The man was shaded in the doorway, the lamp barely reaching that far, but even still Herbert could see he was dark-skinned and gaunt. Suddenly self-conscious, Herbert straightened out his nightmare-crumpled blanket and sat up slightly straighter. His face was all angles, with a flint jawline and a bold nose. Clearly, this man was no doctor; he had flannel pyjamas quite similar to Herbert’s, but he held some fleeting familiarity that was gone before it gained too much traction and stumbled upon a grim realisation. 

“Hello Vata.” The name was ridiculous, but Herbert had already placed him as an exotic and figured his name was probably quite common wherever he came from. 

It was the question that caught Herbert off-guard, his eyes briefly widening, before he regained control of his face and restored the outward calm façade of everyday. He studied Vata briefly, a fidgeting man with apparent short-term memory loss. Too young for it to be dementia surely, but perhaps Huntington’s disease. Regardless, he likely was already receiving treatment, and Herbert felt rather selfishly that neither party would benefit from each other’s presence; he had no desire to speak to the mentally impaired. Best be rid of him as quick as he could.

“We’re in a hospital my good fellow,” Herbert began cordially, a thin smile upon his lips, “Your doctor will no doubt be along soon. Be a good chap and get back to your room. He will want to see you for sure.”