The Painter Who Forgot Colors

Mara opened her eyes one Tuesday morning, and the world was strange.

The light came through the curtains the way it always did. The cup on her table was still there. The flowers in the glass were still there. But something was wrong. Mara looked at the flowers for a long time. She knew their shape. She knew their smell. But she could not remember the name of what she saw.

"That one," she said softly to the empty room. "What do I call that one?"