“Do you remember our first date?”

She paused with her fork midway to her mouth. She looked him in the eye. She looked around the crowded restaurant without moving her head. Then, she smiled. “Of course, dear. We had our first date here. Which is why we always come here on our anniversary.”

He smiled back. He smacked his forehead with his palm. “Right! How could I be so stupid? How could I forget our first date? Right here in this restaurant. Probably at this very table.”

Her eyes lit up. “You remember!”

“Now I do. It just seems so fuzzy.”

She said something under her breath.

“How’s that? I couldn’t hear you talking so quietly.”

She whisper yelled, “You’re supposed to concentrate on the moment. Be present.”

He laughed. “Of course. Live in the moment. I just needed to remember why we’re here. We’re here to celebrate our love of…”. He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “…of How many years?”

She whisper yelled again, “Five.”

“Oh right. Five. It seems like just yesterday that we were walking down that aisle in the church. Oh what bliss.”

“Are you mental?” She was whispering and he had to lean closer to hear her. “It was just yesterday that we got this undercover assignment, you moron. There was no church. No walking down the aisle. But we’re supposed to be happily married. Thinking about kids now that it’s been five years. What is your problem? Why can’t you stick to the script? We could do our undercover surveillance job better, if you could just stick to the script.”

His eyes widened with realization. “Oh yeah. I wondered why I had forgotten all that stuff about you. I thought I was losing my mind.”

It was her turn to slap her forehead with her palm.

Time Stands still No more memories Where did we meet Heart

I remember it like it was yesterday. We were having a party at our place and invited the usual friends: Erica, Ian, Charlie, Taylor. We had just finished dinner and were having glasses of wine and chatting. It was just the three of us with you and me sitting next to each other and Erica sitting across from us at our island. We had so much fun that night.  Erica ended up telling us a story about this guy she met recently. “-and I was driving down the street, looking around like… Where is this guy, you know what I mean? It wasn’t until I rounded the corner that I realized he was at the wrong restaurant.” We laughed, it was crazy how Erica always found these oddball guys off of Tinder and Hinge. That’s when she asked us: the question that put us on this path in the first place. “So, Emily, what about you? How did you and Jake meet?” We both laughed, and I looked over at you smiling. It was such a wonderful story, but one that we had told a thousand times.  “Well, do you want to tell it, or should I?” you asked.  I thought for a moment. Usually I was the one to tell the story, so I said “No, honey, you tell it. It’s much better when you say it anyway.” You were in the hot seat, and you always did this cute little squirm in your seat when I put you there. Then you gave me that smirk you always made when you had something up your sleeve. I started to look over you and I was thinking about all of the little quirks that you had, and how at this point in our relationship, I felt like I had them all memorized. But I could feel something was different.  Your smirk melted away and your eyes started to lose their glow. You were looking a million miles away, as if you were uncertain of where you were and what was happening. I tapped you on the shoulder and you didn’t respond. I started to get nervous, so I looked out of the window you were looking through, but there was nothing out there. I grabbed your hand and shook it, and for a moment I had you back. You looked at me. “I-I’m sorry Em, I don’t think I remember.” To say that I was shocked would be… Well, it would be an understatement. I was appalled. I looked at Erica with my jaw open like she would know the answer, then looked over at the rest of the party. They could feel the energy shift and were looking over at the three of us. I couldn’t believe it. We told this story more times than we could count. I laughed it off for a second. “Of course you do, baby. C’mon, with the ice cream truck?” Your face scrunched up, and your jaw became set like the strain of finding that memory was physically hurting you. I remember my frustration. I couldn’t believe you had forgotten something that pivotal to our relationship! Then I grew worried. Were you seeing someone else? Was the spark starting to go out on us? Then I became angry. Why are you making this my fault? This is what you do all the time, you mess something up and then you make it my problem. I was sick of it! As if you felt all of my emotions through me, you reached over and held my hand. “Honey, you’re not listening. I _can’t _remember.” I processed what you were saying and ran it through my head a few times. What does it mean to be incapable of remembering something?  “So… you don’t even have the context?” “No. It’s like it has just disappeared out of my brain entirely.” I was unaware that I was leaning forward in my seat until I had pulled myself all the way back into it. That’s when I realized. That’s when I realized that something was wrong.

March 6th, Year of the Golden Scales; Day 18:

Today marks the eighteenth day I have been lost at sea. Goddamnit all.

The ocean drags my ship away, then, it refuses to return me to my land, but instead, sends a storm my way, as if to slap me in my face. Do the gods of the water and sky wish to see me die an early death from anger?

Once again, my supplies are low. I expect to not make the trip back to my village.

.

March 7th, Year of the Golden Scales; Day 19:

Thank the grace of the world!

Today, the fierce storm continued, wrecking my ship. The gods loathe me, but the world desires not my death. It has sent an angel to save me!

_The hand of the water god pulled me down into the depths of his domain (a tyrannous being he is!) but I have escaped his grasp and survived, making it onto shore to tell the world of his evil deeds! I am triumphant, though, I must be truthful, my survival was not by my own efforts. _

Fortune, in the form of a beguiling existence of the sea, was my guide.

As inconceivable as the concept may be, and as mad as I may seem, I swear, it is the utmost truth.

I shall never speak falsities of my savior.

.

March 8th, Year of the Golden Scales; Day 20:

This will be the last entry of this journal.

Originally, I had begun keeping records of my days in hopes a passing sailor would find this journal once the shade had claimed me, and perhaps, tell of my story to my friends and family at home to ease their anxious hearts.

Now that I am back home, however, I have no need for it.

I only hope to describe my first encounter with my savior, for if this journal ever finds its way into the hands of another, they may too praise this beautiful being.

I witnessed my savior as I was on my last breath. I was torn apart by the storm and falling deep into the sea. Scarce was the air, cold was the water, and rapidly fading was my vision.

In the murky depths of the waters, that was when his light appeared, golden, arresting, and celestial. Like the glorious North Star of the cosmic night sky, I was drawn in by it.

Miraculously, my breath recovered.

My body was instantly healed of the wounds from the sea, and there, I saw the visage of an angel. Eyes as mystical and opulent as a gemstone of translucent amethyst, and locks as fair and ethereal as the wispy clouds above.

Never had I seen an appearance so enchanting and enigmatic. The loveliest woman of the fairest land could not be compared to his divine existence.

Despite that, what I first saw of him was not even the whole of of his beauty.

I was stolen away, carried to the surface in his arms with incredible speed. Though swift, it allowed me an opportunity to observe with greater precision his ethereal appearance. Entering my vision was a fishtail of resplendent gold. It was shimmering, iridescent in all shades of yellows and oranges, like a swelling sun in the blue sea.

Our meeting was brief, for the moment my feet touched land, he disappeared, but his existence was forever engraved into my heart.

.

Nimble fingers flipped the pages of the journal with graceful ease.

Yellowed, worn, and sun-dried, the pages blurred the reverent words upon them, past encounters with water distorting the neat penmanship. Despite the state of the journal, however, a pair of lavender eyes still traced over every single word with care and affection.

"So, this was how we met..."

His finger gently stroked the last line on the last page.

"I'm sorry. You never forgot me, but I could not do the same for you."

The old journal was closed. Having been through many years of existence, its fragile binding was treated with tender care as it was placed onto the shelf.

Each touch was soft and delicate, and the current owner of the journal hoped the relic would continue to exist—to remain a reminder for the last century of his time in the world.

Every time he opened its pages, the image of the true owner's face could be reignited in his memory, and the happenings of their first encounter could be relived once more.

There was no better fulfillment than this, and no better encouragement to hold out just a little longer until reunion.

She was buried deep in sleep, submerged in the warmth, on the outskirts of dreams, when she felt him shift and quietly slip out of bed. That was Jim, her sweet, always (almost) considerate husband who always rose from bed before her. Showering in the downstairs bathroom so as not to wake her. She sighed, turned over and began the slow and faltering ascent to wakefullness. NPR came on the radio playing the low familiar voice of Steven Inskeep detailing the relief efforts after Hurricane Helene in Asherville. And then the smell of coffee and aftershave whispered into the room. Jim set the coffee on the nightstand and bent to kiss her forhead.

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

She looked up and smiled at him. “Good morning, Love.” Her smile widened as she sat up in bed and reached for the coffee—felt the warmth of the cup in her two hands, took in the aroma, an finallyh took the tinyest sip, savoring both the taste and the temperature.

“What’s your day look like?” She asked her eyes slitted open.

He sat on the edge of bed and in his deepest quietiest voice told her about his plans for the day.

When she heard the front door click and car start up in the driveway, she slipped into her robe and entered her morning peaceful and grounded.

They’d been invited to a dinner party hosted by a new work colleague of Jim’s, Bennett and his wife Emily. They lived across town in a newly purchased two-story mock-Victorian in a gated community. In the mid-November darkness, under the pho-antique amber street lights, every single home and garden looked cut from a magazine—tidy and perfect—more holographic than real.

Bennett and Emily’s driveway flagstone pavers and circular—a bit pretentious she thought but didn’t articulate. She was irratated with herself for the negative comparison to their own home and garden. She took a deep breath and silently repeated, I _am enough _until she felt grounded and at ease.

Dinner was simple: a yummy homemade lasagna, a tossed Italian vegetable salad and loads of fresh baked bread, olive oil, and parmasan cheese.

Jim told about how hard his company had worked to recruit Bennett and how lucky they were to get him. Bennett, he told the table, was a brilliant negotiator—and had landed an unprecedented contract—the highest the company at ever offered. Bennett appeared to blush.

“Oh yes, I know full well what a champion negotiator my Bennett is, “ Emily said, reahing across the table and taking Bennett’s hand. “It’s the major reason I even dated him, let alone married him?”

Bennett fidgeted in his seat bashful, then kissed her hand and released it.

“Of the two of us,” Bennett said softly, “Emily is by far the better negotiator. I’ve argued to this day, that it had all been part of her master plan.”

“Are you saying, that you were and are the ultimate prize?” Emily teased, her eyes teased.

“Not at all. I couldn’t have known at first meeting, but I quickly came to realize—you are always the ultimate prize and I’m the lucky bloke who married up.”

After dinner they all retired to the living room —where Emily and Bennett shared how they met at a frat party in college and how Emily wanted none of him. Bennett, unplussed, pursued, cajoled and bargained for every date and phone call. By the time they finished their story they were all deep into their second bottle of Chianti and howling with laughter.

“How about you guys?” Emily asked. “How did you meet? Was it love or something else at first sight?”

“You tell them, Hon,” JIm said shifting a bit on the sofa in order to make eye contact with her. “It’s not nearly as entertaining as your story—so be warned.’’

They were all looking at her—waiting. JIm gave her hand a squeeze of encouragement. “You’re a much better story teller that me. I’m the facts guy.’

All that was true. But here’s the thing she couldn’t remember. It was the wine of course. The wine and the social pressure. They were all looking t her. But try as she did, she just could fish the memory out of the quamire of her mind. At the moment it felt as though all of her memories had Jim in them. In the jumble soup of her mind there was no beginning —no before and after.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, “ I think I’ve had too much wine—it’s completely out of my mind at the moment. You tell them Jim—give them the facts-only version and I’ll jump in.”

“It was the first Tuesday in March 2018. I was leaving the Starbucks on Madison and Main. You came storming through the door just as I was leaving and knocked a Venti Americano all down the front of my white shirt and silk tie. You peeled off your pink cashmere scarf, all the while apologizing over and over again and blotting at my shirt and tie. You just kept rambling apologizing—until it became ridiculous and were both started laughing. I knew it then. She was something special.”

They all laughed and she laughed a little to. But the thing was she had never owned a pink cashmere scarf and to the best of her recollection had never been to the Starbucks on Maxwell and Main. It was all so disturbing.

In the car on the way home she said. “What’s the story about the Starbucks and a pink cashmere scarf?”

“Well,” he said, his eyes fixed on the wet road ahead. “We couldn’t tell them the truth, could we?”

They had stopped for a red light and he turned and held her firmly in his gaze, so tightly that she could not squirm away.

“But I don’t remember?” she whispered.

“You weren’t meant to,” he said and reached over and squeezed her hand for reassurance.

- there’s a panic attack, not super in detail, but I figured I’d mention it. you have been warned -

“How nice.” I smiled at my grandmother’s words as I introduced my girlfriend. As my parents had passed quite recently and she had become my gaurdian, her opinion meant the world to me. “How did you two meet?” Grandma leaned back in her recliner, ready to hear the story. Elena looked at me with a look I couldn’t read. I chuckled as I walked around the couch and sat beside her. “Well, Grandma,” I paused, thinking. I knew this, didn’t I? Surely I remembered how we had met. It was… It… I didn’t know. Why couldn’t I remember how I had met my own girlfriend? She was sitting right next to me, and I turned to look at her. Her eyes were unreadable as she stared at me, but as soon as she saw my glance, she put on a teasing expression. “Aww, Joel. Always the gentleman.” She winked at my grandma, and the old lady smiled back. “We met in the bus stop. When I forgot cash for my ticket, Joel offered to buy me one if he could have my number. I accepted, and here we are!” Grandma’s smile could have lit up the whole town. She seemed genuinely happy, which drove the earlier confusion from my mind.

 “You two are such a cute couple!” My cousin, Christy, squealed. 
 Elena smiled at the girl. Her enthusiasm was adorable. 
 “How did you guys meet? Was it true love at first sight? Tell me, tell me.” She pulled Elena by the hand over to her bed. 
 “Sit down and spill the tea.” The girl demanded. 
 Elena laughed as she looked at me. “Save me?” 
 Holding my hands up with a grin, I backed towards the door as I shook my head. “Nope.” 
 Just as I was leaving I heard an over exaggerated sigh, and Elena began, “We were in this park, you see.” 
 I froze. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears, my heart pumping too much too fast. Elena said we met on a bus, but now she was telling Christy that it was in a park? The worst part was: I couldn’t even remember where or when we met. If she was lying, I would have no idea. 
 A crash interrupted Elena’s story, and the two girls peeked their heads out of the room to see what had happened. They were met with glazed, confused eyes. 
 Elena stepped away from Christy and offered a hand to help me up. I watched her, now unsure. She made eye contact, and I reached out to grab her hand. She helped me up with a smile. 
 “Scuse me, sorry.” I quickly rushed to the restroom. 
 I didn’t remember how or where we first met. 
 I didn’t know her last name. 
 I didn’t remember if she had family. 
 I didn’t know anything about her. 
 My heart rate flew up, my breathing escalating. I knew this feeling, but I pushed it down. 

_ Please, no. I don’t need this right now. _ The panic attack didn’t care. It took over everything in my body until I couldn’t see or hear anything. I started sobbing as I collapsed into the corner. It seemed like forever, but the fog started clearing. In the back of my mind, I became vaguely aware that somebody was in the room. My eyes drifted up to see who it was. Elena. I scrambled away from her, and her face donned a confused expression. “Joel? Are you okay?” I squinted at her. She seemed genuinely concerned. Reaching out, I let her take my hand. “It’s gonna be okay.” Elena soothed, rubbing comforting circles on the back of my hand. I wordlessly shook my head. I wanted to ask a question, but my throat seemed to choke the words before they could get out. I eventually croaked, “Elena.” She nodded and looked at my features, which were probably still wet from the tears. “Who are you?” My voice trembled as I asked. “When, how did we meet?” She sucked in a breath, shutting her eyes tightly. “If I tell you, you won’t be mad?” I narrowed my eyes, but they softened of their own accord. “No promises. Please. Just tell me the truth.” “Okay. Well, it’s gonna sound crazy, but just let me-“ She placed her hands over my temples, and suddenly pictures began racing through my mind. One in particular was pushed to the front. It seemed as though I was watched from an outside perspective, but I knew that it was me.

• • •

 I rose, gasping, from the dream. Memory? Whatever it was. Confused, I stared at Elena. 
 She looked down at her twitching fingers. 
 “What the hell, Elena?” 
 She took a deep breath in before meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry.” 
 Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes, but I shoved them away. 
 “So you- you-“ I struggled to say it almost as much as I struggled to believe it. “You crash your weird ship thing, _murder_ my parents-“ 
 She flinched and opened her mouth, probably to say some sort of apology, but I speak over her. 
 “- and then,” I throw my hands up in disbelief, “then you have the guts to erase my memory and make me think that we’re dating!”
 Elena let out a sob. She stood up, whispered a few words, and fled the room. 
 It took me a few moments to realize that she had said, “I’m sorry.”

“Ugh! ‘Please remember…’ But remember what? What’s happening?!” Harper throws her dagger, watching it slice mid-blade.

Two days since that boy broke in. Two days since she started to recall the night she woke up, yet the elusive details slip away each time she reaches for them.

She shudders, closing her eyes as her voice screams in her mind, the icy touch of chains wrapping around her limbs. Maybe these memories are hidden for a reason…

But no! She must know what he meant. Somehow, she knows him—not distantly, but intimately, like lovers.

She can’t forget the devastation on his face when she said she didn’t remember him. Just as her frustration peaks, there’s a rough knock at her door.

“Come in,” she says quietly.

Her father, the infamous general, strides in, annoyance etched on his face.

“You wanted to talk,” he states.

Harper sits on her bed, her anger fading. “Yes.”

“Get on with it. I’m busy.”

Deep breath. It’s now or never. “How do I know that boy from two nights ago?”

He laughs, clearly amused. “Know him? You just met him.”

Harper stands, wanting to confront him despite their height difference. “You’re lying. The maids are horrible gossipers. But I want to hear it from you. I want the truth.”

He sighs, evaluating her. “What did he tell you?”

“That we were going to escape together. That we were close.”

He studies her, then says calmly, “You must not trust him.”

“Like I should trust you?” She points her dagger at him, feeling the weight of his deceit. “You WILL tell me the truth, or I’ll leave with him.”

He runs a hand down his face. “Put the knife down for the sake of the stars.”

“Father you won’t be able to stop me. Not now. Not ever. Something is wrong and I will get to the bottom of it.”

The general paces for a few seconds before releasing a frustrating sigh, “I was afraid his presence might break the spell.”

“What?”

He opens the door, and guards enter with familiar chains. Harper looks to her father, seeing only disappointment.

“Father, what’s this?”

He motions for the guards. “I’ll make you obey. If I must wipe your mind a hundred times, I will.”

The guards lunge, locking her limbs despite her struggles.

“Maybe one day, daughter,” he says.

He produces a vial of purple liquid and a cloth. Pressing it over her mouth and nose, darkness envelops her.

It has always been Since the end of time Just you and me We’re intertwined

And yet if I think Of a time before us My memories are murky Lost and rendered dust

I used to think That nothing before you Mattered to me Enough to hold on to

But now I realize Suspicion lurks Every tender you give me Every time you smile and flirt

What is my backstory Did I have a childhood Were we always together Or do I now know more than I should

She sat across from me, stirring her coffee with a wooden spoon. The cafe gave us each one, and we were expected to use it and leave it on the table afterward. I sometimes took mine. I wondered if she took her, too. I should know that, after years of being together. Fourteen years with Agatha, nine married.

With a wink she passes me the sugar and I thank her, pouring some into my drink. She knows me. I know her, too. Like how I know that on the night we met …

Wait, I can’t remember that, actually. Was it a night, or a day? Did we meet online? Mutual friends? I remember the first few dates, but that wasn’t how we met. Everything before seemed like a blur. I was young, she was young - we were young together, probably reckless. Right?

“Agatha,” I say, reaching for her hand. She draws hers back slowly and looks at me. “How did we meet?”

“What do you mean? This is our first date.”

Ah. That’s how we met.

You twisted lines across my broken heart, You left me I can’t remember, Who I am, Who you are, Where we met, When we met, Who we are, Who I was You left me You fixed me and your intoxicating smell still follows me around the room

Because I wont let me forget you