COLIN’S POV
The antiseptic smell hits first, too clean to be comfortable, and I sit there listening, trying to make sense of something that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me.
“It’s not unusual,” the doctor says, calm and measured, like he’s said this a hundred times before. “Memory loss like yours doesn’t always return in full, sometimes not at all.”
I nod slowly, but it doesn’t settle anything.
“That doesn’t explain why it feels like I remember things I don’t,” I say, my voice lower than I expect, like I’m still trying to catch up with my own thoughts. “Not clearly, not… actual memories, just—” I stop, searching for the right word. “Something.”
He studies me for a second, then nods slightly. “Emotional memory can remain even when factual memory doesn’t,” he explains. “Your mind forg
