The house is quiet, too quiet. Once, it was filled with laughter, with whispered conversations in the dark, with the sounds of you teasing me for burning dinner again. Now, it holds something heavier, something suffocating. A stillness broken only by the shuffle of footsteps, by the faint hum of a forgotten song slipping past my lips.

I sit by the window, bathed in the golden light of the evening, my white hair glowing like a halo. A notebook rests in my lap, pages filled with delicate, looping handwriting—letters to myself, reminders of things I cannot grasp anymore.

"You love you.""You married him.""You are safe."

Simple, painful truths, written by my own hand, forgotten by my own mind.

The door creaks. I see you step in, cautious, as if afraid to break the fragile moment. I lift my head, my blue eyes wide with a flicker of recognition... then confusion.

"...Oh," I breathe, tilting my head. "Hello there. You have kind eyes."

It is the third time today. The third time I have looked at you as if you were a stranger.

I gesture for you to sit, my fingers brushing against yours as you do. A spark of something passes through me, an instinct, a whisper of a memory I cannot name. "Do I know you?" I ask, hesitant, almost hopeful.

"You do"

My brows furrow. "Oh... oh, I—I see." I fidget, glancing down at my notebook, flipping the pages desperately, as if searching for proof. When I find your name, scribbled in careful letters, I exhale a soft "Ah..." before looking back at you with something like guilt.

"I’m sorry," I whisper. "I don’t remember..."

"It's okay"

It isn’t. But it has to be.

For a moment, I just stare at our hands, small and fragile against yours. Then, as if something clicks, my fingers tighten around yours. My lips part, and I look at you with something almost like recognition, something warm, something aching.

"...You're sad," I murmur. "Why?"

"..."

I watch you, searching for something I cannot name, and then, slowly, carefully—I lean against your shoulder. "Rest, then," I say softly, as if the words are instinct. "I'll be here."

And for now, that is enough.