I Quiet city

A hush fell over the city, the kind that only came when the
streetlights hummed and the moon draped its silver veil across
the pavement, Cn the third floor of a narrow brick building, Lec
sat in the half-darkness of hig small apartment' watching Clara
sleep,

ker hand was curled into fist, resting on the pillow beside hercheek.
A stray strand of hair glowed faintly in the moonlight, like a silver
thread woven into the night itself. ke reached out gently, his finger
tracing the line ofherjau in silence, Q nightly ritual he had come to
treasure.

He loved her in a way that felt boundless—quiet, steady, and

stronger than he had ever imagined love could be. It had begun so
simply: Q shared glance across Q coffee shop table, then late-night
talks, laughter spilling across lazy Sunday mornings. Over timew
their lives had folded seamlessly into each other.

Yet, even love—deep and true—has its peculiar rhythms,

 chapter — The
A Peculiar Rhythm

Every morning, withoutfail. Clara would ask. •ell me about your day
yesterday, Leo, What did you do?"

At first, he found it charming. He'd chuckle softly, sometimes shaking

his head [n disbelief. "Clara, told you all about it last night."

sut she would smile, her lips curving with that soft. wistful
tenderness that always disarmed him. know. But tell me again. I want
to hear t all aver.

And so he would. He'd recount the ordinary details of his day at

the architecture firm—the demanding client, the spilled coffee.
the joke a coworker told. Somehow, in the warmth of her gaze,
those mundane things became a kind of epic adventure.
To Lea, it was a testament to her love. Her endless curiosity, her
desire to know every part of him. A beautiful quirk that made him
feel seen, understood, cherished.

But quirks sometimes carry shadows.

Chapter 2 —
 Chapter 3 — The
First Cracks

It started subtly. One evening, as they walked home hand in hand,

Clara tilted her head and asked, "Did you take the bus today?"

He blinked, puzzled. "No, we drove, Remember? We went to

the grocery store. MY car's right there." He pointed to the curb
where it was parked.

Her brow furrowed for just a moment, a fleeting crease of confusion,

"Oh. Right," she murmured, brushing it off.

Leo laughed lightly and let it pass. But later in the stillness of
their apartment, he replayed the exchange in his mind.

He told himself not to worry, Clara was dreamy at times, prone to

drifting into her thoughts. That was part of her charm wasn't it?

And yet... unease lingered.

 Chapter 4
Shadows of Forgetting

In the weeks that followed, the little slips grew. She misplaced her
keys within minutes of setting them down. She forgot the title of a
movie they'd watched just days earlier. Oncer on their familiar walk to
the park' she hesitated at a corner she had crossed countless times,
her eyes scanning the streets like a stranger.

Leo tried to reason with himself- Everyone forgets things. Stress,

fatigue, distraction—these were harmless explanations.

But one morning, Clara tilted her head with innocent curiosity and asked.
"Wait. You're an architect?"

Leo froze, the words lodging in his throat. "Clara... yes. I've been one
for ten years."

Her eyes widened in a flicker of panic, quickly maske d by a laugh

that sounded thin, brittle. "Of course. I dont know why I asked. Silly
me."
He kissed her temple and said nothing more. aut his heart tightened with a
quiet dread.

— Wedding Photo
 Chapter 5 The
The truth came crashing one ordinary afternoon.

Leo returned home to find Clara sitting an the couch, her hands
clutching their wedding photo from the mantelpiece. Tears streaked
her cheeks, her shoulders trembling with silent sobs.

"Clara?" he whispered, rushing to her side. "'What's wrong?"

She lifted her eyes to him, and in them was a sorrow so deep it
nearly broke him in two. Her voice shook. 'Who are you?"

The world splintered

"You're in all my pictures," she whispered. 'You look so happy. I know

[ love you... but I don't know who you are."
Leo's breath caught. For a long moment, he could only hold her, his
own heart splintering under the weight of her words. He didn't tell
her Othe truth that night Instead, he pulled her close and began to
weave stories—of their first meeting, their wedding, the quiet
mornings and joytul adventures. He showed her photographs, their
albums becoming lifelines,

Each ward, each picture was a desperate attempt to stitch

togetherthe fragments of the life slipping from her grasp.
 Chapter 6
— Threads of Memory

Night fell heavy, but Leo stayed awake, watching her

sleep. He thought of the life they had built—the
laughter, the fights, the compromises, the small
victories—and how fragile it all suddenly felt.

He vowed then that he would be her memory. If her

mind betrayed her, he would hold their past for them
both. He would remind her of who she was, of who
they were.

But as the days passedi he realized it wasn't only

about memory. It was about presence,

Clara still laughed at his silly jokes. She still leaned

into his shoulder as they watched the sunset. She
still said "l love you" in the quiet way that carried
more weight than any grand declaration.
 The forgetting was real. But so was the love.

Chapter 7 — The Question Returns

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the window. Clara

stirred, her eyes clearer than they had been in days. She smiled
softly at him and asked, "Tell me about your day yesterday, Leo.
What did you do?"

For a moment, Leo couldn't breathe. Once, her question had

felt like a sweet quirk. Now, it felt like something fragile and
heartbreaking—a lifeline thrown into the dark.

His chest ached with understanding. This wasnrt about

love in the way he had thought. It wasn't a playful desire
to hear his stories again. It was a plea. A desperate
attempt to hold onto him, to their life, even as pieces
slipped away.

Leo took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. A tear slid
down his cheek.
 Chapter 8
— The Weight of Love

He would not tell her the truth—not yet. He would not shatter
her with the reality of what was happening. Instead, he would
answer. Every single day.

Because her question was more than a ritual. It was her anchor.
And his answer was more than a recounting of events. It was
a promise.

To love her. To remind her. To be there, unwavering, even when

the world within her began to collapse.

Some days would be easier. Others would test the very limits
of his strength. But love, he realized, was not about
permanence. It was about presence.
 Chapter 9
— Holding On

Their life became fragile, yet strangely

beautiful. Some mornings, Clara would
laugh and chatter as if nothing had changed.
Other days, she would falter, lost in the fog
of forgetting.

Leo learned to savor the small moments—the

way she hummed a tune while cooking, the
way she traced her finger absentmindedly
over his wedding band, the way her face lit up
when he told her the same story for the
hundredth time.

Each moment was a treasure, even if it was

fleeting.
— Yesterday, Again
 Chapter 10
That night, as the city hushed under
the glow of streetlights, Leo lay beside
her once more.

"Yesterday," he whispered, answering

her question with a voice thick with love,
'Il woke up next to the most beautiful
woman in the world. And I loved her—
just as I do today, and just as I will
tomorrow."
Clara smiled, her eyes soft, her grip on his
hand tightening just slightly. And though
memory slipped through her fingers,
love remained.

For Leot that was enough.

 THE END

written by infinity