The Girl He Wasn’t Supposed to Love

The first thing I heard… was crying. Soft. Broken. Right next to me. For a second, I thought it was me. But my face was dry. My body felt heavy—like I’d been asleep for too long. Like waking up wasn’t supposed to happen yet. “Lena?” The voice cracked. I turned my head slowly, every movement stiff, unfamiliar… wrong. A woman sat beside my bed, gripping my hand like I might disappear if she let go. Her eyes were red. Swollen. Desperate. Relief flooded her face the second our eyes met. “Oh my God… you’re awake.” Her voice shattered. I stared at her. Waiting. For something—anything—to click. It didn’t. “…Who are you?” My voice came out hoarse, barely there. The words hit her instantly. Her smile froze. “What?” she whispered. “I… I don’t…” My head started pounding. “I don’t know you.” Silence swallowed the room. “No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “No, no, no… Lena, it’s me. It’s Mom.” Mom. The word echoed in my head. But it felt empty. Like something I should understand… but didn’t. “I don’t remember you.” Her hand slipped from mine. And then she started crying again. — Everything after that felt like a blur. Doctors. Nurses. Questions. Too many questions. “What’s your name?” “Do you know where you are?” “Do you remember what happened?” I answered what I could. My name is Lena. I don’t know where I am. I don’t remember anything. They kept using the same word. Accident. But no one would tell me what kind. — Hours later, the room finally went quiet. Too quiet. Until the door opened. I expected another doctor. Instead… It was him. He stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure he should be there. Tall. Dark hoodie. Hands shoved into his pockets. But it wasn’t his clothes that made my chest tighten. It was his eyes. Dark. Heavy. Locked onto mine like he was searching for something… or someone. “You shouldn’t be here,” my mom said sharply from the corner. So she knew him. Good. Because I didn’t. He ignored her. His gaze never left me. And for some reason… My heart started beating faster. “Lena,” he said. My name sounded different when he said it. Softer. Like it meant more. Like it had history. I swallowed. “Do I… know you?” The moment the words left my mouth, everything changed. Something in his expression cracked. Not surprise. Not confusion. Pain. Sharp. Immediate. Real. He let out a quiet breath, almost like a laugh… but there was nothing funny about it. “Yeah,” he said. His voice was low. Controlled. “You did.” My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?” He stepped closer. Slow. Careful. Like getting too close might break something. “Nothing,” he said. A lie. I could feel it. Every part of me could feel it. “Just… forget it.” Forget it? “I don’t even remember it,” I snapped. “If I knew you before—” “You don’t want to remember me.” That stopped everything. The room went still. “What?” I whispered. His eyes met mine again. This time, there was no distance. No walls. Just truth. Dark. Heavy truth. “Trust me,” he said quietly. “You were better off not knowing me.” — But he was wrong. I could feel it. Because even without my memories… My heart reacted to him. Like it remembered something my mind didn’t. And whatever we had before… It wasn’t over.