Darkness yielded to blinding light. Disoriented, you blinked, your surroundings a blur. A boy slept beside you, a stranger yet somehow familiar.

He stirred, his eyes widening in shock as they met yours.

“Doctor! She’s awake!” he cried, bolting from the room. Minutes later, a doctor—happy, yet nervously hesitant—arrived.

After a brief examination, the doctor inquired, “Mrs. Thompson, do you know this young man?”

You shook your head, gazing at the boy. His face fell, a flicker of hurt in his dark, almond-shaped eyes, quickly masked by a gentle smile. “I’m Leon,” he whispered.

The doctor offered a sympathetic introduction. You smiled back, “I’m Y/N.”

Discharged from the hospital, Leon escorted you to his home, his care tender and unwavering. Three years passed, filled with a comfortable, brotherly affection. Yet, beneath Leon’s constant smile, you saw a persistent shadow of pain in his eyes. Over those three years, he’d subtly tried to hint at their true relationship—a shared inside joke here, a lingering touch there—but you’d always brushed them off as brotherly affection.

Then, a fall. A sharp blow to the head. Pain exploded, followed by a cascade of fragmented memories. Tears streamed down your face as you whispered, “Leon.” The truth crashed down: Leon was your husband. Two years he’d waited, only to find you suffering from amnesia, treating him as a brother.

The pain in his eyes… now it made sense. You stood, head throbbing, tears blurring your vision. Leon burst in, groceries scattering as he rushed to your side.

“Y/N, what happened?”

“Hubby…” The word escaped, a choked whisper. Leon froze, the word—five years in the making—hanging in the air between them.