so badly?” he asked in fluent Korean.

Which, thankfully, Poppy understood perfectly. 

Thank you, Papa.

“Sir.  You hit your head on the pavement.”

The beautiful man recoiled as he suddenly became cognizant of the slick moisture on his hand.  He pulled it quickly away from his head and examined his fingers.  Shock lit up his lovely features as he registered the blood on his hand. 

“Why am I bleeding?”

“You hit your head pretty hard.  You tripped over something,” she rushed to explain.  “Please.  If you think you can stand up, I’ll take you inside.  To my dorm room.  I can clean and bandage your head.  And you can lie down in a bed.”

“All right,” the befuddled man responded as he tried to gain his feet.

But as he pushed himself up off the pavement, he lurched sideways.  Poppy was there to assist him.  She caught him, tossing her full weight towards the tall man to prevent him from reclaiming his spot on the cement.  Her arm slid around him as she drew him towards her.  His arm fell across her shoulders, and his graceful fingers bit into her arm as he tried to steady himself.

“Thank you,” he breathed as he leaned on her. 

She led him inside the building.  “Thankfully, I live on the ground floor, so my room is just through there.”  She pointed down the hallway as she led him that way.

The poor man sighed with relief as she opened her door and directed him towards her bed.  He sat down heavily on the mattress as he glanced up at her.

“I’m Poppy,” the pretty girl informed him in a strange accent.  Though, her Korean was flawless.

“I’m…” he stopped speaking.  And searched his memory for a name.  But none was forthcoming.  He cleared his throat.  “I’m…”  Still, no words surfaced. 

He felt a moment of panic overtaking him.  He couldn’t seem to find anything in his mind.  Just a blank, white room.  He closed his eyes.  A bamboo chair occupied the center of that pristine room.  He sat down in it and looked at each of the walls.  Then the floor.  Finally, the ceiling.  But nothing emerged.  No answers were splashed across those walls.  No windows illuminated them either.  The ceiling had shut out the blue sky.  No clouds were visible to him.  Nor were any stars.  Even the floor failed to reveal a staircase leading to a basement.  Everything was a sterile, heartless white.  He felt fear overwhelming him.  He opened his eyes and gazed up at her in horror.

“I don’t know who I am.”

“It’s all right,” she immediately soothed him.  “You’re probably suffering from amnesia.  A short-lived kind.  I imagine that when the swelling goes down, all your memories will return.”

“What if they don’t?” he cried suddenly.

“First things first.  Let me clean your head.  And bandage your wound.”  She glanced down at his shirt.  “You’re bleeding all over the place.  I’ll be right back.”

She’d headed for her drawer and pulled out a clean white T-shirt.  Then she’d grabbed a pair of scissors to cut it into strips.  Before heading to the bathroom to unearth her first aid kit.  A few minutes later, she’d gotten the bleeding to stop.  And the beautiful man had a neat, clean turban swathing his wound.  But he still had no memories with which to comfort himself.