Chapter 8: Forgotten Again
I showed up early that night.
Too early.
The sun hadn't fully set yet, but I couldn't stay inside any longer. My chest felt tight all day — like the clock was dragging on purpose just to mess with me. Every second without her voice felt wrong.
I stood by the corner across from the streetlamp, watching the sky fade. A soft orange gave way to deep blue. The first stars blinked awake. The wind carried the scent of distant rain, though the air stayed dry.
She hadn't come yet.
Not like last night.
Not like the night before when she kissed me and asked me not to let her forget.
I held onto that memory like it was glass. Fragile. Precious. Already slipping through.
I kept looking up the road, hoping. Waiting. Imagining the shape of her coming around the corner.
But when she finally did —
I knew something was different.
---
Her walk was slower.
Her eyes were wide in that uncertain way again.
Her hands were deep in her pockets, like she was trying to hide from the night.
And when she saw me standing there —
She didn't smile.
She didn't wave.
She just stared.
Like I was a question she didn't know how to answer.
I crossed the street slowly, not saying anything yet.
Not wanting to break whatever delicate thread might still exist between us.
When I reached her, she tilted her head.
And then came the words that cracked through my chest:
"Sorry… do I know you?"
---
I knew this was possible.
I knew it was coming.
But that didn't make it easier.
It never does.
My voice caught in my throat.
The words I had saved, the lines I had rehearsed — all vanished.
"I thought we could walk again," I said softly.
Her brow furrowed. "Did we walk before?"
I nodded. "We have. A few times."
She looked down at her shoes.
Then back up. "I don't remember that."
I tried to smile. I really did.
"It's okay," I whispered. "I remember for both of us."
She gave a soft, awkward laugh. A nervous one.
"I don't want to make this weird," she said. "But I don't really know who you are. I just came out here because… I don't know. Something felt off. Like I was supposed to be somewhere."
"You were," I said. "Right here."
---
We started walking, even though she didn't recognize me.
Even though each step felt like I was walking alone beside someone wearing her skin.
But I talked anyway.
Told her about the river.
About the carved bench.
About the time we counted streetlights together and she insisted one of them blinked out every time she passed under it.
She laughed again. Not because she remembered.
But because it sounded like something she would do.
"I must've liked you," she said at one point.
"You did," I replied.
"I must've told you things."
"You did."
She walked a little slower after that.
And I wondered if she was scared.
Not of me — but of her own mind.
---
When we reached the river, she paused.
"This place feels familiar."
"It should," I said.
She walked ahead and sat down at the bench.
Ran her hand along the carvings on the back, the same way she did last night.
Only this time, there was no recognition.
No knowing smile.
Just quiet confusion.
"Did I sit here with you?"
"Every night."
She closed her eyes.
And then whispered,
"I hate this."
My heart thudded.
"This… forgetting," she continued. "It's like watching someone live in your body, but you're not allowed in. Like I'm haunting myself."
I sat beside her.
She leaned toward me, like her body still trusted me even if her mind didn't.
"I'm scared I'll never be whole," she said.
"You don't have to be," I replied. "Not alone. Let me hold the parts that fall."
---
She turned to me.
Her eyes softer now. Sadder.
"Do I love you?"
That question hurt more than any forgetting ever could.
I took a breath.
"You did."
"And you… still do?"
"Every day."
Tears welled up in her eyes.
"Why?"
"Because even when you forget… something in you still comes back. And every time you do, I fall in love all over again."
She stared at me for a long time.
And then she whispered,
"I'm sorry. I wish I could be the version of me you remember."
I held her hand.
"This version is enough."
---
We didn't kiss that night.
She didn't fall asleep on my shoulder.
But she stayed.
And when I stood to leave, she stood too.
When I turned to go, she hesitated — and then followed.
Not because she remembered me.
But because something in her heart did.
And that was enough to keep going.
---
Quote from Spring (Chapter 8):
"It's like watching someone live in your body, but you're not allowed in. Like I'm haunting myself."
Quote from the Protagonist (Chapter 8):
"Even when you forget... something in you still comes back. And every time you do, I fall in love all over again."