Chapter 3
Hanna
Everything is glowing.
The blue eyes. The shoulder-length hair. The stubble.
I blink.
Where am I?
"Are you okay?" asks the rugged face on the other side of the car door. I think it's in Italian. Or was it English?
What's going on here?
Heat rises within me, an intense tingling creeping up from my wrist and spreading farther upward. I lower my gaze, but all I see is the tiny hairs on my forearms standing on end like they're magnetized.
I don't understand this. And that's not the only thing. With a nervous gesture, I touch my temples, trying to catch the fleeting thoughts that ghost through my mind.
"Sto bene," I stammer even though I don't really know if I'm fine.
The stranger smiles at me. I smile back and squint my eyes. The surreal glowing image of the man becomes clearer, and suddenly, I feel like I'm sinking into the blue of his eyes. They are like a mountain lake, refreshing and clear.
"I…" What was I going to say again?
Now he steps back. "This is not the best place for a nap," he explains.
What does he mean?
Was I trapped in a daydream? Did I let myself fall so deeply that I couldn't perceive anything anymore? Please, no.
I strain to dig into my memory. No. That's not what happened. My migraine attacked me!
The excitement about the upcoming departure kept me awake half the night. Add the long car ride, and I probably didn't drink enough either. I should have taken better care of myself. No wonder I had such a severe attack that I even saw double.
Of course, in my thoughts, my mother wags her finger in admonishment. It could have been pretty damn dangerous .
"Headache," I reply disoriented. "It was too uncertain to continue driving."
Although my Italian is usually good, I'm not sure if what I just mumbled was correct. He probably thinks I'm a bit crazy. Prepared for a dismissive expression, I look up at him.
"I understand," he says casually and shrugs.
Even though he acts as if it's not a big deal, I feel the urge to explain to him. "I stopped to take a pill." With my index finger, I point at my open handbag, from which the medication package is indeed sticking out. "It takes a little while to work." And while I was waiting, I must have fallen asleep.
Well done, Hanna.
"And how are you feeling now?" He looks at me attentively.
"I'm fine. I can continue driving," I reply, and that's the truth. My pain has subsided, and only a heavy tiredness remains.
He buries his hands in the pockets of his frayed jeans. "Then have a safe journey."
"Thank you." I reach for the ignition key and turn it. "For everything," I add. After all, who knows what could have happened if he hadn't woken me up.
His mouth corners twitch upward, but there's also a strangely melancholic flicker in his eyes. He waves goodbye, and at the same time, I imagine his posture is pleading for me to stay.
Obviously, my mind is not working perfectly after the migraine attack.
I raise my hand in a greeting, too, and gently press the gas pedal. The car starts moving, and although I should concentrate on the road, my gaze keeps flicking to the rearview mirror. There, I see the stranger watching me for a while before he puts on a pair of aviator glasses and strolls back to his VW bus.