The first thing Damien saw when he opened his eyes was a white ceiling.

For several seconds, he simply stared at it.

His head felt heavy, his body ached, and somewhere beside him, a machine gave a steady, irritating beep.

He slowly turned his head.

A hospital room.

Why am I in a hospital?

Before he could think any further, the door opened.

"Damien!"

His mother hurried toward him, followed by his father.

"Oh, thank God."

She took his hand tightly.

"What happened?"

"You were in an accident," his father said. "You hit your head."

"An accident?"

"Yes."

"How long have I been here?"

"Two days."

Damien frowned.

A doctor approached and began checking him. He answered the questions without much difficulty. His parents exchanged relieved glances.

Then the door opened again.

A young woman stepped inside.

She stopped when she saw him awake.

"Damien."

There was relief in her voice.

She smiled and walked toward him.

Damien looked at her.

He didn't recognize her.

"Who are you?"

The smile disappeared from her face.

His mother looked at the young woman.

His father did the same.

Then they looked at the doctor.

Then back at Damien.

His mother spoke carefully.

"You don't remember her?"

"No."

Damien glanced at the woman again.

"Should I?"

The doctor straightened.

"I'd like to perform some additional tests."

---

The results only made things stranger.

Damien's memory seemed perfectly intact.

His childhood.

His education.

His friends.

Even an acquaintance he had barely spoken to in years.

But Clara was missing.

Completely.

His mother stared at the doctor.

"But Clara?"

"They grew up together," his father added. "They've known each other since they were children."

The doctor nodded.

"That is why this is unusual."

"If he forgot someone," his mother said quietly, "we thought it certainly wouldn't be her."

The doctor folded his hands.

"It may be selective amnesia."

Damien frowned.

"Meaning?"

"You haven't necessarily lost your memory as a whole. Certain memories can become inaccessible while others remain intact. It can involve a particular event, a period of time, or even a specific person."

His gaze shifted toward Clara.

"In this case, that person appears to be Lady Clara."

Damien looked at her again.

She lowered her eyes.

To him, she was a stranger.

To her, he was the boy who had been beside her almost her entire life.

---

Clara kept visiting.

At first, she tried to make him remember.

She told him about their childhood.

The tree Damien had climbed to rescue a kitten.

The window he had broken chasing a ball.

The time he had organized his schoolbag so meticulously that she had called him insane.

He listened.

Sometimes he smiled.

But every time they met, Clara could see it.

That distance.

That blankness.

To Damien, every meeting was like seeing a stranger.

At first, she told herself it would pass.

Then she became angry.

Not because she believed Damien had chosen to forget her.

She knew he hadn't.

That was what made it worse.

He couldn't control which memories were gone.

And yet she couldn't stop thinking:

Of all people, why me?

---

The first kiss had happened the night before the accident.

There had been no confession.

No promise.

They weren't dating.

They had never even discussed what they felt.

They had simply been walking home together when Damien suddenly stopped.

Clara turned toward him.

Before she could ask what was wrong, he leaned down and kissed her.

She froze.

Then, after one startled heartbeat, she kissed him back.

It lasted only a moment.

When they separated, both of them were bright red.

Neither knew what to say.

"Don't talk about this," Clara muttered.

"Okay."

"Ever."

"Okay."

They went home separately.

Neither slept much that night.

Neither admitted what the kiss meant.

But they both remembered it.

Until the accident.

---

For a while, Clara was simply heartbroken.

Then the anger took over.

One afternoon, she kissed Damien on the lips.

He stared at her in horror.

"What did you just do?"

She smiled.

"You'll forget tomorrow."

"That doesn't make it acceptable."

She laughed.

The next day, he didn't remember.

So she did it again.

Then again.

Sometimes because she wanted to see his horrified expression.

Sometimes because she was angry.

Sometimes because she simply wanted to prove that she could still make him react to her.

Seven times in total.

There were also two kisses on his neck, courtesy of Clara's brief and deeply regrettable career as a domineering CEO girlfriend.

"Listen carefully," she told him one afternoon.

Damien looked unimpressed.

"You're mine."

"I am not."

She leaned closer.

"Behave."

Then she kissed his neck.

His expression became one of complete disbelief.

Clara immediately burst out laughing.

She knew it was ridiculous.

She also knew he'd forget.

That became her excuse.

He'll forget tomorrow.

It's just a joke.

He deserves it.

It's not my fault he forgot me.

She knew the last one was nonsense.

She said it anyway.

---

One evening, Clara decided to make things even more ridiculous.

She put on a red dress she hated and lipstick she hated even more.

She stared at herself in the mirror.

"Damn it. I look hideous."

She touched her lips.

"This isn't even my color."

She sighed.

"I'm more of a delicate beauty."

Then she laughed.

"For the laughter, it'll be worth it."

She walked into Damien's room.

He looked up.

She smiled coyly.

"Baby."

His expression immediately became wary.

"I'm here."

"Did you miss me, my sugar plum?"

He stared at her.

"Miss Clara, I may have lost my memories, but I'm fairly certain we're not in such a relationship."

Her jaw dropped.

"You don't like me anymore?"

"I never said—"

"Is there another woman?"

"No."

"You traitor!"

"Clara—"

"Indeed, all men are the same!"

Damien stared at her.

"I thought you were different, my sugar plum."

Her shoulders began shaking.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you laughing?"

"I... nothing."

She covered her mouth.

"It just... I remembered something."

Then she completely lost it.

She laughed until tears came from her eyes.

Damien shook his head.

"This woman is crazy."

He walked away.

Clara turned her back toward him, still laughing.

Then, under her breath:

"God damn it. This dress."

She looked down.

"I hate this thing."

She wiped her eyes.

"But for that laugh, it was worth it."

---

But there were moments when the joke stopped being funny.

One night, Damien developed a fever.

Clara stayed beside him until morning.

She changed the cloth on his forehead, brought him water, adjusted his blankets, and watched over him while he slept.

There were no kisses.

No teasing.

No ridiculous games.

Just Clara.

At some point, Damien opened his eyes.

"Clara?"

She froze.

"You remember me?"

He frowned.

"No."

Her heart sank.

"Right."

He closed his eyes again.

She stayed until morning anyway.

---

Another time, Clara discovered that Damien remembered an acquaintance he had barely spoken to.

She stared at him.

"You remember him?"

"Yes."

"You spoke to him three times."

Damien frowned.

"I don't know what that has to do with anything."

"You remember someone you barely talked to."

"Yes."

"And you don't remember me?"

"I can't control it."

"I know."

Her voice sharpened.

"We grew up together."

"I know."

"You remember him."

"Yes."

"But you forgot me."

Damien fell silent.

Clara's eyes burned.

"You could have forgotten anyone."

She swallowed.

"Why me?"

"I don't know."

She looked away.

"I hate that you look at me like I'm a stranger."

Damien didn't know what to say.

Because he hated it too.

---

For a while, the anger felt almost comfortable. Familiar, even. Easier to hold than the alternative.

There was a night Clara sat outside Damien's door, having just left one of her "jokes," and caught herself smiling at the memory of his face. Genuinely smiling. Then she caught herself doing it, and the smile died.

This isn't funny anymore, she thought. Was it ever?

She told herself it was. She told herself it every day for almost a week.

She kept a tally, without meaning to. Seven kisses. Two on his neck. She knew the exact number the way you know the exact number of days since something ended.

One evening she almost didn't go to see him. She stood outside his door with her hand raised, and thought, clearly, what am I actually doing. Then she thought about him remembering that man he'd spoken to three times, and the thought hardened into something familiar and easier to carry, and she knocked anyway.

She started rehearsing her excuses out loud, alone, like lines. He'll forget tomorrow. It's harmless. He deserves it. She'd say them to her reflection while getting ready, and for a while, saying them was enough to believe them.

Until the night she said them and her own eyes, in the mirror, didn't believe her.

She stood there a long moment, toothbrush still in hand, watching herself say it's harmless to no visible effect at all.

Then she laughed, short and humorless, and went to bed without finishing the thought.

It caught up with her a few days later.

---

The mirror broke a few days later.

Clara had been staring at her reflection for several minutes.

"I am fine."

She laughed.

"I'm completely fine."

She wasn't.

"It's one guy."

Her hand tightened around the object she was holding.

"One stupid guy who forgot me."

She threw it.

The mirror shattered.

Clara stared at the broken reflections.

"I'm smart."

A shaky laugh escaped her.

"I'm capable. I'm intelligent."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"So why do I keep acting like this?"

She wiped her face angrily.

"It's not the end of the world!"

Her voice cracked.

"It's not!"

She laughed again, but this time it turned into a sob.

"What is wrong with me?"

She slid down against the wall.

She knew Damien hadn't chosen to forget her.

She knew that.

And she was still angry at him anyway.

Maybe that was the part she couldn't forgive herself for.

---

Eventually, Clara became tired of her own excuses.

She remembered Damien's expression.

Not the horrified one that had once made her laugh.

The genuinely uncomfortable one.

She covered her face.

"If someone did this to me..."

She stopped.

She knew exactly how she would feel.

She would hate them.

She would think they were taking advantage of her.

Her breathing shook.

"I did that to you."

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

"I actually did that to you."

She had been angry.

She had been hurt.

She had wanted to punish him.

But none of that changed what she had done.

She had taken advantage of someone who couldn't remember her.

She had done something to him that she herself would have hated.

Clara cried harder.

"I'm sorry."

Then she remembered the first kiss.

The real one.

The one before the accident.

The one she had wanted to become a memory they shared.

She laughed weakly through her tears.

"You took my first kiss from me."

She wiped her face.

"And the next morning, you couldn't even recognize me."

That hurt.

But it wasn't why she was crying now.

She was crying because she had allowed herself to become someone she didn't recognize.

She looked down.

"This was the last time."

No excuse followed.

No joke.

"I won't do it again."

---

That night, Damien woke suddenly.

Something had changed.

The memories that had been inaccessible came rushing back.

Clara.

Their childhood.

Their arguments.

The stolen kisses.

The fever.

The ridiculous red dress.

And the night before the accident.

The kiss.

He remembered Clara.

---

Damien found Clara the following morning.

She opened the door.

"Damien?"

His gaze moved past her.

Several cardboard boxes were stacked throughout the room. Books had been packed away. Half-empty shelves stood against the walls, and some of the furniture had already been moved aside.

He looked back at her.

"You're leaving."

It wasn't a question.

Clara followed his gaze.

"I'm going abroad."

"When?"

"Soon."

She stepped aside.

"Come in."

Damien entered.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then he looked at her.

"I remember."

Clara went still.

"Everything?"

"Everything that was missing."

She stared at him.

Then, unexpectedly, she gave a small shrug.

"Well."

A faint smile appeared on her face.

"Good for you."

Damien frowned.

"That doesn't sound like what I expected."

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know."

She looked away.

"Neither do I."

Silence.

"I was angry," Clara said eventually.

Damien waited.

"I was angry and bitter because you forgot me."

She laughed quietly.

"Out of all the people."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve.

"I knew it wasn't your fault. Logically, I knew that from the beginning."

She looked at him.

"But knowing something logically doesn't mean you feel it."

Damien said nothing.

"I kept thinking about everyone you remembered."

Her voice became quieter.

"People you barely spoke to. People who weren't even important to you."

She swallowed.

"And you forgot me."

A painful smile crossed her face.

"We grew up together."

She looked down.

"I hated that."

Damien's expression softened.

"And I let that anger turn into something ugly."

She took a breath.

"I told myself it was harmless because you wouldn't remember it."

Her eyes lowered.

"I told myself you deserved it."

Another breath.

"And I knew I was lying to myself."

Damien remained silent.

Clara looked toward the packed boxes.

"I'm going abroad."

"Because of me?"

"No."

She shook her head.

"Because of me."

She looked back at him.

"I need to find myself again."

A pause.

"I don't even know what I felt toward you anymore."

Damien's expression changed slightly.

"Was it love?"

Clara smiled faintly.

"Maybe."

She looked away.

"Attachment?"

Another pause.

"I don't know."

Her voice cracked.

"Honestly, I have no clue."

She took a slow breath.

"I just know that somewhere between being hurt and being angry, I stopped recognizing myself."

Damien finally spoke.

"What you did was wrong."

Clara closed her eyes.

"I know."

"Being hurt doesn't make it right."

"I know."

She looked at him.

"Don't make excuses for me."

"I wasn't going to."

"Good."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"I would have hated if someone did to me what I did to you."

She swallowed.

"So if you want to hate me, do it."

Damien stared at her.

"Do it passionately."

A tiny, humorless smile appeared.

"Don't try to make me feel better about it."

She wiped her eyes.

"And if you genuinely forgive me..."

She paused.

"Thank you."

Her voice became almost a whisper.

"Because I wouldn't have forgiven myself if it had happened to me."

Damien was silent.

Clara looked toward the door.

"Now..."

She took a breath.

"Could you leave?"

He looked at her.

"Clara—"

"Please."

She gave him a tired smile.

"I just need to be alone."

Damien stood there for another moment.

Then he nodded.

"Take care of yourself."

"I will."

He walked toward the door.

Before leaving, he stopped.

"Clara."

She looked up.

"I don't hate you."

Her eyes trembled.

"I know."

He left.

Clara closed the door behind him.

Then she leaned against it and slowly closed her eyes.

For the first time in months, she was alone with herself.

And this time, she didn't run from it.

THE END