ADRIAN'S POVThe world outside my window was a masterpiece of winter’s artistry, each snowflake a delicate brush stroke against the muted grey sky. I was precisely where I wanted to be: cocooned in my favorite oversized knit sweater, my feet tucked into fleece-lined slippers, a well-worn copy of ‘Saber’ resting open on my lap. The ceramic mug cradled in my hands warmed my palms, its rich, dark cocoa aroma mingling with the faint scent of old paper. A classical instrumental played low on the stereo, just enough to fill the quiet without being intrusive. This was my sanctuary, my perfect Saturday afternoon.Suddenly, a gust of frigid air pierced the cozy calm, making the sheer curtains billow as the front door swung open with a resounding thwack. My peaceful reverie shattered, I nearly sloshed hot cocoa onto my book. Before I could even register what was happening, a whirlwind of vibrant energy materialized in my living room.Gayle.She practically bounced through the threshold, a wide,
ADRIAN'S POVThe purr was barely a whisper, a vibrating reassurance against my palm. The tiny creature, swaddled in a clean white towel, twitched its whiskers, its patched-up leg bandaged neatly. “You did it, buddy,” I mumbled, my voice rough with relief. “You’re going to be okay.”A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump. “See? I told you she’d pull through.” Damien. His voice was a low rumble, always too close, too certain. From the moment he’d appeared in my life, a few weeks ago, he’d been an unsettling presence. I’d found him creepy. He seemed to materialize out of nowhere wherever I went—the grocery store, the park, even the small, independent bookstore where I spent my mornings. He’d insistence that we were "best friends," that we used to be "inseparable," felt like a bad joke. My mind, a blank slate before I’d arrived in Norway with my freshly-minted identity of Gabe, offered no familiarity. All I had was the fragmented advice from the doctor
DAMIEN'S POV“Mr. Dickins, while memory loss isn’t my primary specialization, I have studied various aspects of the human mind,” Dr. Ellis began, choosing his words carefully. “Sometimes, in cases of extreme psychological trauma or distress, our brain’s defense mechanisms kick in. It’s a radical form of self-preservation. To avoid distressing memories, the mind simply… erases them. Or, more accurately, blocks access to them. It’s a way for the psyche to protect itself from overwhelming pain, from a reality it deems too unbearable to confront.”My hands, resting on my thighs, instinctively clenched. My fists tightened, nails digging into my palms, leaving crescent-shaped indentations. I knew. God, I knew. I was the distressing memory. I was the source of that overwhelming pain. My mind reeled, a torrent of vivid, agonizing flashbacks assailing me.I remembered Adrian, his face pale and drawn, "Do you know how painful it is for me every time I know that you're with someone
DAMIEN'S POV The cool breeze of the late afternoon in Provence rustled through the lavender fields, carrying the distant scent of wild thyme. I sat on a weathered stone bench, partially hidden by a sprawling cypress tree, my gaze fixed on the small, sun-drenched cottage down the winding path. Adrian. He was there, tending to a small patch of sunflowers, his movements fluid, unburdened. A faint smile touched his lips as he straightened, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. He looked… content. And it tore me apart.Every day was a silent penance. I spent hours, sometimes entire afternoons, simply observing him. Not intruding, not even letting him know I was there. He needed space, I told myself, space to breathe, space to heal, space to slowly, organically, piece together the shattered mosaics of his past. My past. Our past. I yearned to rush to him, to explain everything, to apologize until my voice gave out, but I couldn't. Not yet. Not when his mind was a delicate, untamed landscap
ADRIAN'S POVThe cool, crisp air of Norway always felt like a familiar stranger, a comforting paradox given my fractured past. The International Medical Expo had been a whirlwind, a brief, baffling venture into a life I barely remembered being mine. Sarah and Mark, those quick, bright friendships forged over shared meals and whispered medical jargon, had melted back into their respective continents, leaving behind only the ghost of laughter and a handful of digital contacts. Gayle and I, intertwined by a bond forged in amnesia and rediscovery, had returned to the quiet hum of her life in Oslo.Life resumed its gentle, rhythmic pace. Mornings were for strong coffee and Gayle’s easy smile, afternoons for trying to piece together the fragments of ‘Adrian’ that surfaced like bubbles from a murky pond, evenings for long walks or quiet dinners. It was a good life, safe and structured, a stark contrast to the ten years that had simply… vanished.Then, I saw him.It was during one of my solit
DAMIEN'S POVGayle was on her feet in an instant, her eyes narrowed at me, a silent warning. “Damien, what the hell are you doing?” she hissed, her voice low but laced with steel. She moved swiftly, placing herself between me and Adrian, a protective shield.Adrian, merely looked from Gayle to me, his brow furrowed in genuine perplexity. “Gayle? What’s going on? Who is…?” His voice trailed off, a hesitant question mark hanging in the air. It was a dagger to my chest, hearing him not know my name, but I hardened my resolve. This was the consequence of my own idiocy.“Stay out of this, Gayle,” I growled, my voice rougher than I intended. My eyes darted around, noting the watchful, almost hostile gazes of Adrian’s new friends – Sarah, a petite woman with fiery red hair, and a burly man named Mark, who looked ready to spring. They were loyal. I could respect that. I’d have been the same, once upon a time, protecting Adrian from anyone, even himself.Gayle, however, was clearly not intimi