Chapter 3: Noah II

POV: Maya

The rain kept us in for almost three days, it felt while the world was ending. Either way, my world had shrunk down to the walls of my tiny flat - and the man who occupied it like he’d always belonged.

“Noah,” as I continued to call him, was adjusting to the small routines of life with surprising ease. He didn’t complain about the scratchy towels or the temperamental kettle or the fact that we didn’t have proper heating and relied on a space heater I’d bought second-hand off F******k Marketplace.

If anything, he seemed... grateful.

And given the fact that it was all a lie made my tummy ache.

“Do you want sugar in your tea?” I asked that morning. I was barefooted and the floor felt cold from the weather.

He looked up from the floor, where he sat reading one of the few books I had.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Let’s try it both ways. Maybe one of them will feel... right.”

“His voice had this low, calm quality. Like even without his memories, he wasn’t easily shaken. Everything he did was deliberate - graceful, even. The way he stirred his tea. The way he carried himself. The way he folded the throw blanket when he stood up from the futon, even though I never asked.

He was... composed.

More composed than anyone I knew, especially someone who’d literally just lost their entire identity.

And yet, he laughed at the awful reality shows I put on to fill the silence. He didn’t seem to judge me for living above a takeaway with chip grease permanently baked into the hallway walls. He didn’t recoil from the unglamorous truth of my life.

He just... existed here. With me. Like it made sense.

I handed him his tea and sat down beside him. Close. Maybe closer than I needed to be.

He took a sip and made a soft noise, somewhere between surprise and thoughtfulness. “That’s... sweet.”

I tilted my head. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.” His smiled curved at the corner

And just like that, I felt a butterfly in my tummy.

I looked away quickly. “Right. Well. Good.”

He watched me for a beat longer than necessary. “Thanks for looking after me.”

I gave a half-hearted shrug. “You looked like a half-drowned ghost out there. What was I supposed to do - just leave you to haunt the sidewalk?”

His smile slipped for the briefest moment. “You could’ve... called the cops.”

I straightened, the air shifting between us. I tried to use the normal voice I could muster. “On my boyfriend?”

He opened his mouth, paused. Then shook his head without looking at me.

***

Later that afternoon, I watched him fix the dodgy handle on my bathroom door like he’d done it a hundred times before. Not just like a guy who was good with his hands - though he clearly was - but like someone used to solving problems. Quietly. Without fuss.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked, crouched a few feet away, towel wrapped tight around my damp hair.

He froze for a second, brows knitting. “I don’t know. I just... did. My hands knew what to do.” He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers as if trying to make sure it was his. “It’s strange, isn’t it?

“Like I'm living someone else’s life - and my body remembers even more than I do.”

His words met heavy silence.

I shivered, but I wasn’t sure if it was from what he said… or the cold in the hair.

I leaned against the wall. “You really didn't tell me much of your life but I guess you were someone really useful. Like a handyman. Or... a spy.”

He laughed, and it made me stupidly happy. “A spy?”

“Sure. You’ve got the posture for it. The voice, or being secretive.”

I let out a sigh of relief, that should cover for all the times I couldn't answer basic questions that a girlfriend was meant to know. If Noah suspected my hint, he didn't show it.

“Oh? What’s spy posture like?”

“Exactly what you’re doing now,” I said, gesturing. “Standing like you're about the choke someone or beat them raw.”

His eyes glinted with a mischievous light “Which would you prefer?”

The air went still between us.

My throat went dry. “Well I'd rather be choked than beaten, no that's what I meant… depends. No, no, forget I said anything.”

Why the fuck was I still talking…

He grinned again, but this time his eyes darkened. And I felt my body heat up in a way I couldn't explain.

My heart beat faster. I pushed off the wall and moved toward the kitchen. “You hungry?”

“Always,” he called after me. “Especially for those burnt toast masterpieces.”

I smiled.

I stood in front of the mirror again, brushing out my hair for the third time.

I didn’t know who I was trying to impress. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe it was something else. Something I didn’t want to name.

Noah - or whoever he really was - had folded his blanket neatly on the futon and was now standing by the window, looking out at the wet, orange-lit street below.

“I don’t recognise any of this,” he said softly. “Not the buildings. Not the sounds. But the rain feels familiar.”

I came to stand beside him.

“Do you think your memories will come back soon?” I asked.

“Honestly?” He exhaled. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel close. Like it’s right there, behind a locked door. But then it’s gone again.”

I nodded, because I didn't know what to say.

He turned to me. “Does it scare you? Having a stranger in your flat?”

I studied his face. The soft frown, the vulnerability he didn’t try to hide. I could’ve said yes. I could’ve told him the truth - that some nights, I lay awake wondering if this was the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

But I also remembered the way he looked when I found him. The lostness. The storm in his eyes, dangerous yet beautiful.

“No,” I said after the moment passed. “You don’t feel like a stranger.”

He looked at me then - really looked. And even though I wasn't sure what he was seeing, I could feel a slight shift.

We didn’t talk much the rest of the night. He stayed up reading again, and I pretended not to watch him from the corner of my eye.

But as I lay on the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, I let myself admit something - silently, in the dark.

I didn’t want him to leave.

Not just because I felt responsible. Or because I was scared of what would happen when his memories returned.

But because for the first time in ages, someone saw me. Sat in my cramped little flat, drank my terrible tea, and made me laugh like it wasn’t impossible.

Because when he smiled at me, it didn’t feel like pity or politeness. It felt like presence. Like I was there - and enough.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore how my heart beat louder than the rain on the window.

Noah might’ve lost everything.

But I was starting to wonder if I’d just found something I wasn’t ready to let go of.