I hesitated, the words I wanted to say hovering just behind my teeth, but all that came out was, "Yeah."
A silence fell, soft but heavy.
"It was… good to see you," I finally managed, my voice low and quiet, as though I was already saying goodbye.
Even as the words left my mouth, they felt heavy and wrong. I didn't want to say goodbye to her—not now, not like this.
"Do you have enough women members for the mission to the female prison camp?" Hannah suddenly asked, her eyes searching mine.
I froze. The question struck me like a stone in still water, ripples spreading across my chest.
Was she offering to come?
We did need more people. In truth, we always did. But this mission was different—dangerous enough that even the most seasoned members hesitated. I couldn't bear the thought of her stepping into that.
My hesitation must have shown, because Hannah's gaze softened, and she gave a small, knowing nod.
"So you need more," she said, her voice growing firm. "Then I'll join this mission."
My heart skipped, then began to race. The image came unbidden—Hannah beside me again, back at the Society building, walking into danger with me. It was reckless, terrifying… and exhilarating. Just knowing this might not be our final goodbye made something inside me soar.
But then reality hit, cold and sharp.
This mission could cost lives.
After a long breath, I finally said, "This one's really dangerous, Hannah."
Silence swept over us, broken only by the summer wind rustling the leaves below.
Hannah smiled slightly, but it was the kind of smile that meant she had already made up her mind.
"Well, if it's dangerous and hard, then at least one more pair of hands will help, won't it? Tomorrow morning, I'm coming with you."
"You already decided..."
She nodded calmly.
"I told my family after dinner."
While I had been standing here alone, trying to work up the courage to say something, she had already gone and made her choice.
Then she said it—soft, quiet, but enough to shake me to my core: "I really missed you."
The night around us seemed to still. My heart thudded in my chest, faster and faster, as if trying to answer her in my silence. But no words came; I was too stunned, too full of everything I'd never said.
Hannah smiled at me gently.
"You meant more to me than I thought… when I was apart from you."
I forced my eyes up to the stars, hoping they'd keep me steady. Slowly, I nodded, hiding the whirlpool of emotion threatening to pull me under. Inside, joy spiraled up from somewhere deep, a rush of warmth and fluttering excitement I hadn't felt in months.
She missed me. I meant something to her.
I felt like I knew what that meant and what it could mean.
That's when I see Hannah again—when everything inside me shifts. That's when I finally understand how deep my feelings for her go. Maybe I already knew. Maybe I was just too afraid to face it, too willing to keep it buried under everything else in my life. But standing there with her, there's no escape from it. She matters to me—more than I let myself admit.
Julian exhales softly, pulling himself back to the present. His eyes drift to the window, where snow falls in delicate sheets under the pale glow of the streetlights. He stares at the night, quiet and endless, and lets the memories slip away like footsteps fading in the distance.
He looks out at the snow-covered cityscape as if searching for something—a sign, an answer, or maybe just the courage to move forward.
In the quiet living room of her family's four-room apartment, Grace sits curled up on a chair with her laptop balanced on her knees. The muted hum of the heater fills the space as she scrolls through her school's website, eyes scanning the graduate program page her university is enrolled in.
"The new term has already started… two weeks ago," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper as she clicks into the curriculum list.
Her mother's words echo in her head, gentle yet firm.
"Grace, you don't need to rush. You're on medical leave. Take your time. When your memories come back and you feel better, you can always return to school."
Grace presses her lips together.
Take my time… But how long? How much longer do I have to just wait?
"The memories…" she whispers, biting her lip. "When will they come back? Really…"
Her gaze shifts to the phone on the table beside her laptop. The device is painfully empty, its memory wiped clean—the result of a hard reset she performed at the hospital, moments before leaving.
"I had no choice," she mutters, picking it up and turning it over in her hands. "I completely forgot the password…"
Her eyes lift toward the laptop, freshly reset as well.
"And this one, too. If I had just remembered, if I could log in, maybe I'd find my old notes… maybe something would've come back to me."
A soft sigh escapes her. The weight of forgetting hangs over her like a shadow—but at the same time, there's a strange lightness, like invisible strings have been cut.
"It feels freeing," she admits quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Like nothing's holding me back now."
Her reflection catches faintly in the darkened window, and she studies it with a strange, searching expression.
"Maybe I… wanted to forget something," she whispers. Her fingers tighten slightly against the windowsill as she leans closer. "Or maybe… there's someone I need to remember so much that I paradoxically forgot."
The clock on the living room wall ticks softly behind her, each second echoing in the quiet apartment. Grace turns to look at it, her eyes lingering on the slow, deliberate movement of the hands, as though it might hold an answer.
"All right," she murmurs to herself, voice steadying as if to convince her own hesitation, "I should go to the school administration office and at least get some information."
Grace pushes herself up from the chair and heads to the bathroom. The faucet squeaks as she twists it open, and a rush of cold water fills her cupped hands. She splashes it over her face, inhaling sharply at the chill, feeling the weight of sleep and sluggishness wash away. Droplets slide down her neck as she leans closer to the mirror, gazing at the faint puffiness around her eyes.
With a small exhale, she pats her face dry and steps into her room. Sunlight streams through the thin curtain, spilling across the bed in soft, golden stripes. For a moment, she pauses, letting the warmth brush against her skin, then moves to her dresser. She smooths moisturizer onto her cheeks, the familiar scent calming, then follows with a layer of sunscreen, blending it gently with her fingertips.
Her suitcase sits open in the corner, filled with the plain essentials she's been rotating through since coming home. She pulls out a white short-sleeved tee—one of many—and slips it on, its softness clinging lightly to her skin. Over it, she slides into a black cardigan, then chooses her favorite black puffy pants. Finally, she shrugs into her long black coat, its weight settling comfortably on her shoulders like armor.
She grabs her card wallet, slides it into her coat pocket, and takes her phone from the desk. For a brief moment, she glances at its blank, reset screen, then locks the apartment door behind her.
Standing at the frontier of her home—threshold cold under her shoes—she takes a slow breath, steadies herself, and steps out into the day.
Grace walks through the quiet streets, clutching only a slim card wallet in one hand and her phone in the other. The swirling winter wind brushes past her, sharp and cold, nipping at her cheeks. She stops at a bus stop, the metal bench dusted with frost.
Her eyes move to the bus timetable on the signal pole. There—her university's name is listed. The bus will stop there.
"Okay, good," she murmurs under her breath, her voice barely audible in the wind.
She turns her head, scanning the streets around her. She knows she's crossed this area before—she's sure of it. Yet her memory feels hazy, pieces of familiarity slipping through her fingers. The buildings and sidewalks don't feel entirely foreign, but they don't feel completely hers either.
The bus pulls up with a low hiss, its headlights cutting through the cold night air. She steps inside.
It's nearly empty—just a couple of late-night commuters scattered in the back. At this hour, past midnight, almost no one rides. She slides into a seat by the window, her reflection faint in the glass as the city drifts by.
Minutes later, the bus stops, and the neon sign above the driver's head flashes her school's name. Grace stands, steps off, and lands on snow-packed pavement.
The street here is lined with heaps of snow pushed to either side, sparkling faintly under the dim lamps. She follows the path straight ahead until the campus unfolds before her—sprawling, bold, and unfamiliar despite being hers.
She halts, just staring.
So this is the school I go to…