The rhythmic patter of raindrops played a symphony on the roof of Lela's car as she navigated the winding roads on a somber, rainy day. Having just left her parents' house, she was a 28-year-old woman married to her husband, Lucas. The world outside was blurred by the rain-splattered windshield, and Lela's mind was lost in the tender memories of familial warmth.
Approaching a bridge, the tranquil drive took a heart-stopping turn. A child, fervently chasing his dog, darted onto the street. In an instinctual dance with fate, Lela swerved to avoid the child, only to find herself careening into the cold embrace of a river. The car became a sinking cage, the river's current too strong for her escape. The world dimmed as water enveloped her, and she succumbed to the chilling depths.
Civilians, drawn to the scene, became unsung heroes as they pulled Lela from the clutches of the river. Yet, the impact had taken its toll, leaving her submerged in a coma for eight long months. Within the cocoon of unconsciousness, her mind wrestled with the aftermath of the accident.
Eight months later, Lela emerged from the depths of the coma, her eyes fluttering open to a world reshaped by memory loss. Fragments of her past clung to her consciousness like elusive whispers. Parents and familiar faces greeted her, yet her husband, Lucas, struggled through a daily reintroduction as if rewriting their shared history.
The hardship etched in Lucas's eyes sparked a plan, a pact formed in whispers with Lela's parents and friends. Once released from the sterile confines of the hospital, Lela decided to retreat to the familiar embrace of her parents' home. A fresh start, a return to square one, marked the beginning of a journey untethered by the chains of routine.
The field she once toiled in lost its luster, replaced by a newfound passion for words. Lela yearned to become a writer, and every day, she poured her thoughts into the refuge of a journal. Life unfolded with the rhythmic cadence of ink on paper, interspersed with the laughter of friends who led her on adventures. Each escapade found a place in her journal, fueling the embers of creativity.
In the tapestry of Lela's life, a group of friends stood as steadfast pillars, their camaraderie weathered by seven or eight years of shared history. Among them, a guy named Mike emerged as an enchanting presence. Lela found his charm irresistible—his dimples, his smile, and the endearing way he covered his mouth when he laughed, a testament to his self-consciousness about his teeth. Yet, his name, Mike, felt incongruent to her, as if it were a guise concealing another truth.
Time unfolded, and Mike's fondness for Lela blossomed into dates adorned with his uncanny knack for anticipating her desires. Lela found herself enamored by his gestures, shrugging off the incongruity of his name. Love, she believed, was a realm immune to the boundaries of logic. Despite the brevity of their time together, Lela felt an indescribable connection with Mike, dismissing the ticking clock with a knowing smile.
Valentine's Day dawned, and Mike decided to orchestrate a night to remember. With childish excitement, Lela awaited the evening, feeling like a little kid anticipating the unveiling of a surprise. Mike, the maestro of romantic symphonies, picked her up, leading her to his penthouse—a realm of enchantment.
The door swung open to reveal a realm adorned with rose petals, flickering candles, a fragrant bouquet, and a meticulously set dinner table. Soft music, a playlist crafted from her favorite songs, serenaded their evening. After a delightful dinner and an adorable movie, they surrendered to the gentle embrace of sleep.
The following morning, Mike left to fetch breakfast, leaving Lela in a moment of solitude that stirred her curiosity. The allure of the penthouse proved too tempting, and she found herself navigating its secrets. In her exploration, a box surfaced, revealing a trove of pictures—captured moments of her life, even during group hangouts. A chill coursed through her as goosebumps pricked her skin.
Unease congealed into fear, prompting Lela to hasten her departure. She blocked Mike on every conceivable avenue, her rush home fueled by a sense of foreboding. Alone in her room, she turned to her journal, pouring the strange encounter onto its pages. The door creaked open, and Mike's voice echoed through the empty halls. Panic set in.
In a frenzy, Lela barricaded herself in the bathroom, calling her parents in a desperate plea for help. A surge of energy propelled her to document every fear, every nuance of her racing thoughts. Memories flickered in the chaos—images of a past life in a beautiful penthouse, her role as a software engineer, the daily impatience for her husband's return at 5 p.m.
The cacophony of thoughts crescendoed, and in the midst of the storm, a realization struck her like lightning. Her husband's name, forgotten for so long, materialized in her mind.
"...Lucas Mike Oregami."
The revelation lingered in the air as the door creaked open. In the haze of terror, Lela uttered the truth that had eluded her—an acknowledgment that unraveled the enigma of her memories. "It was you... Damn..."
