CHAPTER 19: TELL ME A MEMORY

It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. They simply ended up in the same hotel room that night, a coincidence that felt almost predestined, the way quiet moments sometimes steal their way into chaos.

Ahce had only asked if Richard had eaten dinner. He’d nodded faintly, his voice barely a whisper when he said he had. But his weary eyes betrayed him. The kind of exhaustion he carried couldn’t be cured by food. It was the fatigue of someone running from ghosts too heavy to name.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in a thin, amber glow that softened the edges of reality. The steady hum of the air conditioner filled the silence like a heartbeat. Lying beside him, Ahce felt an unfamiliar calm settle in her chest, a peace that came not from comfort, but from something deeper, instinctive.

Being near him felt like standing at the edge of something vast and quiet, like she’d found a place she hadn’t realized she’d been searching for.

He must be very tired.

Richard looked utterly spent. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes, and his disheveled hair fell across his forehead in restless strands. His posture spoke of sleepless nights and restless thoughts. Ahce wondered, was he chasing something, or running from it?

He’d told her earlier he wanted to talk, that there was something important he needed to say. But midway through his sentence, his voice had faded. Sleep claimed him before his thoughts could.

He looks cuter when he’s sleeping.

Ahce didn’t wake him. The stillness of that moment felt fragile, almost sacred. She simply watched him, the slow rhythm of his breathing, the furrow between his brows that even rest couldn’t smooth away.

When the silence became too heavy, she turned to her own world. The faint blue light of her laptop illuminated her face as she logged into the organization’s secure network. A new assignment blinked on her screen.

Another hacking mission.

High risk. High reward.

Just the way they liked it.

Her fingers moved with mechanical precision, lines of code, encryption layers, silent entry points into digital corridors few dared to tread. The world outside could burn, and she would not notice.

I need to get this done before he wakes up.

Hours slipped by, and only the low hum of the computer filled the room.

Then Richard stirred.

At first, Ahce thought he was shifting in his sleep. But then his breath hitched, turning ragged. His expression contorted in pain, and his hands clenched into fists. The calm veneer shattered. He was trapped somewhere dark, somewhere even sleep couldn’t protect him.

Then came the murmurs.

"Please... I’m sorry. Don’t leave me hanging, Boss. Please... I beg you, come back to me... Boss..."

Ahce froze. The cursor on her screen blinked, waiting for a command that never came. She could have woken him, but something held her back, fear, curiosity, or perhaps something she didn’t want to name.

A nightmare?

Then his voice broke again, softer this time, trembling between breaths.

"Boss... I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you. Sorry, I never had the courage to tell you... I was a coward. I’m sorry, Boss. Please don’t leave me again..."

Tears escaped from the corners of his eyes, slipping down his face.

And Ahce’s heart clenched.

Fragments of her lost memory flickered in her mind, disconnected images, voices, sensations she could no longer place. Her selective amnesia had turned her past into a puzzle with missing pieces. If he hadn’t approached her one day with marriage papers, she might never have remembered him at all.

Now, hearing him cry out to someone he called "Boss," she wondered if the missing pieces pointed to her. Unable to bear the sight any longer, she reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek.

"Richard," she whispered. "Wake up... you’re dreaming."

He flinched, gasping like a man surfacing from deep water. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, frightened. Then, before Ahce could speak again, he pulled her into his arms. His hold was desperate, trembling.

"Boss... you’re here..." His voice cracked with disbelief. "You’re really here."

Ahce froze, then slowly returned the embrace, her hand resting gently against the back of his head. His breath came unevenly, soaked with fear and relief.

"I thought I lost you again," he murmured against her shoulder. "I thought you were gone for good this time."

She didn’t answer. Her mind was a storm of questions she couldn’t voice.

Richard lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze raw, unguarded, glistening with tears.

"Boss, I love you," he said, his voice trembling but sure. "I’ve loved you for so long... I can’t lose you again. Not again."

The words fell into the quiet like a confession years overdue.

Before Ahce could react, he pressed his lips to hers, a fleeting, trembling kiss filled with sorrow more than desire. It wasn’t passion that drove him. It was grief. The ache of remembering what should have never been forgotten.

"Please," he whispered, voice breaking, "don’t disappear this time."

She held him close, her arms tightening around him, feeling the weight of his fear and longing seep into her. There was so much pain between them, so much that words could not reach. Perhaps once she had known what his tears meant, but that knowledge was gone, buried with the fragments of who she used to be.

Eventually, his trembling eased. His body relaxed, and exhaustion dragged him back into uneasy sleep. He didn’t let go, his hand still clutching hers, as if her presence was the only thing tethering him to the waking world.

Ahce stayed awake, the glow of dawn beginning to seep through the curtains. She studied his face, peaceful now, unburdened by dreams, and yet her mind spun restlessly with everything he had said.

When morning finally came, sunlight spread across the room, painting Richard in soft gold. He stirred, blinking groggily, rubbing at his eyes.

"Morning," Ahce said softly, her voice careful.

He smiled faintly, still half lost in sleep. "Morning... Did you stay up all night again?"

"Just a little."

He stretched, his movements slow and unbothered.

"I had a good sleep for once," he said with a light laugh. "No nightmares this time."

Ahce froze.

He didn’t remember. Not the nightmare. Not the tears. Not the confession whispered in the dark. Something inside her tightened, but she smiled anyway, calm, composed, the same practiced expression she had worn too many times before.

"That’s good," she said gently. "You needed it."

He nodded, humming quietly as he got up, moving as though nothing had happened.

Ahce watched him in silence, her thoughts hidden deep beneath the calm surface. Whatever he remembered, or chose to forget, perhaps it was better that way.