Lost Memories, Unspoken Truths
Being a doctor means never having a quiet day. For the past two years, I’ve met countless patients, each with their own story. And though the job is demanding, I love it—especially because every patient I see is kind and appreciative.
Today seemed no different.
Then I saw his name on my schedule. MJ.
My breath caught. My fingers hovered over the screen as I hesitated, then pulled up his records. A chill ran through me. I knew him. My heart pounded at the realization.
Two years ago, he was someone special to me—someone I could never forget. But when he walked into my office, smiling as if I were just another doctor, I knew the painful truth.
He didn’t remember me.
A gentle knock pulled me from my thoughts. I took a deep breath, steadying my emotions.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened, and there he was—MJ. He stepped inside, his presence filling the room like a ghost of my past. He smiled as he took a seat across from me, his eyes warm yet unfamiliar.
“Hello, Doctor. I—” He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze locking onto my necklace. His expression shifted, something flickering in his eyes.
“Doc… your necklace looks familiar.”
I instinctively reached up, my fingers brushing against the delicate chain.
“Oh… my boyfriend gave it to me.”
His brows furrowed. “Is he a doctor too?”
A small, wistful smile crossed my lips. “He was… but not anymore.”
“Why?” His voice was careful, hesitant. “I’m sorry if I’m asking too much.”
I shook my head lightly. “It’s okay.” A pause. Then, softly, I said, “He was in an accident… and now he has amnesia.”
Silence hung between us. His expression shifted—concern, curiosity, something deeper he couldn’t place.
After a moment, he spoke again. “I’m so sorry to hear that. If you don’t mind me asking… where is he now?”