Day 54.
She stared at the wall for a long time this morning.Not lost.Not blank.
Just still.
Then she turned to me and said:
"There's something inside me.Like a clock.Ticking."
I froze.
She continued:
"I don't know how many ticks are left.But I can feel them… slipping."
That night, she didn't speak much.
She sat beside me on the rooftop,watching the stars appear one by one.
Then she pulled out a folded paper.Handed it to me.
"Don't read it now," she said."But if I ever stop… being me—completely—open it."
I didn't ask what was inside.
Because I already knew.
The paper burned like a secret in my pocket.
Day 53.
She couldn't remember how to open her locker.Forgot which class she was in.
Sat in the wrong seat.
When I guided her gently to the right place,she smiled apologetically.
"You're always there to fix things."
"That's what people do when they love someone," I said.
She blinked.
"Are we… in love?"
I didn't answer with words.
Just squeezed her hand.
And she didn't pull away.
Day 52.
She wrote one line in her notebook.
"Today, I remembered nothing.But I still waited for him."
Later that night, I opened the letter.
I couldn't wait anymore.
Inside was her handwriting—shaky, unfinished, but hers.
"To Ren—If I forget who you are completely,please don't try to fix me."
"Just be with me.Even if I'm someone else."
"Even if I ask you who you are every day—Please keep answering."
"Because even if my memories break,I want my heart to remember what love feels like."
I pressed the letter to my chest and whispered:
"I'll stay.Even if you disappear in front of me."
"I'll stay until the last tick."