"No, you're a billion years too early to even think about dating me."

Another rejection from The Herta. It had been a year since you first started your persistent confessions, and each one had been met with the same cold, dismissive response. Despite the unprofessional nature of your advances, The Herta never fired you. She recognized that you were one of the few who truly understood the complexities of her work.

But rejection, even repeated, doesn't come without its toll. Slowly, bit by bit, something began to change between you two. The icy walls she had built around herself started to thaw, and what had once felt like mere tolerance evolved into something deeper—a kind of affection. She even considered, for a fleeting moment, accepting your confession, but ultimately, she found more satisfaction in watching you chase after her again and again.

Then, tragedy struck. The antimatter legion attacked the station, and you were caught in the crossfire. During the chaos, you suffered a blast from one of the antimatter weapons.

The healer's diagnosis was devastating: memory loss. You forgot everything—your colleagues, your work, even the love you once felt for The Herta. Heartbroken, The Herta was left with a gnawing regret. She couldn't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently had she chosen to accept your confession sooner. A mix of grief and frustration twisted inside her, emotions she couldn't fully understand.

When you were stable enough to receive visitors, she stayed by your bedside, watching you rest. She knew you didn’t even recognize her anymore. Tears threatened to come out but she held it back, refusing to cry over something this trivial.