We sat on the hood of his car, under a sky too clear to match the chaos in my chest. Our second date—if I could even call it that—was almost too perfect. The adventure park, the arcade, the stupid stuffed bear he won me. The way he drove like the wind could carry us away from everything we'd ever been. And still…That question itched at me like it had been waiting years for its voice."Can I ask you something?" I said, trying to sound casual. "That night. After I lost my memory… the first time we kissed—not the original first. I mean, after. Why did you ask me to be your… sex partner?"The words tasted sharp. Like shame. Or hope. Bright didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just looked out at the dark and said it low:
I stayed quiet. My heart wasn't.
"You'd forgotten everything, and I thought… if we recreated it, physically, maybe your body would remember what your mind couldn't."
He finally turned to look at me.
"You didn't remember loving me. But your body did. And I thought maybe that was the way back."
I couldn't speak after that. Just let the silence stretch between us. Heavy. Familiar. Like a friend I didn't want to admit I missed.
Later that night, he dropped me off.
I told him goodnight. Smiled. Walked to my building.
I didn't go inside.
I slid down beside the wall, wrapped my arms around my knees, and let it all fall out of me. Quiet. Ugly. Honest.
I was crying for him.
For the version of me that loved him before I even knew I had.
I didn't hear him get out of the car.
"Terra?"
His voice was so soft it made me want to break.
I wiped my eyes fast, tried to pull it together.
"I'm fine," I lied. "Just… I miss my mom."
Not a total lie. But not the truth either.
He came closer, crouched beside me like I was something breakable.
"Let's go see her. I'll drive."
I shook my head and stood.
"No, it's fine. I'm going tomorrow. You've got a meeting—remember?"I tried to walk away. End it there. But he followed."Don't do that again," he said, voice lower now. "Don't leave me like that."
I turned back, and something in his eyes made me stop breathing.
"Don't push me away when I'm right here."
His hands found my shoulders. Warm. Steady.
"I don't care how hard it gets. If you forget me every damn year, I'll keep showing up. Every time. Just don't disappear on me again."
I looked at him and everything in me hurt in that beautiful, terrifying way. Like maybe I was remembering something my heart never really forgot.
"Just keep shining, yeah?" he whispered.
And in that moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry…
Or fall in love with him all over again.
I don't know what pulled me out of sleep that morning—the birds, the breeze, or maybe just the scent of my mother's chai wafting in from the kitchen.
I sat up, hair a mess, hoodie hanging off one shoulder. For a moment, I forgot where I was. But then I heard her voice—soft, humming a tune only she knew—and it hit me.
I was home.
I padded out barefoot, my heartbeat weirdly fast. She looked up from the stove, eyes meeting mine.
And then she smiled. That same smile that used to fix everything when I was little.
"Terra," she whispered, like it was a name she hadn't said in years.
I didn't say anything. Just walked up and buried my face in her shoulder.
She held me tight. Her fingers curled into my hair. "You look so grown," she murmured. "But still my girl."
I blinked back tears. "I missed you, Ma."
"I missed you more."
We sat down together, sipping chai, just… being. She asked questions gently, never pushing. Just wanting to know how I'd been, if I was sleeping okay, if I was happy.
And then the front door opened.
He walked in like he belonged there—fresh from a meeting, sleeves rolled, hair ruffled by the wind. His eyes went straight to me.
"Hope I'm not late," he said with that crooked grin.
My mom turned to him and grinned. "Perfect timing, actually. We're just about to beat Terra at ludo."
"Oh, I have to see that," he said, pulling up a chair beside me. "You know she cheats, right?"
"I do not cheat!" I protested, laughing.
"Oh? Who taught me how to move two dice at once when no one's looking?" he teased, bumping his knee against mine under the table.
My mom laughed—really laughed—and I swear, I hadn't heard that sound in years.
We spent hours like that. Playing old games, telling stupid stories, fighting over snacks. At one point, he was trying to teach my mom how to use a controller on the console, and she almost threw it at him for making her character fall off a cliff.
"Beta, you're purposely making me lose!"
"I swear I'm not! It's just… physics."
"What does physics have to do with falling off a bridge?!"
We laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
But I watched them. The way they talked, teased, cared. My mom looked at him like he was already family. Like part of her heart already knew him.
And maybe mine did too.
That night, when she hugged me before bed, she whispered, "You smile different when he's around."
I didn't answer.
But I didn't have to.
Because she already knew