Page 51 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

But when I couldn’t, I did the only thing that came naturally.

I pulled her against me and kissed her.

Everything I couldn’t say poured into that kiss. Every ounce of love I’d been carrying for her, every feeling that had always caught in my throat before it could become words, every desperate, overwhelming bit of happiness that had surged through me when she’d told me she loved me—I gave it all to her.

I held her tighter, refusing to let the moment end. I wanted her to feel everything I was too broken to put into words. I wanted her to understand what I couldn’t explain, to feel the depth of what she meant to me in every second I held her close. The way my arms wrapped around her was the confession I could never bring myself to make. The way I kissed her was the only answer I knew how to give.

Somewhere beneath the rush of happiness, I was silently begging her to understand.

This was me.

This was how I loved.

And when I finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, searching her face for the same happiness I felt surging through me, I truly believed she had understood.

Her lips curved upward, yet the smile never reached her eyes. She held my gaze for a moment, searching my face with an uncertainty she seemed determined to hide. The happiness that had filled her eyes when she’d told me she loved her had faded, leaving something hesitant in its place. Something that made the warmth I’d been carrying in my chest drain away.

I knew that look.

I’d seen it before.

That small pause. That careful smile. That way she searched my face before looking away, almost trying to convince herself not to feel what she was already feeling.

Disappointment.

My stomach dropped.

She was disappointed.

I was still holding her, still feeling my heart pound with all the love I’d been trying so desperately to give her, yet suddenly none of that mattered. All I could see was the one thing I’d failed to give her.

I wanted her to look at me and see how completely I’d fallen for her, how much of my life had begun to revolve around her without me even realizing it. I wanted her to feel secure in what I felt for her, to know exactly where she stood with me and never have to question it.

I’d wanted her to feel loved.

I’d wanted her to feel cherished. Wanted. Chosen.

Instead, I’d made her wonder.

So I did what I had always done.

I decided to give more.

Something bigger. Something undeniable. Something she couldn’t possibly look at and still wonder what she meant to me.

I was going to ask her to marry me.

I’d already bought the ring after our first official date. I’d kept it hidden for months, carrying the little box with me through every day without knowing exactly when I’d be brave enough to use it.

I’d planned the entire day around her.

We’d start with laser tag because I loved watching her become fiercely competitive, that spark in her eyes appearing the second she had someone to beat. Then we’d go to an escape room because there was something addictive about watching her brilliant mind work, seeing her narrow her attention until nothing existed except the problem in front of her.

I loved those moments more than she knew, when she’d become completely absorbed, piecing everything together with that sharp concentration and then looking so unbearably pleased with herself when she’d solved it.

And after that, I’d take her back to the café where we’d first met.

I’d get down on one knee.