Before He Forgot Me

EPISODE THREE:THINGS HE DOESN'T REMEMBER

“Are you okay?” Lena asked as we stepped into the cafeteria.

I nodded, too quickly. “Yeah, just… first day nerves.”

She gave me a look like she wasn’t buying it, but let it go. We joined the lunch line, and I pretended to scan the food while my eyes searched the room.

There he was.

Noah.

Sitting at a table by the window, bent over a sketchpad. The sun caught the edge of his hair, turning it almost golden.

I remembered that sketchpad.

He used to doodle everything—buildings, hands, random flowers. He once sketched me on the back of his math test. I had kept that page, folded and hidden, long after things fell apart.

Now I wondered if he still had any of those drawings. Or if I’d just been erased.

“Earth to Amelia,” Lena said, waving a fork in front of my face.

“Sorry,” I muttered, picking at the food on my tray. “I was… zoning out.”

“You were zoning in,” she corrected. “On tall, dark, and sketchy over there.”

I flushed. “It’s not like that.”

“Sure.” Her voice was teasing, but gentle. “But seriously, you look like you’ve seen him before.”

I hesitated. My fingers curled around the edge of the tray.

Because I had seen him before. Known him. Loved him.

But saying it out loud would make it real. And maybe a little crazy.

“I think I knew him… once. A long time ago,” I said finally.

“You sure he’s not from your old school?”

I shook my head slowly. “No. He’s from here. I used to live here… before I moved away.”

Lena blinked. “So, you moved back?”

“Yeah. It’s complicated.”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, her voice soft. “But if you ever want to… I’m all ears.”

Something about the way she said it made my chest loosen. Like maybe I wasn’t as alone in this as I thought.

After lunch, I slipped into the library instead of going outside. I needed quiet. Or at least space to think.

The moment I sat down, I pulled out a photo from the back pocket of my notebook. It was crinkled from being folded and unfolded too many times. It showed a boy with dark hair and a crooked smile, leaning in close beside a girl with soft brown eyes—me.

We looked happy. Young and in love.

I stared at that photo, willing it to mean something.

He was real. We were real.

But now I was just a picture in a drawer he no longer opened.

I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me until it was too late.

“Is that me?”

I jumped, nearly dropping the photo.

Noah stood beside the table, his expression unreadable.

I scrambled to hide the photo under my notebook. “What?”

“That picture,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “I thought I saw… me. Is that from here?”

I swallowed hard, heat rising to my cheeks. “Just an old photo.”

He frowned slightly, like he was trying to piece something together. “You look familiar.”

My heart skipped. “Really?”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought maybe… never mind. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” I said quickly, standing. “It’s not stupid.”

He looked at me then, really looked. His gaze held mine longer than before—still uncertain, but softer now. Confused. Curious.

“I’m sorry if I seemed cold earlier,” he said quietly. “I’m not great at talking to people I don’t know.”

I swallowed the ache in my throat. “Maybe you do know me.”

He tilted his head. “Maybe I do.”

Then he turned and walked away.

And I stood there, heart pounding, clinging to a maybe.