Chapter 7. The Name
791 Words
The name echoed in her mind.
Luca.
She rolled it silently on her tongue as she returned to the suite later that afternoon, tasting it like a flavor she couldn’t quite place. It felt familiar. Not just from recent days—no, it reached deeper, into the folds of her mind where memory had gone foggy. She couldn’t tell if it was real or imagined, but something about that name made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t explain.
The suite was quiet, as usual. Luca had a way of moving soundlessly through space, and when he wasn’t reading, he was sitting at the small dining table sketching in a worn notebook. She had no idea what he drew—he always closed it before she could peek.
Today was different.
She walked in, and the notebook was open.
She couldn’t help it. She moved toward it.
He looked up just as she leaned in.
She froze, caught.
But he didn’t close it.
In the center of the page was a garden. Stone benches, jasmine vines, an old wooden gazebo. It wasn’t just any garden. It was the one she had visited that morning.
“You drew this,” she said slowly.
“I did.”
“You were there.”
“I’ve been there many times.”
“Even before today?”
He nodded once.
“How did you know I’d go there?”
His answer came gently. “Because it used to be your favorite place.”
Elara’s fingers trembled. She turned and walked toward the window.
The silence between them stretched, until it was too much to bear.
“I overheard nurses yesterday,” she said. “They were talking about a boy. Someone I used to be close to. They said his name was Luca.”
She turned to face him. “That’s you. Isn’t it?”
Luca didn’t move.
“I need to know,” she continued, voice firmer now. “Did we know each other before the accident?”
Still, he said nothing.
“I deserve the truth,” she added. “Even if it hurts.”
He set the notebook down slowly. “Yes,” he said at last. “We knew each other.”
Elara sat down on the couch, stunned despite having suspected it.
“You were more than just someone I knew, weren’t you?”
Luca nodded. “You were everything to me.”
She swallowed hard. “So why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“Because they didn’t want you to remember me.”
She shook her head. “But why?”
Luca looked down. “Because you loved me. Not Rafael. And they didn’t want that love to come back.”
The words settled like stones in her stomach.
Her father. Rafael. Everyone around her had built a wall of silence. And somehow, Luca had stayed just outside of it, watching, waiting.
“But why were they so afraid of you?” she asked. “If you loved me?”
“Because love isn’t always convenient,” he said. “And because I didn’t come from money or power. I wasn’t part of the world they built for you.”
She leaned back, overwhelmed.
A part of her wanted to scream.
Another part wanted to ask more. To demand every missing detail.
But instead, she stood and walked to the suite’s bar cart. She poured herself a glass of cold water, her hand trembling as she brought it to her lips.
“Did we ever… talk about forever?” she asked quietly.
“Yes,” Luca replied. “Every night.”
She felt a rush of tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them away.
“Then why didn’t you fight harder?” she whispered.
“I tried,” he said. “But when you didn’t remember me—and when they told me I couldn’t see you anymore—I thought maybe it was better if you were happy, even if it wasn’t with me.”
She turned to face him. “But I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t anything. I was just... existing.”
Luca stepped closer.
“I know that now,” he said. “That’s why I came back.”
The weight of his words hung between them.
“Do you believe in second chances?” he asked softly.
Elara didn’t answer.
Because she didn’t know yet.
But her heart beat differently now when he looked at her. And in the silence between them, she could almost hear an echo of a laugh, a whisper, a kiss.
Something lost.
Something waiting to be found.
That night, she dreamed of a name whispered in the dark.
And when she woke, tears were already on her cheeks.
- Writer
