Chapter 4 — At the Doorway

Days passed the way they were supposed to—at least, that was how they looked from the outside.

I went to school, sat through classes, copied notes from the board. I tried to follow the lessons, even when the words slipped past my mind like they didn’t want to stay. Rita was always beside me. She repeated explanations patiently, never showing frustration when I asked the same thing twice.

I was grateful for Rita.

She never looked at me like I was broken.

Just… different.

That afternoon, the first break bell rang sharply, echoing down the corridor. Chairs scraped against the floor, voices rose, and students began pouring out of the classroom.

I packed my books and stood up, ready to head to the cafeteria with Rita.

That was when it happened.

The classroom door swung open wider than usual.

A boy stepped inside, moving too fast, too urgently, as if he hadn’t thought this through. The room fell quiet for a brief second. I recognized him—or rather, my body did. My chest tightened in a way that felt familiar and wrong at the same time.

It was him.

The boy who had stood outside my hospital room.

The one I had seen in the cafeteria days ago.

Before I could react, he was already in front of me.

His hand brushed against my arm.

The contact was brief—barely a second—but my body stiffened instantly, reacting before my mind could catch up. He shifted slightly, unintentionally blocking my way out, positioning us at the doorway.

I froze.

Not from clear fear.

But from a reflex my body seemed to remember.

“What—” My voice caught.

I looked up at him, confused, my heart pounding too fast.

“Do I know you?” I asked quietly.

His expression cracked.

He looked straight into my eyes, and what I saw there wasn’t anger—but desperation. His eyes were red, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. His breathing was uneven.

“Lily,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “It’s me. Owen.”

He swallowed hard. “You… you don’t remember me, do you?”

There was frustration in his face—not violent, not threatening. Just the helplessness of someone trying to grab onto something already slipping away.

I didn’t answer.

The name—Owen—did nothing inside my head. No memory sparked. No image surfaced. Only the same blank space.

Suddenly, someone pulled him backward.

Rita.

She stepped between us, her posture rigid, protective, as if she had been waiting for this moment.

“Stay away from Lily,” Rita said sharply. “You have no right to be near her.”

Owen stumbled back, startled. He turned to Rita, anger flashing across his face.

“Don’t interfere!” he shouted.

A few students stopped walking. A teacher at the end of the corridor turned, frowning.

Owen seemed to realize where he was. His jaw tightened. He looked at me again—longer this time—as if there were words trapped in his throat.

Then, without saying anything else, he turned and walked away.

His steps were fast. Too fast.

I watched his back disappear into the crowd, my thoughts tangled. He was tall, athletic, the kind of person people usually noticed without trying. Someone who would normally draw attention effortlessly.

But to me, he felt distant. Like a stranger in a photograph.

Had I ever been involved with him?

The question lingered heavily in my mind.

Everything felt like a puzzle with missing pieces. Even the cause of my accident—and how I ended up in the hospital—remained a dark, shapeless gap.

Rita gently took my hand, grounding me.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, studying my face.

I nodded slowly.

“Why?” I asked, my voice sounding unfamiliar to my own ears. “What was that?”

I hesitated, then asked the question that had been weighing on me.

“Who… is he?”

Rita went quiet.

She glanced down the corridor where Owen had disappeared, then back at me. Her expression hardened, like she was holding something she wasn’t allowed to drop.

“You don’t need to know,” she said quietly. “What you need to know is this—if he’s around, you should stay away.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

Rita pressed her lips together.

“I’m not allowed to say much,” she replied. “Your parents should be the ones to explain.”

My chest tightened—not with anger, but with urgency.

“So you know what happened before?” I asked quickly. “You know what all this is about?”

Without realizing it, I held onto her sleeve.

“Please, Rita,” I said softly. “I want to know.”

Rita shook her head.

She didn’t deny it.

She didn’t confirm it.

She simply took my hand and gently led me away from the classroom.

We walked toward the cafeteria in silence.

My steps felt light but hollow. Voices around us blurred into distant echoes. Inside my head, one name kept circling without meaning.

Owen.

I didn’t know who he was.

I didn’t know what role he had played in my life.

But I understood one thing clearly—and it made my stomach tighten:

Everyone around me knew something about me.

And I was the only one who didn’t.

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