Each day, he dreamed of a life beyond routine—maps traced, plans scribbled, horizons to chase. "One day," he’d say, "we’ll go together." And you believed him. Then came the sleepless nights, the whispers, the fading memories. The worst—when he looked at you and didn’t recognize you. The diagnosis: Sporadic Fatal Insomnia. A death sentence. As his body failed, you stayed, unwavering. And even as his mind unraveled, he clung to one truth—he never wanted to forget you.