I stared at her. I knew I did love her, but slowly the memories faded,Why did I say it was 2024?
Nothing. I couldn’t find any memories.
Just a vast, terrifying blank where our story was supposed to be.
"Charlotte," I said, and my voice sounded very far away. "I don't... I don't remember falling in love with you."
15.Charlotte
Ilearned what it meant to be forgotten, and got to see it happen in front of me.
"Ms. Huston? Could I speak with you for a moment?"
Dr. Patel's voice stopped me mid-stride in the hallway. I turned and could barely hide the anguish. All I could think of was Miles’s health. Every moment I spent away from him felt like wasted time.
"Of course," I said, following him into a small consultation room. The door clicked shut behind us, muffling the hospital sounds.
"Please, sit."
I remained standing. "Just tell me."
He nodded, respecting that. "Miles is presenting retrograde amnesia. Your first meeting was unique in that he managed to remember you, if just for a few moments. Sadly, the head trauma affected his episodic memory, specifically, the past two years."
Two years.
The reunion. His face across that crowded gymnasium. Coffee at the diner. Showing up at his door with Beth's lasagna. The river, where he'd tried to push me away, and I'd refused togo. The day in the kitchen, that ended with his lips on mine and both of us breathless with laughter.
Gone. All of it, just… gone.
"Is it permanent?"
"We believe it's temporary." Dr. Patel's voice was gentle but honest. "Familiar places, conversations, sensory triggers, they can help restore memories. But there's no timeline. No guarantees."
No guarantees. Just hope and patience and the terrifying possibility that I'd been erased from the best chapter of his life.
"Does he know?"
"We've explained the gap. He's aware there's time he can't account for." He paused. "He's been asking for you."
That stopped me. "He has?"
"Every hour since he woke up again this morning." Something softened in Dr. Patel's expression. "He doesn't remember why you're important to him, Charlotte. But he knows that you are."
I let that sink in. He didn't remember falling in love with me, but some part of him, some deep, instinctive part, still knew I mattered.
That was something. That was everything.
"Thank you, Doctor." My voice came out steadier than I expected. "What do I do now?"
"Take him home. Familiar environments help. Be patient. And don't force the memories, let them come naturally."
I nodded, already forming a plan. The diner. The river. The kitchen where we'd made a mess of pasta and an even bigger mess of each other's careful distance.
If he'd forgotten our story, I would tell it to him. Every chapter. Every moment. As many times as it took.
I walked to his door, paused, and took a breath. Then I pushed it open.
He was sitting up in bed, dressed in the soft clothes I'd brought from his house, gray sweatpants, a faded Yale t-shirt that had seen better decades. The afternoon sun caught the silver at his temples and illuminated the fading bruises on his face. Even pale and confused and broken, he was still the most beautiful man I'd ever seen.
