It’s just a damn coincidence. I am seeing things, a clear sign I am losing it. It’s a distorted lightning strike, obviously.
My hand trembles as I lift it to touch his tattoo, and he stiffens. Something zaps me, a flash transporting me to a specific moment in time.
We planned matching tattoos. On our napes. I know it, but I have none on my body.
I stumble back and grip my head, breathing harshly.
He spins around, looking ashen. “Zara, what’s the matter?” He palms my shoulders, shaking me lightly. “Breathe with me. Just breathe with me. I’m right here.”
In all the years since I lost my memory, I haven’t had such a clear picture. It should be a moment to rejoice, but helplessness drags me into the hell of agony.
“Nothing. I just remembered something,” I choke out.
He tenses so hard I think he might break a muscle, his voice turning to gravel. “What?”
“Your tattoo. We planned one too. I guess we never got to that part,” I say with a broken smile.
“Did you see his face?” he asks so low that the fear radiating from him sends a chill down my spine.
“No. Just that it was also letters somehow.”
He nods more to himself.
“Quite a coincidence, huh?”
He remains quiet, and together we prepare breakfast in silence, as if both of us need a moment to collect ourselves.
The spread is scrumptious: omelets, mini ham-and-cheese sandwiches, freshly squeezed orange juice, and toast with jam.
My mind redirects to his tattoo. It is a Z and a V, just like in my memory. Is my brain playing tricks on me, switching things up? Did his name start with V? There are few male names thatstart with that letter, and only thinking about asking him what her name was clamps me up. It would make her more real when she’s already occupying a seat at the table, just like my unidentified one.
Vian peers at me now and then, and I offer him a reassuring smile. The chances are slim, but maybe more flashbacks will come. This is huge for me.
“Would you like to explore the city?”
I nod, the alternative unappealing. Being stuck in my head, reeling with questions and no answers, is maddening. Are my memories slowly coming back? Then why is he the trigger? Why? Just why?
“I’ll fly later tonight. I have a meeting tomorrow,” I say through bites.
He discards the mini sandwich as if he has lost his appetite. “When are you coming back?”
Breakfast forgotten, I lean back into my seat. “Or you can come and stay with me.” I pin him with a hard stare. “And not leave like last time.”
He lifts a brow, eyeing me intently. “I wonder why I left.”
I put my face between my palms, and slipping into this easygoing version of myself with him, I plaster an innocent smile on my face. “Wondering the same thing over here.”
A lopsided grin stretches one corner of his mouth. “Sure you want to do this? It sets a dangerous precedent.”
Right then, I hear the elevator ding, announcing someone and ending the levity.
“Fuck, I forgot. The doctor is here.”
We look at each other for long moments, neither of us moving. Hope gleams in his eyes, and while an inexplicable part of me wishes to rush into motherhood, the rational part, especially after the flashback, advises caution.
I want to be a good wife and mother. But I can’t be either before I uncover my past. Until then, it will keep holding me hostage, even if I become increasingly unwilling.
“Good,” I say, witnessing the dejection on his face before he schools his features into neutrality. It affects me more than I thought possible.
