Episode2:When she Remember
713 Words
[EVE’S POV]
I don’t remember Palermo.
I don’t remember the man who calls my name like it’s a prayer.
I remember rain. I remember blood on my hands. I remember running.
That’s it. That’s all the doctors gave me after the accident.
Amnesia. 1 year ago.
Now I’m in Vancouver, Canada. New name. New job. New life.
But every night, I dream of a pair of dark eyes.
He found me again.
My
I was closing the café when he stood outside the glass. Tall. Suit. Scar on his jaw.
“Eve,” he said through the door.
chest hurt. For no reason.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Clifford Moretti,” he said. “You saved my life.”
I laughed. Nervous. “I think you have the wrong girl, Mr. Moretti.”
His eyes… God, his eyes. They knew me.
“You have a scar,” he said, pointing to my wrist. “Right here. From a knife. The night you pulled me out of an alley in Palermo.”
I looked down. I do have a scar. I always thought I cut it cooking.
“I don’t remember,” I whispered.
“I know,” he said. And he looked like he wanted to break.
He didn’t touch me. He didn’t force me. He just… stayed.
Across the street. Every day. For a week.
Like a ghost protecting me.
Night 7, it rained. Vancouver rain. Cold.
He was soaked when I opened the door.
“You’ll get sick,” I said.
“I don’t care,” he said. “You looked scared today. Two men were following you.”
“My mind doesn’t remember you, Clifford,” I said. “But my body does.”
He stepped in. “What do you mean?”
“When you’re near, I can’t breathe right. My hands shake. Like I’m… waiting for something.”
He cupped my face. His hands were cold. Familiar.
“Your heart remembers me, Eve.”
Then he kissed me.
It wasn’t in Episode 1. It was here. In my apartment. No mafia. No guns. Just him.
He kissed me like he was afraid I’d vanish.
I kissed him back because my soul screamed yes even if my brain said who are you?
“Clifford…” I gasped against his mouth. “Why does this feel like coming home?”
“Because it is,” he whispered, forehead to mine. “You’re home.”
His hands slid under my shirt. Not to take. To hold. To remember for both of us.
I didn’t stop him. Because for the first time in 1 year, the empty place in my chest felt full.
The next morning, his father was waiting.
Don Moretti. The man from my nightmares I couldn’t name.
“She remembered you,” he said to Clifford. Cold. “She’s a threat now.”
“I didn’t,” I said, shaking. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Then we’ll make sure you never do,” Don Moretti said.
Clifford stood in front of me. “Touch her, and I burn this family down.”
His father smiled. “Then choose. The family. Or the orphan who forgot you.”
Clifford looked at me. Tears in his eyes. The same tears from my dream.
“Run, Eve,” he said.
“Again?” I choked. “You’re asking me to run again?”
“I’m asking you to live,” he said. He pressed a key into my palm. “Train station. Locker 217. New passport. Go.”
“I don’t want to forget you,” I cried.
“Then don’t,” he said. “Remember me. Even if I can’t be with you.”
He pushed me out the door.
I ran. Again. Into the Canadian rain.
Behind me, I heard a gunshot.
I didn’t look back.
Locker 217.
Inside: A passport. Money. A note in his handwriting.
Eve,
If you’re reading this, you ran. Good.
I don’t know if I survived.
But I know this: Find the scar on your wrist.
That’s where I first touched you.
That’s where I’ll find you again.
by _C
I pressed the note to my chest.
And for the first time since the accident…
I remembered his face.
- Writer
