Twice in a lifetime

Walking down the road with her is such a breath of fresh air. My head hurts, but I don't particularly mind. I'm with her, and somehow, that makes everything better. She suddenly spots a cat and crouches down to pet it. "Yo, Mel! Look! It's a cat. Isn't it cute?" "Yes, it is," I reply, looking at her instead. Her smile grows wider. God, she's beautiful. I could spend an unreasonable amount of time watching her do absolutely nothing. There's something about the way she gets excited over the smallest things that makes me happy. My phone alarm interrupts the moment. I glance at the screen. Medication. I quickly dismiss the notification. "What's that?" she asks, standing up. "Nothing important." She gives me a suspicious look. "Mel." "What?" "Nothing." I laugh and reach for her hand. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's go." She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away. **** I'm finally home. The house feels unusually quiet, and I suddenly miss Liora. I head towards the kitchen, hoping to get something to drink. That's when I notice a note on the dining table. Honey, I had to replace Mary Ann. She had an emergency today. I know I promised I'd be home today. I'm so sorry. I left dinner in the refrigerator. Please heat it up and eat. Love, Mom. Of course, another late night. I heat up the lasagna and settle down to eat while scrolling through Liora's Instagram. She's such a diva. I'm so grateful I met her. My phone dings. Mel's favourite person: Hey, babe. What are you doing? I smile. But before I can reply, a sharp pain spreads through my head. I clutch it, waiting for the discomfort to pass. It doesn't. Oh, no. Not now. The pain intensifies, and suddenly, I can barely concentrate on anything around me. I need to call Mom. I need to tell Liora. I need— I don't want to die. I want to be alive with my mother and my girlfriend. I have so many things left to do. So many places to visit. So many memories to make. I don't want this to be the end. And then everything goes black. ***** Beeping sounds and the shuffle of feet are all I can hear. Where am I? I slowly open my eyes, only to be greeted by an uncomfortable brightness. I close them again, waiting a few seconds before attempting to open them once more. White ceiling. White walls. A strange smell. I turn my head slightly. There's a heart monitor beside my bed and an IV line connected to my wrist. A hospital? What happened? I try to sit up, but a strange weakness prevents me from doing so. "She's awake!" A woman rushes towards my bed. She's probably in her mid-forties, and her eyes are already filled with tears. "Sweetheart?" I stare at her. Why is she crying? Who is she? Before I can ask, several doctors enter the room. They begin asking me questions. My name. My age. Whether I know where I am. I answer what I can, but the truth is, I'm so confused. Then the door swings open. A girl rushes inside. She's beautiful. So fucking beautiful. She has long, dark hair falling over her shoulders, expressive eyes and a face that seems oddly familiar, although I cannot place it. She's dressed casually, in an oversized shirt and jeans. Her eyes are red. The moment she sees me, she covers her mouth. "Mel..." Her voice breaks. She walks towards me, tears slipping down her cheeks. Why is she crying? Does she know me? Does everyone in this room know something I don't? Can somebody please tell me what's happening? She reaches for my hand. "I missed you." Something strange happens. Tears begin sliding down my cheeks. I don't know why. I don't know who she is. I don't know why hearing those words hurts so much. But I cry anyway. "We'll talk later, okay?" she whispers. "Let's allow the doctors to explain everything first." I nod. A doctor pulls up a chair beside my bed. "Mel, you've been through a rather difficult experience. You have a condition called Tuberous Sclerosis Complex, commonly known as TSC." I stare at him. He explains that it's a rare genetic disorder that causes non-cancerous growths to develop in different organs, including the brain. In my case, it has contributed to severe epilepsy. Apparently, I've been living with the condition for some time and was prescribed medication to help control my seizures. Unfortunately, I stopped taking it consistently. My condition became more difficult to manage, and the doctors eventually recommended surgery. My mother, he explains, agreed to the procedure. I glance at the woman who has barely stopped crying. My mother. The doctor continues. "Unfortunately, you've experienced significant memory difficulties following the operation. We'll need to monitor you and assess the extent of your memory loss." I stare at him. "Memory loss?" He nods. I look towards the woman. Then towards the beautiful girl still holding my hand. "Who are they?" The room becomes painfully quiet. The woman covers her mouth. The girl lowers her head. And suddenly, I realise something. These people know me. They love me. But I don't remember loving them back. **** The first few days are strange. Apparently, the woman is my mother, and the beautiful girl is my girlfriend. Her name is Liora. We've been together for almost two years. Two years. That's a lot of time to spend with someone. And somehow, I've managed to forget every single second of it. Liora visits almost every day. Sometimes she brings food. Sometimes she brings flowers. Other times, she simply sits beside me and talks about random things. She tells me about our first date, our favourite restaurants and the ridiculous arguments we've had. Apparently, I once spent an entire afternoon arguing that pineapple belonged on pizza. I find that difficult to believe. She says I was also terribly dramatic whenever she refused to share her food. I believe that one. But there's something about her stories that makes me uncomfortable. Not because they're unpleasant. Because I wish I could remember them. One afternoon, she arrives with a small photo album. "What's that?" I ask. "Evidence." "Evidence of what?" "Your terrible behaviour." I laugh. She sits beside me and opens it. The first picture is of us at a beach. She's laughing, while I'm looking at her. The second is of us in a restaurant. The third is a blurry picture of me sleeping on her shoulder. "You're quite obsessed with me," I observe. She raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" "Look at these pictures. You barely have any without me." She laughs. "You're the one who takes most of them." I look at the photographs again. "Was I happy?" Her expression softens. "Very." I nod. "Did I love you?" She goes quiet. Then she smiles. "Yes, Mel. You did." I look at her. "Do you still love me?" Her eyes become watery. "More than you know." I look away. I don't know what to say to that. ***** Going home is an entirely different experience. Mom has practically turned into my personal security officer. She's constantly checking whether I've eaten, taken my medication or rested. I don't complain. It's nice having someone fuss over me. Liora, on the other hand, has become my unofficial tour guide. She shows me pictures, tells me stories and occasionally reminds me that I used to be much more annoying. One evening, we're sitting on the couch when I notice her staring at me. "What?" "Nothing." "You're staring." "Am I not allowed to look at my girlfriend?" I raise an eyebrow. "You're enjoying that title, aren't you?" "Very much." I laugh. She smiles, but it disappears almost immediately. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure." "Do you ever feel like you want to remember?" I look at her. "Of course I do." She nods. "Sometimes I feel guilty." "Why?" "Because I keep telling you stories about us. I keep expecting you to remember little things. And then I realise you can't." She looks down at her hands. "I miss you, Mel." I don't know what to say. "I'm right here." "I know." She takes a breath. "But sometimes I miss the girl who knew all my little habits. The girl who could tell when I was upset without me saying anything. The girl who knew exactly how I liked my coffee." I move closer. "Maybe you could teach me again." She looks up. "What?" "How you like your coffee. Your favourite food. The things that make you happy. All of it." She smiles sadly. "You don't have to do that." "I know." I pause. "But I want to." For a moment, she says nothing. Then she rests her head against my shoulder. And I let her. ***** A few weeks later, I ask Liora on a date. A proper date. She looks at me like I've just announced that I've won the lottery. "You're asking me out?" "Unless there's another beautiful woman in this room." She laughs. "Mel!" "What? I'm trying to be romantic." She covers her face. "You're ridiculous." "I've been told." We go to a little restaurant she apparently introduced me to during our first year together. I let her choose the food because I have no idea what I used to order. We talk about everything. Books. Movies. Childhood memories. Her annoying colleagues. My mother's obsession with checking whether I've eaten. At some point, I catch myself staring. "What?" she asks. "Nothing." "You're staring again." I smile. "You're really pretty." She looks away, laughing. "Thank you." "No, seriously. How did I manage to get you?" She looks at me. "I ask myself that question every day." I burst out laughing. And there it is. That laugh. The one I've grown increasingly fond of. I think I could listen to it for the rest of my life. When the evening ends, I walk her to her car. She turns towards me. "Thank you for tonight." "Thank you for coming." She smiles. I hesitate. Then I ask. "Can I kiss you?" Her expression changes. For a moment, she looks like she might cry. Then she nods. I lean forward and kiss her gently. It's my first kiss with Liora. Or perhaps it's my hundredth. I wouldn't know. But I know I want another. ***** Not everything is beautiful. There are days when I wake up frustrated because I cannot remember my childhood. There are days when Mom tells me stories about myself, and I feel like I'm listening to someone else's biography. And there are days when Liora goes quiet. One afternoon, I find her in the kitchen. She's standing by the counter, staring at nothing in particular. "Hey." She turns. "Hi." "What's wrong?" "Nothing." I give her a look. "That's my line." She laughs weakly. I move closer. "Talk to me." She takes a breath. "I found something today." She reaches into her pocket and brings out a small envelope. Inside are several handwritten notes. I recognise my handwriting immediately. "What's this?" "Something you gave me." I unfold the first note. Liora, I know you hate mornings, but I hope you wake up knowing someone thinks you're the most wonderful person in the world. Unfortunately, that someone is me. Have a good day, pretty girl. I smile. I open another. And another. They're little notes. Nothing particularly extraordinary. Just small reminders of love. I look at her. "You kept all of these?" She nods. "Every single one." I feel something tighten in my chest. "I'm sorry." She shakes her head. "Please don't apologise." I put the notes back into the envelope. Then I take her hand. "I may not remember writing these, Liora, but I think I understand why I did." She looks at me. "Why?" "Because I like you. A lot." She laughs through her tears. "You're such an idiot." "Your idiot?" She shakes her head. "My idiot." And for some reason, that feels right. **** It's been several months since I woke up in that hospital. My life has changed in ways I never imagined. I take my medication religiously now. I attend my appointments. I spend more time with Mom. And I have a girlfriend who occasionally threatens to abandon me whenever I steal her fries. Life is strange. But it's good. One afternoon, while looking through our old photographs, I come across a video. It's dated almost a year before my accident. I press play. The screen comes alive. It's Liora. She's sitting on a couch, laughing at something behind the camera. Then my voice comes through. "Can you stop being so pretty for five minutes? I'm trying to concentrate." She laughs. "You're so dramatic." "I am being serious. It's distracting." The video ends. I laugh. Then I play it again. And suddenly, something feels different. A familiar smell. A familiar laugh. A memory. I'm sitting in that same room. Liora is beside me, wearing an oversized shirt. She's complaining about something. I'm laughing. Then I'm kissing her forehead. Another memory follows. Our first date. Her favourite song. The day I asked her to be my girlfriend. The little arguments. The countless ordinary afternoons. I remember. I remember her. I remember us. I remember falling in love with her. And suddenly, I'm crying. "Mel?" Liora walks into the room. She stops when she sees me. "What's wrong?" I look up. Her face. Her beautiful face. I've seen it a thousand times before. But this time, I remember. "Liora." She approaches me cautiously. "Baby?" I stand up. Then I pull her into my arms. She freezes. "Mel?" I hold her tighter. "I remember." She pulls back. "What?" "I remember you." Her eyes fill with tears. I laugh, wiping my cheeks. "I remember our first date. I remember the beach. I remember the stupid pineapple argument." She covers her mouth. "Mel..." "And I remember asking you to be my girlfriend." She starts crying. I take her face in my hands. "God, I missed you." She shakes her head. "I've been right here." "I know." I kiss her forehead. Then her cheek. Then I look into her eyes. "I fell in love with you twice, didn't I?" She laughs through her tears. "Apparently." I pull her into another hug. "But you know what?" "What?" I smile. "I think I'd do it again." She laughs. "You're not allowed to forget me a third time." "Deal." I kiss her. And this time, I remember every reason why. **** People often talk about finding their soulmate as though it happens once. As though you meet someone, fall in love and spend the rest of your life holding on to that one beautiful moment. I used to believe that too. Until I forgot the girl I loved. I forgot her laugh, her favourite food, the way she wrinkled her nose whenever she was annoyed and the little things that made her who she was. But somehow, I found her again. I got to know her again. I got to take her on another first date, hear her stories and discover the little things I had once known by heart. And when my memories finally returned, I realized something. I hadn't fallen in love with a stranger. I'd fallen in love with the same girl twice. And if life ever gave me another chance, I'd choose her again. Not because I remembered loving her. But because, even when I didn't, I still found my way back to her. The end.