18Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2xTFJELXte
The first thing Mara remembered when she woke up was the scent of lavender. It clung to the air like a whisper of something familiar, but when she tried to grasp the memory, it slipped away, dissolving into nothingness.
She sat up in an unfamiliar bed, the sterile white sheets foreign under her fingers. A dull ache pulsed at the back of her skull, and when she reached up, she felt a bandage wrapped around her forehead. Panic clawed at her chest.
Where was she?
A soft knock at the door made her jump. A nurse stepped in, smiling gently.
"You're awake," the woman said. "How are you feeling?"
Mara's mouth was dry. "Where am I?"
"St. Augustine Medical Center. You were in an accident—a minor one, but you hit your head. Do you remember anything?"
Mara tried, but her mind was a blank slate. There were flashes—laughter, a voice calling her name, the warmth of someone's hand in hers—but they were disjointed, like pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together.
"I... I don’t know."
The nurse’s smile faltered. "That’s alright. Memory loss can happen after head trauma, but it’s usually temporary." She hesitated before adding, "A man came to see you yesterday. He said he was your fiancé."
Mara’s stomach twisted. "My fiancé?"
The nurse nodded. "He left a bag of your belongings. Maybe something inside will help."
After a few more routine checks, the nurse handed Mara a small duffel bag before leaving the room.
With trembling fingers, she unzipped it.
Inside, she found a phone, a neatly folded sweater that smelled of lavender, and a small wooden box. She hesitated before opening it.
Inside were photographs.
The first was of her and a man—his dark eyes warm, his smile soft as he pressed a kiss to her temple. She stared at his face, searching for familiarity, but there was nothing.
She flipped through the stack, each picture showing a life she couldn’t remember: her at the beach, him laughing beside her; the two of them in a cozy bookstore, her hand resting over his.
And then, at the bottom of the pile, she found a letter.
Her heart pounded as she unfolded it.
My Dearest Mara,
If you’re reading this, it means something has happened, and you don’t remember me. That thought terrifies me more than anything.
We met two years ago at a café downtown. You spilled coffee on me, and instead of being upset, I laughed, because how could I be mad at someone with a smile like yours?
You love thunderstorms but hate the sound of thunder. You hum when you’re lost in thought. You read the last page of a book first because you say you need to know if it’s worth the heartbreak.
And you love me. Or at least, you did.
Please, come home. I’ll wait for you, always.
—Ethan
Mara clutched the letter to her chest. Her head ached as fragmented memories stirred within her. A laugh in the rain. Fingers tracing words on a fogged-up window. A voice whispering her name in the dark.
Ethan.
She didn’t remember everything, but she remembered warmth. She remembered love.
She had to find him.
The hospital discharged her the next day. Armed with nothing but the duffel bag and a fractured mind, she followed the address listed on her phone under "Home."
The house was small, nestled at the end of a quiet street. It felt both foreign and familiar. Her fingers trembled as she knocked.
The door opened, and there he was.
Ethan.
His eyes widened in disbelief, his lips parting as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.
“Mara?” His voice was thick with emotion.
She nodded. “I don’t remember everything,” she admitted, “but I remember you.”
A flicker of hope lit his expression. “That’s enough.”
And as he pulled her into his arms, she felt, for the first time since waking up, that maybe—just maybe—she could find herself again.
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