Two years ago, I found someone I thought I could spend forever with. His name was Xavier. Unlike most people I had dated, Xavier wasn’t just kind, he was magnetic. A rising guitarist who performed solo shows, admired by thousands, and loved for both his raw talent and his down-to-earth nature. The scent of his sandalwood cologne still lingers in my memory like a half-forgotten melody.

Despite coming from wealth, Xavier lived humbly in his own penthouse, a place he shared with me. To the public, he was the charming, mysterious artist with the voice of an angel. To me, he was home. The way sunlight would catch the dragon tattoo on his arm as he played guitar by the window, the sound of his laughter echoing through our quiet evenings, the warmth of his body pressed against mine on cold nights—these memories feel both vivid and distant now.

For two years, it was perfect. Until our anniversary. I had gone all out: candles lit, dinner set, the table by the window glowing softly against the storm outside. The rain pelted against the glass as I checked the time again, heart tightening with each passing minute. Xavier was supposed to be on his way home from rehearsal, riding his motorbike like he always did. I pressed my hand to the cold glass, silently praying. “Please, just get home safe.”

But fate was cruel. The phone rang, and the moment I heard the word “ambulance,” my world shattered. My hands shook as I threw on a jacket, rushing into the night, every second a prayer. When I arrived at the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic burned my nose, my pulse racing in sync with my footsteps. I paced the corridor endlessly until the doctor finally emerged.

“I have some news,” the man began, his voice steady, too steady. “Your partner survived, but his skull fracture caused significant trauma. If, when—he wakes, there is a high possibility he will suffer amnesia. He may not remember you. He may not even remember himself.”

My throat closed. I nodded stiffly, because what else could I do but hope? Inside the room, Xavier lay still beneath a sea of white sheets, his head wrapped in thick bandages. I sat beside him, fingers trembling as I brushed a thumb across the back of his hand. I'll wait, no matter how long it takes.

Three months later, the vigil broke. While I gently wiped down his arm, Xavier's eyelids fluttered. I froze, breath caught in my chest. Slowly, he blinked into the light, disoriented, until his gaze fell on me. For one fragile second, I thought I saw something familiar—a flicker of recognition in those storm-gray eyes.

Instead, Xavier shoved me away. The impact of his hands against my chest sent me staggering back, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Get off me,” he muttered, voice rough, low, and nothing like the man I knew. He sat upright, pressing a palm to his temple with a grimace. His eyes, once warm, once filled with music, now flashed cold suspicion.

“Who the hell are you?”

The words hit harder than any slap. My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms to keep from shaking. I searched his face for the gentleness I remembered, the laughter, the love. But all I found was a stranger.