CHAPTER ONE: I think I love him.

The only sound accompanying the rhythmic beeping of the machines that had tethered Niya Kendrick to life for the past month was her breathing. But now, those cords were gone, and she was free to leave—at least physically. Her mind, however, was a haze of fragmented memories and a hollow ache she couldn’t understand.

She slipped into the faded jeans and soft sweater Pony had brought her, before she sat back down on the edge of the bed, crouching forward as her hands brushed her thighs.

“You shouldn’t leave yet,” Pony said, smacking her lips softly. Niya turned to see her best friend leaning against the med cart, though her weight barely rested on it.

Pony’s long blonde hair, streaked with brown roots, was tied in its usual side braid. She wore a plain blue long-sleeved shirt as Niya tried to piece together what made her temples throb. Pony's golden-brown eyes fixed on Niya with a bluntness that was hard to ignore.

“I’ve been here for thirty days, Pony. I’ve rested enough,” Niya croaked, her voice rough from disuse. “Besides, no one has come to see me in two days. I’m tired of staring at these walls.”

Pony hesitated, her mouth opening as if to say something, but then she closed it again. “Do you even remember me?” she finally asked, squinting at her.

Niya chuckled faintly, though it turned into a weak cough that jerked her chest. “Penelope. Barely,” she admitted, running her fingers through her chestnut brown hair before sweeping it into a ponytail. “But I know you’re my best friend. I don’t need my memories to tell me that.”

“I feel like...” Pony sighed, glancing away. “You still need rest.”

“I need my life back,” Niya countered almost immediately. Her gaze drifted to the small window, where sunlight streamed in, tracing golden lines down to her black sandaled toes. “Even if I can barely remember what it was before the accident, I know I had one.”

Pony made a face—something between discomfort and skepticism—but said nothing.

“Fine,” she finally relented. “Let’s get you home.”

The car hummed softly as it rolled through the city streets, sunlight bouncing off the buildings. Niya sat stiffly in the passenger seat, her fingers gripping the edge of the seatbelt. Her chest rose with every bump and turn the car made, but she kept her face blank, unwilling to let her bestfriend see the fear curling her insides.

Pony glanced at her from the driver’s seat with furrowed her brows. “Why look like we might have a second round?” she muttered silently.

Niya shot her a glare before her expression softened into worry. Her eyes traced downwards to Pony’s left arm. Beneath the hem of her long sleeve, a white bandage peeked out.

“You were in the accident too,” Niya said in a quiet voice.

Pony nodded.

Niya’s fingers flexed against her seatbelt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter. The doctor said your memories will come back. Besides, I’m fine. Focus on yourself for once.”

Niya sighed. “I… I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And you think stepping out into the world with zero memories and a just-realized phobia for drives is a good idea? Great plan, Niya. Solid.”

Niya huffed, leaning her head against the window. “I remember some things,” she said, though the words sounded more hopeful than confident. “I know I had a husband. I know you’re my best friend. And I know… something feels like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit together anymore.”

“Maybe that’s because the puzzle’s missing half its pieces,” Pony muttered, keeping her eyes on the road.

“What else am I supposed to do?” Niya turned to look at her through the corners of her dark lashes. “Stay in the hospital and wait for my memories to come back like some kind of magic? I don’t even know why nobody’s visited me in two days.”

Pony hesitated, her fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. “It’s... complicated,” she said carefully.

Niya raised an eyebrow. “Complicated?”

“It’s just—look, people have lives, Niya,” Pony rushed her words. “You can’t expect the world to stop because you—” She cut herself off, biting her lower lip hard enough that it almost bled.

“Because I almost died.” 

Pony exhaled heavily, “People don’t always know how to handle that. Some people... they just move on.”

Niya sinked back into the seat, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Right. Move on,” she murmured.

Pony’s grip on the wheel tightened further. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re here now, and that’s what matters. You’ve still got me, okay? Even if I’m a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, you are,” she rolls her eyes.

They drove in silence for a few minutes, saved for the only sounds coming from the car’s engine and the occasional rustle of traffic outside. Niya’s mind drifted.

“Do you think I’ll ever remember everything?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.

The question caused Pony to stiffen, her shoulders tensing. She swallowed hard. “I think… some things are better off forgotten.” 

Niya frowned, faint lines pulling her brows together. “What does that mean?”

Pony shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Just that sometimes the past is messy, you know? Maybe it’s a good thing you get to start fresh. Not everyone gets that chance.”

Niya didn’t respond.

When they arrived, the sight of her grandmother’s manor stopped her short. It was a modest place, old but well-kept, the once white paint now fading into a dull cream, with a front lawn that had more weeds than grass. Yet today, it was…different, if Niya could recall that.

Streamers hung from the porch, their faded colors swaying in the gentle breeze. Soft music spilled through the open windows, blending with the echoes of laughter and chatter coming from inside.

Niya turned to Pony, her brow furrowing. “What’s going on?”

Pony shrugged. “Your house, not mine,” she replied flatly, her golden-brown eyes avoiding Niya’s questioning gaze.

Niya scoffed and turned away into the hallway as the wooden floor creaked underneath her weight. The hallway was decorated with banners, their bright colors clashing awkwardly with the old wooden walls. Stranger faces laughing and chatting as though this were a grand celebration.

Niya froze just inside the doorway, her eyes scanning the crowd like a radar on overdrive. Her heart thudded in her chest as she searched for someone—anyone—she recognized, like a child scanning a room full of adults for a familiar face to cling to.

“This isn’t for me,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise. She turned, half expecting Pony to be standing stiffly behind her, ready to offer some sarcastic remark. But Pony wasn’t there.

Niya's eyes flitted over the scene—an older man with a receding hairline gesturing wildly, a group of women laughing a little too loudly near the refreshments, a waiter weaving through the crowd with a tray of drinks. Her grandmother's house had indeed been transformed.

And then she saw him. It was his smile that stopped her heart—a genuine, easy smile that lit up his face in a way that made him seem almost…human.