Some people lived a thousand memories, some only lived one. But if that's love, maybe it's enough. Maybe life is the sum of memories. But what life matters if love is beyond that sum? What if you had limited memories? What if you were forced to relive the same moment for eternity? And what if you couldn't find your love in that limited set of memories?
The rain was heavy that night. I saw her, under the dim streetlight, holding the umbrella that barely protected her. She was soaked to the bone, not even trying to shield herself from the shivering cold anymore. A briefcase squeezed between her hand and her waist as if it contained something valuable, more than her soul itself.
Her figure was slender, so delicate, like she was made of threads of moonlight barely stitched together. I can't deny she looked beautiful, but somehow, it felt like the last ray from a dying star. In what seemed like her usual work dress—a formal white shirt and black pants—she stood there like she was waiting for someone.
I approached her, and before I could say anything, she muttered, "Do you remember anything?"
My body moved on its own, taking her hand, and I ran forward, towards a big tree, which may not cover us completely, but still was better than the present situation. "Uhh... do I know you?" I asked. I could see her face turning pale, even in that darkness, but I couldn't sum up anything to say to her. She didn’t speak for a while, clenched her case, stood there like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.
"Ma'am, are you fine...?" These words from me completely broke her. She fell on her knees, bursting into tears. Horrified by the scene, I quickly apologized. "Don’t," she said, pausing as she couldn’t hold her breath while crying, "Why don’t you remember me?" As painful as it sounded, I still had no clue what she was talking about. "What are you talking about?" I raised my voice a bit defensively. "I have no clue."
She looked at me. A flash from a moving car suddenly fell upon her, and I saw her face. A face with no bruises, perfect texture, but still holding the depth of pain and sadness inside. Those eyes, filled with hope, looked at me, but were surrounded by darkness. Her lips, tainted with woody rose gloss, looked like a red rose with thorns. Though with that makeup, they still felt incomplete. I could sense that much.
But I wondered! Why was I so fixated on her? Like I knew her. The car passed, and that blink of an image I saw was retained in my memory. Helping her to stand up, I felt her cold body over mine. Then suddenly, she pushed me to the tree and kissed me. I pushed back immediately. "Wh... what are you doing?" "This is the only option I have now," she said, throwing herself over me desperately. "I loveeeeeee youuuuuu", yelling, that had so much pain expressed. "why can't you remember me, plea... pleaseeeeee just for once" At some point, I felt like I should give in for this moment. But those words, pierced me like a sharp needle. So, I hesitated. After that struggle, she ran away—into the darkness, into the pouring rain.
I didn’t move, wondering what had just happened. Then I saw her briefcase lying just beside me. I remembered she was holding it. Maybe it was something important. But would she return or not? I stood up and leaned down to take the case. I took it home, returning to the old shelter across the road. I was still bothered by that incident and couldn’t rest at all. I kept waking up and found myself staring at that briefcase again and again. I was so tempted to open it. I resisted, but the temptation took over me.
I reached for the case and carefully looked at it. The case was almost empty, just a slight blue-colored diary with the word "MEMORIES" handwritten on it. Holding it in my hands, I wasn’t aware of what was to come. When I opened it, I found my name. Not just my first name to confuse me—my whole name and surname—written together with a girl’s name inside what was supposed to be a giant heart. I was flabbergasted. My heart skipped a beat seeing my own name there. Hurriedly, I turned the page. On the first three pages, there were things written about what we did together, which I had no idea about what or when it happened. It went like, "First day, it was raining, and u saw me and helped me and..." Not in good English, with another language mixed in. Second day, it was written how we spent the day together, and similar with the third day. "I will say something to you tomorrow." "Me too." In different handwriting.
And I immediately recognized it. It was mine.
I stood up, froze for a moment, shut the diary and looked around. I took a huge deep breath and opened it again. Pages, empty from there. I turned the pages, again and again; all blank. I couldn’t gather anything. I couldn’t connect the dots. In between the panic and astonishment, I found myself lying in bed, wondering about all of these from the beginning.
The rain was heavy that night. I saw her, under the dim streetlight, holding the umbrella that barely protected her. She was soaked to the bone, not even trying to shield herself from the shivering cold anymore. A briefcase squeezed between her hand and her waist, as if it contained something valuable—more than her soul itself.
Her figure was slender, so delicate, like she was made of threads of moonlight barely stitched together. I can’t deny she looked beautiful, but somehow it felt like the last ray from a dying star. In what seemed like her usual work dress, a formal white shirt and black pants. she stood there like she was waiting for someone.
I approached her, and before I could say anything, she muttered, "You read my diary, right dear? Now I think you remember, right?"I had no clue what she was talking about.
END
Actually, the world we had already ended after that third day. I had lost all my memories. But she retained them all. But in return, she couldn’t see me. If she did, she had to relive the whole moment from our first meeting to the breaking point again. All those countless times. Every time I saw her that rainy night. Countless interactions. But I couldn’t remember any of them. And her... she was repeating it all, just to see me one more time.
Then maybe I wonder, how was our first meeting, maybe she wasn't that sad, maybe she was smiling, maybe we both were laughing, that was the beginning after all, but I will never know what happened as I am just a shell with no MEMORIES.
Is love worth the sacrifice...?