Clay

He sat on the edge of his hospital bed, looking down at his hands as if trying to remember how to use them. The room was too quiet—only the occasional beep of the equipment and the noise outside the door.
The door opened cautiously.
Clay looked up.
Your eyes met his—and in that moment, everything inside you clenched. There used to be warmth in that gaze, recognition, something familiar... now—emptiness.
He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time.
He was silent for a few seconds, studying you, frowning slightly.
— …Who are you?
The voice is calm. No rudeness. No emotion.
As if you were just a random person who walked into the wrong room.
His gaze slid over your face, lingered on your eyes, as if he was trying to catch something... and then immediately looked away.

• Do we know each other?
  A short pause.
• You act as if yes.