Before I Forgot His Name Novels & Stories

“A guy? Who’s this guy?” “I can’t remember his name, but I’ve seen him before. Mom introduced him as an old friend a while ago. I don’t think you’ve met him. You were on patrol that day.” “Your memory seems rather sharp for someone who just experienced mental strain,” I remarked, and he shook his head. “Quite the contrary. I’ve spent the entire day forgetting things. I’m surprised I remembered this one,” he said and shoved his almost clean hands into his pockets. “Do you need to see a doctor for that?”

Knowing Ivy, she must've spread a fake tale, trying to play the victim. Or maybe it's a message from him. My attention was drawn to my phone. Or not. Either way, I want to find out. I stretched my hand to the side to pick up my phone. I wonder if Ki- I froze. Oh my God. I can't remember his name.... How is this even possible? Who on earth forgets the name of the person who gave her good sex? Shit! I went through my chat with Theresa and was shocked to see no messages from last night.

Can't afford to waste food. While I was going back I realize something. I forgot to ask his name! A/N in all honesty? I love Greyson's selective muteness😅

I wasn’t able to finish what I was about to say when he interrupted me. “I know your name. Wait… uh, Iris? Iris Hildegard, right?” My lips parted before I nodded. “Yeah… that’s my name.” He nodded and smiled. “My mind’s still as sharp as ever. I remembered your name right away.” “Yes… you are,” I answered. “Uh, where are you going anyway? Don’t tell me you’re leaving? You’re on your way outside,” he asked. “Yeah, I mean… I forgot to get something. I’ll come back!”

She would look up at him with those innocent eyes and whisper, in a small, fragile voice, "You're so kind, Kane." I smiled at that. So, as it turned out, the so-called "fated mate" was nothing special after all. The swell of memory broke, and I was back in the room. I looked at Kane, who'd apparently forgotten his own sins. I choked back the hate and managed a sad, unyielding smile. I eased my hand out of his, caught his other hand—the one clutching the moonstone—and pressed it gently to my cheek. I met his eyes, wearing a devotion that could pass for the real thing. "Do you remember now?"

“His name usually slips from my mind… uhm, his name is…?” “Jacob.” He blurted out before he even realized it. He meant to give a fake name but he had made such stupid mistake. “Wait no…!” He whispered, trying to give her another name before she would call his real name for them. “Ja–Jacob! Yes, that's it.” She blurted out, accompanied by a nervous laughter. “I tend to forget people's names. I am not so good at remembering names.” She chuckled softly. “Jacob…” he muttered softly. “Hold on please,” he called out to Jacob and asked for his name.

Yet, somehow, he knew me. There was only one explanation. He knew me from the outside. “Who are you?” I croaked, disbelief cutting through my fear. He scoffed loudly, his laughter echoing against the stone. Then he leaned close and hissed, “How do you forget the name of the man you sent to prison?” His eyes burned into mine. “How did you forget me, Kaine?!” The name slammed into me like a punch. My chest tightened with recognition. Memories I had buried deep clawed their way back.

It's been five years since I fell ill with depression, and I'm finally myself again. I can talk, laugh freely, and I actually have an appetite. The icing on the cake is that my husband, Ian Beaumont, and I are expecting our second child. At our New Year's Eve family gathering, Ian's godsister, Gemma Waverly, gets tipsy and starts making a scene. "I think it was about five years ago. I was dumped, and I took the car out for a little joyride while the surveillance cameras were under maintenance. "Guess what? The moment I stepped on the gas, a cat abruptly flew out of nowhere and slammed right into my hood. It yowled and bolted off." A faint, disdainful smile plays on her lips. "That damn

“Both the bar, and the bartender.” I winced, my skull throbbing as the command hit me. Closing my eyes briefly, I counted to ten, and told myself I chose to answer rather than exhausting myself fighting him. “The bar is called Link,” I said. “I don’t remember the bartender’s name.” It wasn’t a lie—at least, not enough of one for the stranglehold of his command to punish me. At first, this morning, I’d forgotten the bartender’s name in the hangover haze. The fact that he’d told me again didn’t change that I hadn’t remembered before. I just didn’t need to mention that he’d reminded me later.

She had not thought about why she remembered that. She looked at the jar. She had said his name this morning. Not as a weight. Not as a history. Just as the name of a person she needed to speak to. It had come out of her mouth and it had been just his name and that was the first time in two years that had been true. He had said I am sorry before she could stop him. She had stopped him.