The winter wind whirls around her, tugging at her coat. Students crisscross the campus walkways, their chatter muted in the frozen air. Grace tucks her chin down and walks faster, falling into her usual brisk pace.
She weaves through the crowd, her eyes darting from building to building.
Where's the administration office… she wonders.
Then, in the distance, she spots a sign—Administration Office.
"Okay, it's there."
Her steps quicken, her boots clicking up a short flight of stairs. Warm air greets her as she pushes through the door into the office.
The lady behind the desk looks up from behind a desk, offering a soft smile.
"Good morning. How can I help you?"
"Hi," Grace says, walking up to the counter and standing before her. "I'm a student here… I've been on medical leave."
"I see," the lady replies, her expression kind. "What can I help you with today?"
Though Mom told me not to worry about tuition, I still need to know the date… so I can get things ready, Grace thinks, her hands tightening on the strap of her bag.
"Well, I've got some questions about my status right now—when I can enroll back in. Also… the tuition date as well," she says, voice soft but steady.
"Sure." The receptionist nods and types something on the keyboard. "Can I see your student ID?"
Grace slides her card wallet open and pulls out the student ID card—its edges slightly worn. Mom made sure I took this when we left the hospital, she remembers as she places it on the desk.
The woman takes it, scans the barcode, and begins typing again. A faint hum of the printer and the quiet tap of keys fill the room. After a moment, the receptionist looks up, her expression calm.
"Seems like you're on medical leave," she says gently. "For now, you don't need to worry about the tuition date. The entire year has already been paid. Since you didn't attend this semester, the rest of the payment automatically carries over for next semester."
Grace blinks, her eyes widening slightly.
"The entire payment is made?" she echoes under her breath.
Did I pay for the whole year? I never do that…
Something tugs at the edge of her memory—hazy, unreachable. She leans forward a little. "Are you sure? Are you saying I already paid for the entire year?"
This time, the woman hesitates, then smiles kindly, though confusion flickers in her eyes.
"Grace… your donor covered it. Don't you remember?"
Grace freezes.
"There's… a donor?"
The lady tilts her head, equally puzzled, her brow knitting slightly. The two of them stare at each other, confusion passing back and forth like a slow-motion exchange.
"Grace, are you all right?" the lady finally asks, her voice softening with concern.
Grace swallows.
"Sorry. I… I actually lost a lot of memories after my accident."
"Oh…" The woman gasps quietly, her hand resting lightly on the keyboard. Her eyes soften, the understanding dawning.
"I see. That explains it. Well, to make it clear—yes. A donor already paid your full tuition last year. Everything's taken care of."
The words land heavy in the air. Grace's fingers curl slightly at her side.
"Who… is the donor?" she asks, her voice quiet, almost a whisper, but the question slices through the room like a blade.
The lady hesitates, her fingers still poised above the keyboard.
"Well… we're not supposed to share that information, Grace. The donor specifically requested anonymity."
A weight drops into Grace's chest, cold and suffocating. She takes a breath, forcing her voice steady.
"I understand. But… I feel like this is connected to my memory loss. Please… can you tell me? Just this once?"
The woman studies her for a long moment, lips pressed into a thin line, before exhaling a heavy sigh—the kind that carries both conflict and resignation.
"…If it helps you recover your memories," she murmurs, "then… all right."
Her eyes meet Grace's, and for the first time her voice drops to almost a whisper.
"The donor is Julian Lenter. He's a professor in the Faculty of Arts and Design."
Grace blinks. The name hangs in the air, unfamiliar yet weighted.
"A professor… from Arts and Design?" she repeats, head tilting slightly.
Why would someone from such a different faculty pay my tuition?
But before she can linger on the thought, the sound of footsteps draws her attention—students trickling into the office, the hum of conversation growing. Grace straightens, nodding quickly.
"Thank you… for telling me. Have a great day."
She turns to leave, but a voice calls softly from behind her.
"Grace."
Grace pivots, eyes meeting the lady's again. The woman wears a small, gentle smile.
"I hope you get well soon," she says, sincerity woven into every syllable.
A faint warmth flickers through Grace, enough to soften her lips into a small smile of her own.
"Thank you," she replies quietly.
Then she steps outside, the glass door closing behind her with a muted click.
The campus greets her again—its cold air biting sharper now after the office's warmth. Students rush along the pathways, their coats flaring behind them like fleeting shadows. Grace pulls her scarf a little tighter, eyes scanning the busy grounds.
"So… now I have to find this Professor Julian Lenter," she murmurs to herself, her breath curling white in the icy air.
Meanwhile, Julian walks along the snow-dusted campus path, heading from his faculty building toward another lecture hall three blocks away. His morning lecture doesn't start until 11:30, leaving him enough time to savor the warmth of the coffee in his right hand. His laptop bag hangs from his left shoulder, swaying gently as he strolls, unhurried.
Then his steps falter.
From across the wide campus walkway, he sees her.
Grace…?
The winter wind whips around him, tugging at his coat, but his eyes stay fixed on the girl in the distance. His heart gives a sharp, unexpected thud, followed by another—faster this time. His breath catches in the cold air.
"Grace…" he whispers, barely audible over the wind.
A slow, almost disbelieving smile forms on his lips—soft, relieved, like sunlight breaking through clouds after a long winter storm.
She's here. She's actually here.
Grace's gaze shifts toward him from across the path. For a brief second, Julian imagines her smiling back, maybe even calling out his name, running to him like old times. But instead, her expression is blank—no recognition, no warmth, only something distant and enigmatic.
She steps closer, tilting her head slightly.
"Excuse me," she says politely.
Julian blinks.
Excuse me…?
He steadies himself, keeping his composure even as confusion ripples inside him. He opens his mouth to greet her, but she speaks first.
"I'm sorry, but… can I ask where the Faculty of Arts and Design building is?"
For a moment, Julian just stares at her. The girl who once knew his voice without seeing his face… is now looking at him as if he's a stranger.
Grace studies him too—this man in a sleek black coat, black-rimmed glasses fogged slightly from the cold, his dark hair tousled but deliberate, his stature straight and self-assured. His presence radiates something both intelligent and quietly magnetic. Yet, his eyes hold confusion directed at her.
Why is he looking at me like that? Grace wonders, a faint chill running deeper than the winter wind.
Julian stands frozen, his eyes locked on her face, a mix of bafflement and hesitation twisting in his chest.
Did she… lose her memories when she woke up from the coma?
He doesn't want to believe it, but the confusion in her eyes is undeniable—so distant, so foreign, as if the years between them have been erased in an instant.
Grace shifts under his stare.
"Excuse me?" she asks, uncertainty flickering across her expression at the intensity of his gaze.
Julian blinks, snapping out of his daze, but before he can speak, Grace lowers her eyes and steps back.
"Sorry," she mutters, almost in a rush, then turns on her heel and quickens her pace.
He watches helplessly as she walks away, her figure cutting through the snow-dusted campus path until it disappears around a corner.
Julian's breath catches, and his heart pounds like a drumbeat inside his ribs, uneven and frantic. He stands there in the cold, snowflakes drifting through the space she just occupied.
Did she really forget me...?