Chapter 1
Rata stood before the weathered gate, her heart hammering against her ribs. The iron bars, flecked with rust, stared back at her like an old friend she hadn’t seen in years. For two long years, this place had haunted her dreams—sometimes a comfort, sometimes a pang of regret. She’d fought the urge to return countless times, but now, with her bags barely unpacked a few houses down, she couldn’t resist any longer. Her trembling finger hovered over the doorbell before pressing it, the faint chime echoing in the humid air.
She shifted her weight, rehearsing every possible reaction in her mind. Would Im storm out, eyes blazing with old resentment? Or would she brush her off with cool indifference? Rata braced herself for either—anything but what actually happened.
The gate creaked open, and there she was: Im, her dark hair swept into a loose bun, a few strands teasing her cheekbones. She wore a faded blue sundress that hugged her frame just enough to make Rata’s breath catch. But it was the smile—warm, curious, and utterly confused—that threw her off balance.
“Hi there,” Im said, tilting her head. “How can I help you?”
Rata blinked, her carefully prepared words dissolving. “I’m… uh, it’s me. Rata.” Her voice wavered, half-expecting recognition to dawn in Im’s eyes.
Im scratched her temple, her brow furrowing adorably. “Rata? Have we met?” She paused, then chuckled, waving a hand. “Oh, where are my manners? Come on, step into the shade—it’s brutal out here.” She gestured toward a small patio just inside the gate, where a wicker table sat beneath a sprawling mango tree.
Rata hesitated, her sandals scuffing the dirt as she crossed the threshold. This wasn’t the Im she remembered—sharp-tongued and guarded. This woman radiated sunshine, and it left Rata reeling. “I just moved back a few houses down,” she said, grasping for an explanation. “No Wi-Fi yet, so I thought… maybe I could crash here for a bit? But if it’s a bad time—”
Im’s face lit up, her eyes sparkling like she’d just won a prize. “Why didn’t you say we’re neighbors? Come inside! You can use my Wi-Fi all you want.” She turned, her dress swishing as she beckoned Rata toward the house. “What’s your poison—tea, coffee, or something stronger?”
Rata trailed behind, her gaze tracing the familiar curve of Im’s shoulders. This wasn’t right. Her Im could brighten a room, sure, but this cheerfulness felt… performative. Was she pretending not to know her?
Inside, the living room smelled of lemongrass and jasmine, a scent that tugged at Rata’s memories. She sank onto the couch—a worn, cozy thing she’d once sprawled across with Im during lazy afternoons—and let her eyes wander. The space was pristine, almost too perfect, but something was missing. The picture frames—those snapshots of them laughing, kissing, fighting—were gone.
Im returned, balancing two steaming mugs of tea and a plate of coconut biscuits. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company,” she said, setting them on the coffee table. “This is all I’ve got lying around.”
Rata shook her head, her throat tight. “No, it’s perfect. You didn’t have to go through the trouble.”
Im grinned, and Rata’s chest fluttered. That smile—crooked and unguarded—was a dagger of nostalgia. “Here’s the Wi-Fi password,” Im said, sliding a scrap of paper across the table. “Stay as long as you like. Maybe we could even grab dinner later?” She leaned forward, her elbow brushing Rata’s knee, and added with a playful lilt, “Unless you’ve got hotter plans, neighbor.”
Rata’s lips twitched into a smile, her resolve hardening. “Thanks. Let me order the food, though—I insist.”
“Nonsense!” Im shot back, crossing her arms with mock indignation. “You’re my guest. I’ve got this.”
“Please, Im?” Rata tilted her head, letting her eyes widen into a puppy-dog plea, her lips pouting just so. She caught the faintest flush creeping up Im’s neck, a crack in her sunny facade, and savored the tiny victory.
Im faltered, her gaze darting away before returning with a smirk. “Fine, but only because you’re too cute to argue with. Next time, though, I’m treating you properly—neighbor’s honor.” She winked, then added, “I can’t have you telling the street I’m a lousy host.”
Rata laughed, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. “Oh, I’d never. But if you’re offering, I do like eggs for breakfast.” She shot Im a teasing glance, letting her voice dip flirtatiously.
Im’s cheeks pinked, and she fumbled with her mug. “Noted, troublemaker.”
Their banter was cut short by Im’s phone buzzing on the table. She sighed, picking it up. “Work. Give me a sec—make yourself at home, okay? We’ll chat more soon.” She stepped into the next room, leaving Rata alone with her thoughts.
Rata didn’t really need the Wi-Fi. Her emails could wait; this visit was an excuse, a lifeline to the past she couldn’t let go. She rose, wandering the room, her fingers brushing the shelves where their photos once sat. The absence stung. Yet Im herself—vibrant, carefree—felt like a paradox. Rata watched her through the doorway, pacing as she spoke into the phone, her laughter ringing out. How had she changed so much?
An hour later, Im stretched, tossing her phone onto a cushion. She caught Rata staring and waved, her smile softening. “Almost done—hang tight, gorgeous.”
Rata’s pulse skipped at the casual endearment. She nodded, sinking back onto the couch as Im rejoined her. They ordered pizza and fried chicken after a playful squabble—Im insisting on extra cheese, Rata countering with spicy wings.
“So, neighbor,” Im said, unpacking the boxes with a flourish, her fingers deftly flipping open lids, “where’d you come from? What’s your story?”
Rata steadied herself, the question she’d been dreading bubbling up. She set down her slice and met Im’s gaze. “Why don’t you remember me, Im?”
Im froze, her hands hovering over the table. Slowly, she lowered them, her expression shifting from confusion to something heavier, more fragile. She sat across from Rata, gesturing for her to join her at the table. “So… we do know each other?” Her voice was quiet, searching, her eyes locking onto Rata’s with an intensity that made her shiver.
Rata nodded, her throat tight with unspoken words.
Im exhaled, running a hand through her hair, loosening her bun further. “I got into an accident a while back. Lost most of my memories—crazy, right? I can recall school, work, bits of my childhood… but friends, relationships? Gone.” She gave a small, sad smile, her fingers tracing the edge of her mug.
Rata’s heart clenched. She wanted to spill everything—to confess how Im was the gravity that had held her world together, how she’d cried herself to sleep in London dreaming of this very moment, how she still loved her with every stubborn beat of her heart. But she bit her tongue. Maybe it wasn’t the right time.
Instead, she leaned forward, mirroring Im’s sad smile. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Her voice was soft, genuine.
Im tilted her head, studying Rata with a spark of mischief. “You seem like you know me, but you didn’t know about the accident. Should I guess who you were in my life?” She edged closer, her knee brushing Rata’s under the table.
Rata gulped at the sudden proximity, heat creeping up her neck. Not one to back down, she grinned. “Okay, I’ll give you a clue: I’m someone who’s slept in the same bed as you before.”
Im’s eyes widened, and she jolted back in her chair, nearly knocking over the pizza box. “What?!”
Rata burst out laughing, clutching her stomach at Im’s flustered reaction.
“Wow, way to bully the amnesiac here,” Im said, pouting exaggeratedly, though her lips twitched with amusement.
“Couldn’t resist,” Rata teased, wiping a tear from her eye. “But really, I just got back from studying abroad, trying to get my footing here again. My house is still a shell—Mom’s bringing my stuff soon, but for now, it’s just me and four walls. I knew you were nearby, so I thought… why not drop in?” It wasn’t a lie—just a carefully curated truth.
Im nodded, accepting the explanation with a thoughtful hum. “Studying abroad, huh? Where?”
“A master’s degree,” Rata said, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Got a scholarship for a school in the UK.”
Im’s eyes brightened, her pout melting into awe. “Aren’t you a smart one! That’s incredible. I don’t know if we talked about this before, but let me congratulate you—it sounds amazing!”
Rata smiled, the irony twisting her gut. This was the reaction she’d craved two years ago, when Im’s anger had drowned out her pride. Now, it felt bittersweet, coming from a stranger wearing her lover’s face. “Thank you, Im.”
“So, are your memories coming back?” Rata asked, a fragile hope threading through her words. Part of her ached for Im to remember their past—the good and the ugly—while another part wondered if this blank slate could be a gift.
Im sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I don’t know. The doctors can’t say for sure—might happen, might not. Funny, isn’t it? All this technology, and the human brain’s still a mystery.” She paused, then brightened, her resilience shining through. “But I’m good now, really. Whatever I’ve forgotten… it doesn’t matter. I’ve got everything I need in the present.”
Rata mirrored her smile, captivated by how easily Im’s warmth pulled her in. “Then let’s pause the past talk for now. Tell me—what do you do in this big house all by yourself?”
Im’s grin turned sly. “Oh, you know, dance around in my underwear, sing off-key to the cat next door, the usual. What about you, Miss Master’s Degree? How do you fill your empty walls?”
Rata laughed, leaning closer. “Badly. I’ve been talking to the ceiling, but it’s a terrible conversationalist. Maybe I need a neighbor to liven things up.”
Im raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with flirtation. “Careful what you wish for—I’m a lot to handle.”
“Good,” Rata shot back, her voice low and teasing. “I like a challenge.”
--------------
The pizza boxes sat crumpled on the coffee table, a battlefield of crusts and stray pepperoni, while the chicken wings left a scattering of bones and a lingering spice in the air. Im rummaged through a cabinet in the corner of the living room, her sundress riding up slightly as she stretched to reach the top shelf. Rata tried not to stare—tried being the operative word—but her eyes betrayed her, lingering on the familiar lines of Im’s legs, the way her hair tumbled free from its bun.
“Found it!” Im announced triumphantly, spinning around with a bottle of amber liquid in her hand. The label read “mango wine,” its color catching the lamplight like liquid gold. “I knew I had something stronger stashed away. Tea’s nice, but this feels like a celebration, don’t you think?”
Rata snapped her gaze up, hoping Im hadn’t noticed her wandering eyes. “A celebration of what?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
Im sauntered back to the couch, plopping down beside Rata with a grin that was equal parts mischief and charm. “New neighbors, obviously. And smart ones who’ve conquered the UK. That’s worth a toast.” She twisted the cap off the bottle, the faint pop punctuating the quiet, and poured the wine into two mismatched glasses she’d grabbed from the kitchen—hers a chipped blue tumbler, Rata’s a delicate stemmed thing that looked like it belonged at a fancy dinner.
“To new beginnings,” Im said, raising her glass. Her eyes locked onto Rata’s, bright and daring, as if testing her.
Rata clinked her glass against Im’s, the sound crisp in the humid night. “To new beginnings,” she echoed, taking a sip. The wine was sweet and sharp, coating her tongue with mango and a hint of something fiercer underneath. It warmed her chest, loosening the knot of nerves she’d carried all day.
They drank in comfortable silence for a moment, the cicadas outside filling the gaps with their steady hum. Rata leaned back against the couch, her shoulder brushing Im’s, and let her gaze drift—not to the room, not to the wine, but to Im. The way her lips curved around the rim of her glass, the soft flush the wine painted across her cheeks, the way her eyelashes cast shadows in the dim light. She was still so beautiful, even as a stranger. Maybe more so.
Im took another sip, then paused, her glass hovering midair. She turned her head slowly, catching Rata’s stare head-on. “What?” she asked, her tone teasing but her eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Do I have chicken grease on my face or something?”
Rata’s heart stuttered, but she didn’t look away. “No,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Just… you look nice. That’s all.”
Im arched an eyebrow, setting her glass down with exaggerated care. “Nice? That’s the best you’ve got, Miss Master’s Degree? I’m wounded.” She leaned closer, propping her elbow on the back of the couch and resting her chin in her hand. Her knee pressed lightly against Rata’s thigh, sending a jolt through her. “Try again.”
Rata’s breath hitched, but she met Im’s challenge with a grin of her own. “Fine. You’re gorgeous. Better?”
Im’s smirk softened into something warmer, though the mischief didn’t fade. “Much. You’re not so bad yourself, you know.” She tilted her head, her loose hair spilling over one shoulder, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Caught you staring earlier, too—when I was getting the wine. Thought you were subtle, huh?”
Heat flooded Rata’s face, but she laughed, the sound rough with embarrassment and wine. “Subtle’s not my strong suit, apparently. Guilty as charged.”
Im giggled, the sound light and unguarded, and nudged Rata with her shoulder. “Good thing I don’t mind. Gives me an excuse to stare back.” She did just that, her gaze sweeping over Rata’s face—her eyes, her lips, the curve of her jaw—like she was memorizing her. “You’ve got this… glow. Did London do that to you, or is it just the wine talking?”
Rata swallowed, her pulse racing under Im’s scrutiny. “Maybe it’s you,” she said, her voice low, daring. “You’ve always had that effect on me.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, a sliver of truth cutting through the flirtation.
Im blinked, caught off guard, but she recovered quickly, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Always, huh? That’s a big claim from someone I just met—officially, anyway.” She leaned in closer, her breath warm with mango wine, her eyes glinting. “You’re gonna have to prove it, neighbor.”
“Oh, I will,” Rata shot back, matching Im’s lean until their faces were inches apart. “Give me time, and I’ll have you blushing every day.”
Im laughed, pulling back just enough to take another sip of her wine, though her cheeks were already pink. “Bold words. I like bold. Keep it up, and I might just keep you around.”
“Planning on it,” Rata murmured, sipping her own glass, her eyes never leaving Im’s.
The bottle dwindled as the night deepened, their conversation weaving between silly and sincere. Im confessed to naming the neighbor’s cat “Sir Purr-a-lot” after it kept sneaking into her yard; Rata admitted she’d once cried over burning a pot of rice in London because it reminded her of home. The flirtation simmered beneath it all—Im’s foot brushing Rata’s ankle “by accident,” Rata’s hand lingering when she refilled Im’s glass.
At one point, Im stretched out across the couch, her head resting on the armrest, her bare feet dangling near Rata’s lap. “You’re trouble,” she said, her voice lazy with wine and warmth. “I can tell already.”
Rata grinned, catching one of Im’s feet and giving it a playful squeeze. “You love trouble. Always have.”
Im propped herself up on her elbows, her hair a messy halo around her face. “There’s that ‘always’ again. You’re full of mysteries, aren’t you?” She sat up fully, scooting closer until their knees touched. “Tell me one—just one. Something about me you remember.”
Rata’s chest tightened, the weight of the past pressing against her ribs. She could tell her everything—the fights, the love, the way Im used to hum off-key in the shower—but instead, she picked something small, safe. “You hate mornings,” she said, her voice soft. “But you’d still wake up early to make me coffee. Burnt it half the time, but it was the thought that counted.”
Im’s eyes widened, then softened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “That sounds like me,” she admitted, almost to herself. Then she smirked, leaning in until their foreheads nearly touched. “Guess I’ll have to try harder this time. No burnt coffee for you, neighbor—just the good stuff.”
Rata’s laugh was shaky, her heart a tangled mess of hope and longing. “I’ll hold you to that.”
The night blurred into a haze of wine and words, the space between them shrinking with every glance, every touch. Im might not remember her, but the pull was still there—electric, undeniable—and Rata wasn’t letting go.