Day 73.(Ren's POV)
There's a special kind of silence that comes when you're sitting beside someonewho used to remember everything about you—and now asks for your name.
She asked me again today.
"What's your name?"
I smiled, softly.
"It's Ren."
She nodded.As if she was memorizing it for the first time.
And maybe… she was.
People think forgetting is like erasing.
But it's not.
It's more like a slow unraveling—like watching a sweater come apart thread by thread,and knowing you can't stop it,so you hold onto every thread that's still warm.
That's what it feels like to love her now.
I take notes of everything.
What she wears.
What songs make her hum.
What foods she still likes.
Which days she forgets how to write her name.
Not for her.
Not yet.
But for me.Because if I start forgetting too,someone has to remember.
Day 72.
She smiled today.
Not at me.But at a cat in the park.
It rubbed against her leg, purred, and she laughed.
And in that moment,I could almost believe she was still her—the girl who used to chase stray cats in the alley behind the school,thinking she could "rescue them with her pockets."
She doesn't remember that story.
But I do.
So I told it to her.
She said, "That sounds like something I would do."
I smiled.
"It was."
Day 71.
We sat under a tree.She leaned her head on my shoulder.Not because she remembered who I was—but because I felt safe.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"Me too," I replied.
And we sat there,scared together.
I wrote tonight in her notebook, because she forgot again.
"Day 71.You don't know who I am.But you trust me.That's enough."
Day 70.
Ten days since she last remembered my name.
But today, she said:
"Ren… sounds like someone I could fall in love with."
And I laughed.Because I already had.