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The window in their room isn't real, but the TARDIS shines a light through it just so Rose Tyler can have the light of a sunrise. The TARDIS loves her that much.
She's propped up on her elbow, her hair spilling over her shoulder, golden in the light. The Doctor is in awe of her beauty. She can make any outfit (even nylon dinner lady clothes) look lovely but he think she is stunning just wrapped in the navy blue sheet of their bed.
Rose throws back her head and laughs. He must have been very distracted by her loveliness because he has no idea what he said to make her laugh so hard. He simply cannot recall.
It suddenly becomes imperative to remember why she's laughing. What did he say? Was he joking? Is she having a laugh at something he did, some silly human social cue he's missed?
He reaches out to pull her closer to him but she evades him, and now he's getting frustrated because he just wants her in his arms, and he wants her to help him remember why she's laughing.
When the Doctor reaches out again, the horrible truth is clear. She fades away and he awakens fully, realizing she was never there to begin with. He rests his cheek on her cold pillow. It still smells like her shampoo.
The Doctor remembers her laughing on that last morning before they decided to stop off at Jackie's, bearing Bezoolium. He remembers how her hair glowed in the false light of the window, and how beautiful she looked. He remembers kissing her deeply and making love to her one last time before they got up for the day.
He has no recollection of what he said to her to make her so happy. All he can think of now are the words he didn't get to say on the day he burned up a sun to say goodbye.