008 | Morning Routine
698 Words
He didn't write anything that night.
He sat there for a long time with the pen in his hand and the blank page in front of him and in the end he just capped it again and put it back on the table and went to bed.
But he hadn't put it back in his pocket.
He noticed that in the morning. It was on the table instead of his jacket and he stood there looking at it for a second before he picked it up and pocketed it. Same as always. Back where it belonged.
He told himself it didn't mean anything.
She had a system.
Wake up. Don't move for a second. Let the blankness be what it is. Then reach for the journal.
She read the two front pages first. Always. The amnesia explained to herself in calm language she'd written on a good day. The other thing explained the same way. The name of the doctor. The timeline. The fact that Hana knew, her parents knew, and that she had chosen to keep going because the alternative was letting the days happen to her and she wasn't willing to do that.
Then the daily entries.
She built yesterday back up from the details. By the time she reached the most recent entry she usually felt mostly like herself. Not completely. But enough.
This morning she got to the last entry and read it slowly.
The pen. The park bench. What she'd told him. What he hadn't said. The underlined lines.
He said he'd be there early. In case you need a minute before you read it. He means it. Trust this.
And then at the very end, added after the main entry in slightly different handwriting, like she'd gone back before sleep:
He let you hold the pen.
She sat with that for a long time.
Then she got dressed, made tea, finished it. Packed her bag. Took the train.
She was so busy thinking about the entry that she almost missed her stop. She caught herself at the last second and got off and walked to school with her head slightly elsewhere, piecing together a day she couldn't remember from words that were starting to feel like more than words.
He was at the gate.
Earlier than yesterday even. She saw him from further down the block this time, just a shape in the grey morning, and something in her chest did the thing again, the thing she kept not naming.
She walked up.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey." He looked at her. "You read it."
"All of it."
"The last part. The thing you added before you went to sleep."
She stopped. "How do you know I added something before I went to sleep."
"The handwriting. You described it yesterday, how your handwriting changes when you're tired." He paused. "I remembered."
She looked at him.
Of course he remembered. He remembered everything. While she was building yesterday from notes he was just carrying it, all of it, the whole day intact and accessible, the weight of it held somewhere in him without effort.
She had never thought about it from that angle before. What it was like to be him in this arrangement. To remember every version of a day she would never reach.
"Caiden," she said.
"Yeah."
"Does it bother you. Remembering everything while I don't remember anything."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Ask me again in a week," he said.
She recognized those words. She had asked him that before apparently. First day. Same question, same answer.
"You said that yesterday too," she said. "According to the journal."
"I know."
"So you're going to keep saying it."
"Until I have a better answer." He looked at her steadily. "Is that okay."
She held his gaze. This boy who came early and remembered everything and had handed her his father's pen without making it into a moment.
She was about to answer when she felt her phone buzz in her bag. She ignored it. It buzzed again. Then again.
She pulled it out.
Three messages from Hana.
don't freak out
sora is here
not at the gate. inside. he transferred back.
- Writer
