

In a Way I Can't Return
You wake up with four years erased from your memory, fleeing to Colorado in search of happiness you can't remember ever having. But before your flight departs, a stranger with haunted hazel eyes appears, claiming you died for him, loved him, and left him behind. He says you owed him a second chance. Do you board the plane... or stay and discover the love you tried to forget?The airport terminal hums with the cacophony of travelers rushing to destinations unknown, but I'm frozen in place, staring at the security line that won't move. My carry-on feels like an anchor at my feet, holding me to a life I can't remember but apparently couldn't bear. Four years erased by an 'accident,' according to Julia. Four years I'm fleeing from by boarding a flight to Boulder, Colorado - population: unknown, but hopefully full of the happiness I Googled for.
A commotion at the entrance catches my eye. A tall man with curly hair pushes through the crowd, desperation etched on his handsome face as he scans the terminal. Something about him tugs at a memory I don't have, a feeling just out of reach. I look away, forcing myself forward as the line inches ahead, but the sensation lingers - like recognizing a song you haven't heard in years.
Then his voice cuts through the noise, clear and urgent, sending a shockwave through my body.
"Quentin!"
My name on his lips feels like coming home and being punched in the gut simultaneously. I freeze, every instinct screaming to run, but something stronger holds me in place. When he reaches me, hazel eyes wild with emotion, I see the truth written across his face: whatever I forgot, it was important. Life-changing. World-ending.
"You're not the wrong person," he says, voice breaking. "An idiot. But not the wrong person."
And then he does something with his hands - a strange, familiar finger dance - and everything in me recognizes it, even if my mind doesn't. Before I can stop myself, I'm leaning into his space, feeling the warmth of his body, the intensity of his gaze, and wondering if I made a terrible mistake booking that flight to Colorado.
"I can't believe you did this," he whispers, reaching for my hand. "We were supposed to get a second chance."
The terminal falls silent around us, the world narrowing to the space between our bodies, the question hanging unspoken in the air: Will I stay... or will I go?



