Page 133 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

“Yes!” I snapped.

“Okay!” he said easily. “Just needed to check.”

We sat in silence for a while. I focused on my food, ignoring him.

He broke the silence, his voice softer. “Alessia leaving really did a number on you, huh?”

I took another bite. “You have no idea.”

He smiled, a small, knowing thing. “You’ll get her back.”

I looked up, searching his face for blind optimism. I found none. Just certainty.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugged, as if stating a fundamental law of the universe. “Because there are some people in this world who just… make sense together. You two have always made sense. Even when you were being an idiot.”

A sad, grateful smile touched my lips. It was the kind of faith I couldn’t afford to have for myself, so I was borrowing his.

“Hopefully she’ll think like that too, one day.”

“Oh, she will,” he said with easy confidence, leaning back. “But you’ve got a very, very long road ahead of you. Uphill. In the rain. Probably with some rocks falling.”

I nodded, staring at my plate, wishing with every fiber of my being for his words to be true.

“It’ll be worth it,” I said, the words so soft they were almost just a breath.

We finished the meal in a comfortable quiet. As we stood to leave, Liam turned to me, his expression serious.

“Just so you know,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You’re my best friend too.”

I winced. “Actually, Alessia is my best friend. You’re a close second.”

He dropped his hand, scoffed, and shook his head as he pushed the door open.

“I can see why Alessia left you,” he tossed over his shoulder, leaving me rooted to the spot.

He stopped after a few steps and turned back, a sheepish grimace on his face.

“Was that too soon? It felt too soon.”

I finally moved, shoving his shoulder as I passed him. “It was too soon, you fucker.”

I strode toward the car, leaving him behind.

“Wait, I’m sorry! Come on!” he called after me, laughter breaking through his apology.

He’d forgotten I was the one who drove.

I was already in the driver’s seat, engine running, by the time he caught up, still chuckling.

It wasn’t until we were halfway back to the office that I realized it:

The entire time, that constant hum of anxiety—the one that told me I should be working, that I was abandoning my post—had been completely silent.

After months of strategy, negotiation, and relentless, focused work, the deal was done. The final signature was dry. The last condition met.

For weeks, I’d survived on memories alone. On the two brief moments I’d actually seen her. On restraint. On patience. Now, this was my bridge. My legitimate, concrete reason to step back into her world.