Chapter 4: The Stranger I Once Loved

Two weeks had passed since my hospitalization. The wound from that failed suicide attempt had been carefully treated, and although I was discharged, the doctor reminded me to continue monitoring my health closely from afar.

The door of the mansion opened, and the familiar scents from the kitchen— the delicate aroma of freshly baked bread, coffee, and the fragrance of fresh flowers on the table— mingled with sunlight streaming through the windows, making my heart flutter. My parents had prepared everything: the house spotless, delicious meals ready, every detail meticulously arranged as if awaiting my return for a long time. The household staff could not hide their joy; smiles lit up every face when they saw me come back.

Yet I had to play the role of “someone who remembers nothing,” my memory frozen at the day I graduated from university. Aside from my parents, I had to act as if I had forgotten everyone else. My heart twisted as I witnessed their care and concern. I felt guilty for causing my parents pain, and I wondered how they would react if they knew I only had two months left to live. Still, I continued to hide everything.

I stepped into the familiar room, spacious and comforting, where I had grown up. The bedspread was new, the tablecloth different, the arrangement subtly changed yet retaining its warmth. The evening light from the window fell across the old wooden desk, where the engagement ring still sparkled, reminding me of a world both familiar and strange. The calendar on the desk marked that it had been two weeks since I received the terminal cancer diagnosis—only a month and a half left to live. I sighed softly, beginning the countdown.

My heart raced, breaths shallow, palms damp, cold sweat clinging to my skin. A mix of fear and curiosity surged through me, and I whispered to myself, “Should I face it… or hide again?”

Looking out the window, the wide garden glowed in shades of amber and gold under the sunset. The petals swayed in the breeze, their fragrance blending with the chirping of birds at day’s end, leaving my mind both serene and uneasy. A squirrel leapt onto a branch, pausing to watch me as if waiting for something. Everything around me was familiar, yet my own heart felt distant and tangled.

I recalled the doctor’s words: “If you live with optimism and joy, your time may be extended.” I laughed, bitterly: “Extended… for how long? A week? Two? A month? Either way, it’s far too short…”

The door creaked open gently, and I turned quickly, wiping away the tears that had barely dried. My father appeared, his gaze soft, his voice deep and warm:

“Daughter, I had someone rearrange your room. How does it feel?”

I smiled, trying to remain composed:

“I really like the room now, Father.”

He nodded, eyes full of love, yet I could feel my heartbeat faltering, waves of anxiety closing in. Each breath seemed elongated, and fragmented flashes of memories I could not fully recall raced through my mind.

The door opened again, and my mother stepped in, her voice gentle:

“My dear, someone wants to see you.”

Immediately, my mind jumped to one name: Kael. The one who had been with me for over seven years, my boyfriend, confidant, and someone dear to our family.

I asked my mother hastily:

“Who is it?”

She smiled warmly:

“Kael, your fiancé.”

I frowned, my voice trembling:

“Is it the person I met at the hospital, Mother?”

She nodded, yet a surge of anxiety rose in me, urging me to flee:

“Mother… I don’t want to see him… I don’t know who he is… I don’t think he’s a good person.”

Before I could finish, Kael appeared in the doorway. He paused a few steps away, his eyes searching for me, voice deep and gentle:

“Elysa… are you alright?”

I felt each of his steps, my heart pounding as if it might burst, my breath uneven, the rhythm of my pulse chaotic. The room fell into a profound silence; I could hear the leaves outside swaying in the wind, the clock ticking steadily on the wall… as if everything was holding its breath for this moment. Cold sweat formed on my forehead, my palms slick, and I felt both the urge to retreat and the pull to move closer.

My mother placed her hand on my shoulder, patting lightly:

“Don’t worry, darling. Meeting him will help you recover the memories that were lost.”

My parents left the room, leaving only Kael and me.

He stepped closer, his smile gentle yet warm, eyes following my every movement as if he could read the fears and secrets I hid. He stopped in front of me, bowing slightly, his voice soft:

“Don’t be afraid… I’m here, beside you. We’ll face everything together, little by little…”

I inhaled deeply, a flood of strange yet familiar sensations washing over me. In my mind, a question lingered: “Can I trust him? My heart is offbeat… remember or forget?”

The moment stretched, sunlight spilling across the wooden desk, the engagement ring gleaming, reflecting the mingled fear and hope inside me. I studied Kael, every familiar detail—the way he smiled, his warm gaze, his hands slightly tensed as he approached—making the sensation of “known yet strange” painfully poignant.

Outside, the wind rustled the trees, carrying the faint scent of roses into the room, reminding me that the world still moved on, regardless of the fear within.

“Elysa, how are you feeling today?” Kael asked gently.

I responded, my voice shaky:

“Don’t come near me… I… I don’t know you.”

He looked at me, eyes sorrowful yet patient:

“I know you’re scared… but there are memories you haven’t yet remembered, moments we’ve shared… I just want you to feel them, no rush.”

A fleeting image flashed through my mind: us walking hand in hand on a beach, the waves lapping gently, his smile, his warm gaze… like a distant dream, both familiar and strange. I blinked, forcing it away: “No… I remember nothing… I don’t want to talk to you…”

Kael lowered his head, voice still gentle:

“You don’t need to remember everything all at once. Just look at me, feel me standing here… and know that I won’t leave you, no matter what.”

I bit my lip, tears welling up again, my heart torn between confusion and longing. The room seemed suspended in time, with only the pounding of my heart and Kael’s quiet breaths nearby. I felt both the urge to step back and the pull to move forward, lost amidst fragments of memories and the present reality I had to face.

The moment stretched on, the sunset light streaming through the window, the ring on the desk glittering, reflecting fear and hope. And there I stood, facing him—between forgetfulness and memory, between fear and desire—close and distant at the same time, like a fragile thread stretched across the depths of my soul.