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The sterile, white walls of the Los Angeles hospital felt cold, but the body clinging to Ameya was anything but. Rico held her with the desperate strength of a child lost in a crowd, his head buried in her shoulder.
"Rico... what are you doing?" Ameya whispered, her hands hovering awkwardly in the air.
The doctor stood at the foot of the bed, adjusting his glasses before clearing his throat. "Ms. Ameya... it appears he has lost a significant portion of his memory."
Ameya's breath hitched. She pulled back slightly to look at Rico, who was staring up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "What?" she gasped. "But how? He was struck by a knife... how is memory loss even possible from a wound like that?"
The doctor sighed, tapping his temple. "He likely hit his head with considerable force when he fell. A traumatic brain injury coupled with the shock of the attack."
"He did fall backward," Ameya murmured, the memory of the scuffle flashing in her mind. "But will it last?"
"It's likely a short-term dissociative state or temporary amnesia caused by the sudden shock," the doctor reassured her. "Treat him gently. Don't be rude or confrontational. Stress will only delay his recovery."
Ameya nodded numbly as the doctor exited. The moment the door clicked shut, Rico tugged on her sleeve. "Ameya... I'm hungry."
She reached for a banana from the fruit basket on the side table and handed it to him. Rico didn't take it. He just looked at it, then at her. "Peel it for me?"
"Rico, really? This is too much," she started to snap, but then she remembered the doctor's warning. She softened her expression, peeled the fruit, and held it to his lips.
As he bit into it, his gaze stayed locked on hers—intense, burning, and strangely familiar.
"What?" she asked, feeling her cheeks heat up.
Rico just smiled, a playful, clingy grin that made him look years younger. Ameya placed the rest of the banana in his hand and stood up. "Stay here. I have to make a call. I'll be right back."
She reached out, reflexively stroking his hair. He leaned into her touch like a cat. With a lingering smile, Ameya stepped out into the hallway and dialed Jenna.
The Secret in the City
"He's what?!" Jenna's voice erupted through the phone. "OMG, Ameya! Don't worry, I'll call his family right now—"
"No!" a deep voice interrupted. Michael snatched the phone from Jenna's hand. "Ameya, listen to me. Do not tell Rico's family yet. They'll panic and fly over here, and the last thing Rico needs is a crowded room of crying relatives. You take care of him. We're coming to LA. Alice told me everything already."
Ameya sighed in relief. "You're right. It's better this way. I have to go, the nurse is calling me."
As Ameya hung up, Jenna glared at Michael, snatching her phone back. "How did you even get into my house without permission?"
Michael smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Because I'm your fiancé. And I have your door lock password."
"I'm changing that password today," Jenna scoffed, though her anger was fading. "Anyway, why were you so insistent on not calling his parents? What are you hiding again, Michael?"
Michael's expression grew serious. "Are you still angry...? anyway, I'm sorry.
Jenna said, " Leave it. I was overeating too"
He smiled first then hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "There's a reason, Jenna...."
Three Days Later: The Hospital Bed at Night.
The VIP suite was quiet, save for the hum of the heart monitor. Ameya had been living out of a small couch for seventy-two hours.
"Do you need anything then just call me?" Ameya asked, her voice concern with exhaustion.
Rico nodded silently. Ameya slumped onto the couch, closing her eyes. She was drifting into a deep sleep when she felt the air shift. Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted.
"Rico! What are you doing? Put me down!" she shocked, her eyes flying open.
"Ow!" Rico winced, stumbling slightly.
"See? You're hurting yourself! You have a stomach wound!"
"I only hurt because your knees kicked my stitches," Rico teased, his voice husky. He didn't let go. Instead, he carried her to the large hospital bed and laid her down, climbing in beside her.
"Rico, we can't—"
"Why not?" He looked at her with genuine confusion. "We're engaged, aren't we?"
Ameya froze. Engaged? Her heart hammered against her ribs. "Do you... do you really remember?"
Rico blinked, looking pained. "I have... visuals. Photos in my head. But they're blurry. I just know you're mine."
Ameya panicked. If she told him they had broken up years ago, would his brain snap? "Don't think about it," she whispered, pulling the covers over him. "Just sleep."
Rico reached out, pulling her into his chest. Ameya could feel the steady thrum of his heart. "Don't go away from me," he murmured.
Ameya didn't answer. She just closed her eyes and let him hold her.
The Morning After
The morning sun filtered through the blinds. Ameya stirred to the sensation of fingers tracing her jawline. She opened her eyes to find Rico inches away. He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin, aiming for her lips.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Can't I kiss my girl?" Rico asked innocently.
Before she could protest, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't the kiss of a man with amnesia; it was demanding, hungry, and filled with years of suppressed longing. Ameya's resistance melted. She kissed him back, the familiar electricity surging through her.
Suddenly, the door swung open. A nurse walked in, then froze. "Oh! I... sorry!" She scrambled back out, turning red.
Ameya pushed Rico away, gasping for air. "Rico, stop it!"
Rico just sat up, smirking. When the nurse eventually re-entered to check his pulse, Rico didn't stop. He blew a kiss at Ameya while the nurse worked.
The nurse leaned in and whispered to Ameya, "Your husband loves you a lot. You're very lucky." She winked and left the room.
"He isn't my..." Ameya started, but Rico signaled her over with his finger.
When she got close, he pulled her onto the edge of the bed and hugged her from behind, his lips grazing her ear. "What did she say?"
"Nothing. Rico, don't be so clingy. People will think...."
"I don't mind what they think when I'm being romantic with my wife," he whispered.
"Wife?" Ameya turned to look at him. "Rico... what exactly do you remember about us?"
He leaned. "That we've loved each other for eight years," he said simply. "There's no difference between 'lover' and 'wife' after that long, right?"
Ameya's heart sank. Eight years? They had broken up after three. He had completely erased the separation from his mind.
The Truth of the Mind
Later that afternoon, Ameya stood in the doctor's office, her hands trembling. "How is he remembering things that didn't happen? He thinks we never broke up."
The doctor removed his glasses and sighed. "Ms. Ameya, the brain is a complex organ. Sometimes, when a person faces extreme trauma, the mind creates an 'idealized reality.' It takes a deep-seated desire—a wish you've held onto for a long time—and turns it into a false memory to protect the ego from pain."
"So... his mind is lying to him because he wanted us to stay together?"
"Precisely. If you force the truth on him now, it could cause a mental breakdown. For his recovery, you must act as if nothing happened. Play along." The doctor paused, smiling sadly. "He must love you very much for his brain to rewrite history just to keep you by his side."
Ameya walked back to the room, the weight of the lie pressing down on her. She looked through the window at Rico, who was staring at the door, waiting for her with a bright, expectant smile.
She had to choose: the painful truth, or the beautiful, broken lie.
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To bo Continued....
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