She should have been here with you, just as you both had promised each other. You entered the theater with flowers in your hand—lilies, just as they always reminded you of her. This is for the best, you think, exhaling slowly through tight lips.
(flashback)
Walking hand in hand, you and Lilia stepped out of the theater and headed toward the car. As you both buckled your seatbelts, Lilia, still in awe, turned to you.
"Baby, we need to watch that again, please, please, please, please!" she begged, her big, beautiful eyes shining with excitement. No matter how often you saw them, they never failed to give you butterflies.
It truly was a great play—you knew that. Usually, you would only watch Lilia during plays because they bored you, and seeing her enjoyment was far more interesting.
"How about next week?" you asked as you started the car engine.
You both agreed that you should be the one to drive after an incident where Lilia had a momentary lapse behind the wheel, nearly causing an accident. Thankfully, she had the wit to slam on the brakes just in time.
“Hey now! I know you enjoyed the play too, but money’s tight right now, baby.” She fiddled with the radio, turning the volume up. “Closing night!!” she yelled excitedly, dancing to the music.
You tilted your head slightly, keeping your eyes on the road. “Lilia, that’s in a year's time. I can figure out a way for us to watch it again as soon as possible, I promise you.”
She stopped dancing and turned to face you fully. “Y/n, the money we earn from the shop and your job combined is barely enough to cover rent, bills, and food.”
You sighed. As much as you wanted to make her happy, you couldn’t ignore the reality of your situation. And once again, she was right.
“Think of it as an oath,” she said softly, caressing the hand you had resting on the gear stick. “We were together for the opening night, and we will be together for the closing night too! Isn’t that something to look forward to?”
She was trying to lighten the mood, knowing how money talk always dampened your spirits. You turned to give her a small smile, reassuring her that you were okay.
As your gaze returned to the road, your lips curled into a playful smirk. “Wait, are you saying that after closing night, I’ll finally be free from you, you kooky witch?”
Lilia gasped dramatically, smacking your shoulder with one hand while placing the other on her chest as if deeply offended. “Are you really that excited to get rid of me? How dare you!”
She was so theatrical that you burst into laughter.
Then, with a sly grin, she added, “Y/n, just to inform you—being with me is the only way for you to feel free from me. If you dare to leave, I will hunt you down until you beg for forgiveness.”
You chuckled. “Okay! So, you’re not just kooky, but also possessive? I love it.”
Turning to her, you caught her gaze. “I love you, Lilia. I would never leave you, and I won’t let you leave either.”
(end of flashback)
There’s no point in watching this alone, and yet here you are, hoping to catch a glimpse of her somewhere in the seats. Just seeing her from afar has been enough for you these past four months.
Sometimes, you follow her to the market, where she buys her usual bread, or to the library, where she wanders through the aisles searching for divination books. Once, you even went to her shop for a palm reading, but it was closed—a stroke of luck, considering that the last time she saw you, she nearly called the police.
The play is almost over. Laughter fills the theater, yet tears stream down your face. Why are you the only one crying?
You realize now—seeing her from afar is not enough. It never was, and it never will be.
After the curtain call, you scan the crowd, searching for any sign of Lilia. Nothing. With a frustrated sigh, you turn to leave.
You walk toward the parking lot, your steps slow and heavy. The air is filled with voices—people still buzzing with excitement, repeating lines from the play, their laughter echoing around you. You keep your head down, unwilling to let them see your swollen eyes. You don’t want to be mistaken for someone unhinged.
The flowers in your hand suddenly slip from your grasp, scattering onto the pavement as someone bumps into you.
“Sorry,” you say hurriedly, bending down to gather them. “Please, just go ahead and be on your way—I’m really sorry.”
As you reach for the flowers, your fingers brush against something cold. Tilting your head, you see a hand studded with rings, helping you gather them.
That hand—those rings
(flashback)
"Y/N!! Y/N!!" Lilia shouted from the kitchen as she prepared breakfast for the two of you.
You're still sleepy—Lilia had kept you awake until 3 a.m., insisting on dancing and singing nonstop. She basically performed a full concert just for you.
"Mmm… just a few more minutes," you grumbled, turning over in search of a more comfortable position.
Just when you thought she'd let you off the hook, you felt a sudden sting through your leg.
"OUCH! Okay, okay! I'm getting up! So grumpy!" you yelped as she yanked the blanket away to fold it.
"We need to hurry! There's a book sale, and I have to find the one I've been looking for. I need you to drive for me, baby."
Hearing her call you "baby" is enough to make you surrender. With a sigh, you drag yourself out of bed and head to the kitchen for breakfast.
After eating, you took a quick shower and rushed into the living room, where Lilia gave you a once-over, her eyes scanning you from head to toe with concern.
You chuckled. "I'm sorry! I just love wearing your clothes."
She exhaled sharply, her upper lip curling in mild disapproval. "After the book sale, we need to stop by your parents' place to pick up your things. My clothes don’t suit you, darling—though, I admit, you do look adorable."
Grinning, you twirled around to tease her even more. It’s true—you still keep most of your clothes at your parents’ house. But wearing hers? It’s way more comfortable.
The day of the book sale was bright and bustling. Lilia practically dragged you through the aisles, her excitement contagious as she scoured the shelves for her long-sought treasure. You watched her with a fond smile, committing every expression, every little sound of joy, to memory. If only you had known how much you would need those memories soon.
It happened in an instant.
One moment, you were laughing together, hands intertwined as you playfully bickered over which books to take home. Lilia was talking about how she’d always wanted a first edition of some old spellbook, her voice animated and full of life. And then—
She stopped.
Her grip on your hand loosened. Her expression went from warmth to confusion, her brows furrowing as her gaze flickered around the store like she had just woken up somewhere unfamiliar.
"Lilia?" you asked softly, giving her hand a small squeeze.
She pulled away.
"Who—who are you?" Her voice was wary, distant.
Your stomach dropped. "Lilia, it’s me, Y/N."
She took a step back. "I don’t… I don’t know you."
The air between you shattered like glass.
Your heart pounded as you reached for her again, but she recoiled, her body tense. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "I don’t remember you. I don’t remember any of this."
"Please, just… just take a deep breath," you pleaded, trying to keep the desperation from cracking your voice. "You know me, Lilia. We were just—just talking about books. About the first edition you wanted. We were laughing. You—"
"I don’t know you!" Her voice rose in panic, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape.
A few heads turned in your direction. The store felt too bright, too loud, too suffocating.
"Lilia, please," you whispered, voice barely holding together.
But she only shook her head again, pressing a trembling hand to her temple. "I need to go. Please don’t follow me."
And then she turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your whole world unraveling in a single breath.
You knew what was happening.
Lilia’s life was out of sequence. The version of her in front of you hadn’t met you yet—not in her timeline. She had no memories of your love, your promises, the life you had built together. And no matter how much you tried to remind her, she remained distant, detached, politely unfamiliar.
At first, you tried to fix it. You told her about your past, showed her pictures, recounted inside jokes. You even visited your mutual friends—Billy, Agatha, Jen, and Alice—hoping for some kind of magical solution. But deep down, you knew time magic was unpredictable. The more you push, the worse it could get.
Agatha, leaning lazily against her shop’s counter, smirked like she was enjoying the whole mess. "Oh, darling," she drawled, stirring her tea dramatically. "You poor, tragic thing. You can’t just force a puzzle piece where it doesn’t fit."
"You need to let her go," Billy said bluntly, arms crossed as he watched you pace. "This isn’t one of your sad little romance novels."
"Or do!" Alice chimed in with a mischievous grin. "I mean, it’s kind of entertaining watching you mope."
"Alice," Jen scolded, rolling her eyes. "Y/N, seriously, you look awful. When was the last time you even ate?"
"Yesterday!" you lied.
Agatha scoffed. "Y/N, sweetie, you look like you crawled out of the crypt."
Billy sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, if you keep hanging around like some tragic ghost, she’s gonna freak out."
"She already is freaked out," you admitted, voice hollow. "She threatened to call the police last week."
Agatha whistled. "Oof. That’s rough, honey."
"You have to stop watching her from afar," Jen said more gently, her usual sarcasm softening into something almost maternal. "It’s not healthy."
But you couldn’t help it. Seeing her—even from a distance—was the only thing keeping you going.
Two months passed. You threw yourself into distractions. Work, hobbies, anything to occupy the empty spaces she used to fill. You painted, you ran miles until your legs ached, you cooked extravagant meals just to keep your hands busy. But every time you stepped outside, your eyes instinctively searched for her.
You spotted her at the market, picking up her usual bread. At the library, strolling through the divination section. You even passed by her shop once, debating whether to go inside—but the door was locked. Maybe it was better that way.
Your friends did their best to keep you grounded.
"Come to dinner tonight," Jen said one evening, throwing an arm around your shoulder. "No excuses."
"Yeah," Billy added, nudging your side. "Time to join the land of the living again."
"Pfft, please," Alice smirked. "We all know Y/N loves the broody aesthetic. It’s kind of their thing."
"Oh, let them sulk, Alice," Agatha chimed in. "Everyone needs a little tragedy in their life. Makes things interesting."
You forced a smile. You tried. But nothing filled the void she left.
(end of flashback)
The scent of lilies lingered in the air as she kneeled to gather the fallen flowers. The crisp evening wind brushed against her skin, but it wasn't the cold that made her shiver—it’s the way you said her name.
“LILIA!”
It wasn’t just a recognition. It’s something else. Something deeper. The kind of way someone says a name when it has been sitting on their tongue, unsaid, for too long. When it had been written in the margins of unwritten letters and whispered into the void of lonely nights.
Her fingers tighten around the stems as she looks up at you. Eyes swollen, lips slightly parted as if you’re holding back words. You looked different. Tired. Hollow. Not the same person who used to steal her sweaters just to watch her pout about it.
She swallowed. “Yes? Do I know you?”
It’s a lie.
At least, it was true a moment ago.
She had been walking out of the theater, hands shoved in her coat pockets, mind full of nothing but idle thoughts about the play. And then—just like that—something snapped into place.
The world shifted.
The missing pieces flooded back.
The taste of your name returned to her tongue. The weight of every shared moment came crashing down, slamming against her ribs like a wave she wasn’t ready to drown in.
She knows you.
She loves you.
And now, she’s staring into the eyes of someone who has spent months believing she was gone.
“I— I’m sorry,” you said quickly, voice trembling as you took the flowers from her hand. “I just… I thought for a second…” You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “It’s been four months. I should be used to this by now.”
Four months.
She only lost you a second ago.
But for you, it’s been four months.
The realization was a knife to her chest, but she didn’t let it show. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink, afraid that if she let her mask slip, you’ll see it all. The truth. The love. The unbearable guilt.
You looked away, gripping the bouquet tightly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. It won’t happen again.”
A part of her wanted to stop you.
To call out your name the way you called hers. To reach for your hand like she used to. To tell you—God, to tell you—that she remembers. That she never meant to leave. That she never wanted you to hurt like this.
But the other part of her—the part that understands what’s at stake—knew the damage was already done.
Knew that if she let you back in, you’ll only hurt more when the next gap comes.
Knew that letting you go was the only way to set you free.
So she did the hardest thing she’s ever done.
She let you go.
Lilia forced a polite, distant smile. “It’s okay,” she said simply, as if you’re just another stranger. “Have a good night.”
And then she turned away.
Because if she stayed a second longer, she might not be able to pretend.
You were sure now.
Lilia wasn’t coming back.
Not soon. Maybe not ever.
After that night outside the theater, after hearing her voice stripped of warmth—of you—something inside you finally cracked. It wasn’t like the cracks that had already been forming these past four months. No, this one was deeper. Final.
She was gone.
And if she ever did remember you again, she wasn’t coming back.
That realization sank into your bones like lead.
The days blurred. You stopped counting them.
Your friends tried, they really did. Billy dragged you out of the house when he could, Agatha made her usual sarcastic remarks about how “pathetically tragic” you were but still slipped potions into your tea when she thought you weren’t looking. Jen and Alice checked in constantly, cooking meals you never finished, inviting you places you never went.
“You need to snap out of it,” Billy told you one night, arms crossed as he leaned against your kitchen counter. “It’s been months. This isn’t just heartbreak anymore—it’s self-destruction.”
You had no energy to argue with him.
You just sat there, staring into your untouched cup of tea, watching the steam curl into nothing.
You weren’t self-destructing. Not really.
Self-destruction implied doing something.
You weren’t doing anything.
You just existed. Barely.
And then—
It was raining that night.
You hadn’t eaten all day. Maybe longer. Your limbs feel heavy, the world slightly tilting as exhaustion threatens to pull you under. You could barely hear the city sounds anymore, everything muffled by the pounding in your head.
You weren’t even sure why you were out, but you were. Walking with no real direction, soaked through, eyes barely focused on anything at all. You had passed her shop without meaning to. Maybe your body had just led you there, the way it always did.
You didn’t even realize that Lilia saw you.
“Why are you doing this to yourself, Y/N?” she whispered to herself as her eyes followed you for as far as she could behind the counter.
She wanted to run to you. She wanted to stop your self-destruction. She wanted to forget her efforts of avoiding you and just admit that she was just scared of coming back to you—to hurt you over and over again— now that she knows that the gaps are getting worse.
Looking at you in that state, it hit her.
You’re never gonna stop hurting even with her efforts to push you away.
You will just find other ways for the pain to succumb.
You being away from her is worse than the momentary gaps.
She was being selfish.
It was about her all along.
She knew that you were fine with the gaps as long as she came back to you every time.
She was fine with the gaps as long as she had someone to come back to—you.
Only this time, she knew the end.
She was falling. She will fall.
After minutes of contemplating, Lilia found herself unconsciously walking faster—following the direction you took, her hands wiped the tears that were blurring her vision.
And then—
A car.
Brakes screeched. Someone shouted.
Lilia had convinced herself she was doing the right thing.
That’s what she repeated in her mind when she had to walk past you like a stranger. When she had to look into your eyes—so full of longing, of pain—and pretend she felt nothing.
It was the only way.
Because if she let you believe she could still love you, you’d never stop waiting for her.
You’d never let go.
She had done it for you.
Or at least, that’s what she told herself.
But when she saw you on the pavement—bleeding—that lie shattered into pieces.
Seeing you like this, she realized that she did not consider the chances of you dying before her. All she was holding onto was the fact that you were the only thing in her mind while she was falling, and she did not want you to know that she will soon be gone.
You barely registered the impact as you hit the pavement.
Pain bloomed, sharp and searing, but distant—like it was happening to someone else. The rain was cold against your skin, mixing with something warmer. Your vision swam, dark edges creeping in as voices surrounded you, too many, too loud, too much.
Somewhere in the chaos, a familiar voice cut through.
“No, no, no— shit—Y/N? Y/N!”
Lilia.
But that wasn’t possible.
You must have hit your head harder than you thought.
Because Lilia wasn’t here.
She was never coming back.
Right?
She didn’t remember running to you. She didn’t remember pushing past the crowd, didn’t remember dropping to her knees, hands shaking as they hovered uselessly over your body.
All she knew was that this wasn’t supposed to happen.
“No, no, no—” her voice broke, her breath ragged. “Y/N!”
You blinked up at her, dazed, blood trickling down your temple, mixing with the rain. You looked so tired. So defeated. Like you had already accepted whatever was happening to you.
And Lilia—Lilia felt something inside her snap.
This was her fault.
She had done this to you.
She had convinced herself she was helping you heal, but all she had done was break you further.
She didn’t care about anything but you.
“Stay awake,” she begged, gripping your hand like it was the only thing keeping her together. “Stay awake, Y/N!”
Your lips parted slightly, as if you wanted to say something. But no words came.
Lilia felt the panic rising in her throat, burning, choking. She wanted to go back. To undo everything. To never have let you go in the first place.
She had spent so long pretending you were better off without her.
But now, as she watched your blood seep into the cracks of the pavement, she realized the truth.
She never should have left you.
And she would never—never—let you go again.
Lilia cradled your hand in hers, pressing down to stop the bleeding, and in that moment, everything became painfully clear. She had spent so long convincing herself that letting go was the right thing to do, but now, watching you teeter on the edge of slipping away, she knew the truth.
She had been wrong.
Your fingers twitched weakly in her grip, your lips parting as if trying to speak, but no words came. A broken sob escaped her as she pressed her forehead against yours, her tears mixing with the rain.
“I remember,” she whispered. “I remember everything.”
Your breath hitched, and for the first time in months, your eyes held something other than quiet, aching sadness. Hope.
She wouldn't leave again.
Even if the gaps came back.
Even if she forgot a thousand times over.
She would always find her way back to you.
And this time, she wouldn’t pretend she didn’t remember.
She wouldn’t let go.
Days later, you woke up to the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor, the scent of antiseptic thick in the air. The world around you felt distant, your thoughts sluggish and heavy. When you tried to move, a dull pain pulsed through your body, forcing you to remain still.
A woman sat beside your bed, her dark eyes wide with relief, though her face was pale with exhaustion.
Lilia.
Memories of her rushed back in an instant—the first time you met, the late-night conversations, the way her laughter felt like home. The fights. The gaps. The way she had walked past you like you were nothing, even when you had spent months waiting for her to come back.
And then the accident.
She had been the one who ran to you. She had held your hand, called your name, sobbed as if she had lost you all over again.
You knew she loved you.
But love wasn’t enough anymore.
She reached for your hand now, hesitating, as if afraid you might disappear if she touched you.
“Y/N,” she breathed, voice unsteady. “You’re awake. Oh, God, you’re awake.”
You stared at her, expression unreadable.
She didn’t deserve this pain.
You had spent so long being the one who remembered while she forgot. The one who clung to a love that slipped through time like sand through your fingers.
Now, for the first time, the power was in your hands.
You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for the lie that would break both of you.
“Who are you?”
Lilia froze.
You saw it—the way her breath caught, the way her lips parted in shock, the way her entire body seemed to fracture before your eyes.
For a split second, you thought she might fight for you. That she might try to make you remember, the way you once tried for her.
But then, something in her shifted. The fight left her shoulders.
She smiled—a trembling, broken thing.
“I’m just… a friend,” she murmured. “I was worried about you.”
You nodded slowly, forcing yourself to meet her eyes one last time. “Oh. That’s… kind of you.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Lilia stood, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you.
“Rest well, Y/N,” she whispered. “You’re going to be okay.”
Then, she turned and walked away.
She never looked back.
Because this time, she was the one who had to bear the burden of remembering alone.
And even though you told yourself you were doing the right thing…
Even though you made this choice, knowing it would free you both…
You still found yourself watching her go, biting down on the words that threatened to spill from your lips.
I remember.
I always will.
Years Later…
It happened on an evening much like the one before—when she had last seen you.
Lilia had convinced herself she had moved on. She had built a life in another town, keeping herself surrounded by things that couldn’t leave, things that didn’t forget. Time had passed. Life had continued.
And yet, as she walked into a café one evening, the scent of lilies in a vase by the counter made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t felt in years.
Then she saw you.
You were standing near the register, idly flipping through a book, your fingers tracing the edges of the pages in a way so achingly familiar that Lilia felt like she had been punched in the gut.
She should have turned around. Should have left before you noticed her.
But she didn’t.
And then, as if pulled by an invisible string, you looked up.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The noise of the café faded into nothing, the years stretching between you like an impassable ocean.
Your expression was unreadable, but Lilia saw something flicker in your eyes—something raw, something fragile.
You stepped forward.
“Lilia.”
The sound of her name in your voice shattered her composure.
You remembered.
You had always remembered.
Lilia swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the book she had picked up without thinking. “Hey, stranger.”
A soft, wry smile played on your lips. “Is that what we are now?”
She hesitated, unsure of the answer. What were you now?
Finally, you exhaled, shifting the book in your hands. “You look good.”
She let out a small, breathy laugh. “So do you.”
Silence settled between you, heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, you gestured toward a table by the window. “Can I buy you a coffee?”
Lilia hesitated. She knew this was dangerous. Knew she could walk away right now, spare herself the possibility of reopening old wounds.
But then she saw it in your eyes.
Hope.
And this time, she didn’t turn away.
She nodded.
“Yeah. I’d like that.”
And as you sat down across from each other for the first time in years, something in the air shifted—not quite a beginning, not quite an ending.
Just the possibility of something new.