*Chapter 2: Pieces of a Shattered Past*
The rain had stopped by morning, but a fog had rolled in—thick and damp, clinging to the skin like a second layer. I'd spent the night on a bench at a closed bus stop, curled into myself, cold and aching. The shelter had been full. Or maybe I just didn't try hard enough to go back. I wasn't sure. My pride, my confusion, or the overwhelming fear of being vulnerable might have kept me there, exposed to the elements, hugging my knees and staring at the dim outline of buildings disappearing into mist.
The city moved around me like I didn't exist, and in a way, I didn't. Not really. Not without my past.
Nurse Mara had done her best—better than most would have. She gave me a warm bed, treated my wounds, offered food, and talked to me like I was someone worth saving. But how could I be saved if I didn't even know who I was?
Eva.That name haunted me. It wasn't just a sound—it was a sensation. A whisper that stirred something deep in my bones. When it surfaced, it carried a weight that pressed against my ribs, squeezing my lungs with forgotten emotion. *Eva.* The name didn't feel like a fantasy. It felt like the truth. Something sacred that had been taken from me.
It wasn't a name anyone gave me. It didn't come from a doctor, or from Mara's kindness. It rose inside me like a memory refusing to stay buried.
And every time it echoed in my mind, it brought with it fragments. A flash of blue eyes. A room full of light. The sound of crashing glass. A scream—sharper than any knife. Then silence.
I walked aimlessly through the city, the crumpled hospital discharge papers tucked in my coat pocket like some flimsy proof of existence. People passed without noticing. Children laughed as they skipped over puddles. Somewhere, a street musician played a hauntingly beautiful tune on a violin, and the sound reached into places inside me I didn't know were still alive.
Life went on.
And I… I wandered through it like a misplaced puzzle piece.At a café window, I caught my reflection. Pale skin. Tired eyes. My hair was still damp, framing my face in messy strands. I looked like someone who had lived through a storm—because I had. Not just the literal one from the night before, but a much deeper one. One that had torn through my life and left it unrecognizable.
But whose face was it? Did I always look like this?
I walked on, not knowing what I was searching for—just hoping to feel something familiar. My feet eventually brought me to a quiet park nestled between tall apartment buildings. A few joggers passed. An elderly man fed pigeons near a fountain. I sat on a bench, breathing in the scent of wet earth and leaves.
Then I heard it again.
*Eva.*
Not out loud—but in my mind. This time, it was followed by a different image. A man, shadowed and blurred, standing at the edge of a hallway. He called out that name, reaching for someone—me? He looked terrified. Desperate. And just like that, it was gone.
My heart pounded as I sat upright. I closed my eyes and tried to chase the memory, to hold onto it before it slipped away. But it dissolved like smoke between my fingers. I wanted to scream. To force my brain to remember. I wanted to *know*.
Instead, I cried.Not loud, not messy—just a silent stream of tears rolling down my cheeks as people walked by, unaware of the storm inside me. I didn't even wipe them away. Let them fall. Let them carry the weight of my nameless grief.
As the day wore on, I returned to the same bus stop where I'd spent the night. Something about it felt safe. Familiar, maybe. Or maybe I just had nowhere else to go. I sat there for hours, lost in thought, staring blankly at passing cars and wondering if anyone out there was searching for me.
And then… he passed again.
The black SUV.
I stood instinctively, watching as it pulled up to the intersection. The window was rolled down just a crack. I couldn't see him clearly, but I *knew*. It was the same man from the night before. The same voice that had asked if I was okay. The one that stirred something in me I couldn't explain.
Declan Miles.
I hadn't known his name yesterday. But earlier that morning, while flipping through a discarded newspaper at the park, I'd seen his photo on the front page. *CEO Expands Tech Empire.* It had taken my breath away.
Not because of his title or success, but because I'd *seen* him. In pieces. In dreams. And now again—real, undeniable, breathing the same air I did.I stepped of the curb,Not to stop him. Not to confront him. Just… to see. To be closer.
But he turned the corner before I could reach the street.
Gone again.
I stood there, staring after his vehicle, heart pounding against my ribs like a prisoner desperate to escape. Was it just coincidence that we kept crossing paths? Or was fate slowly circling me, drawing lines back to where I was meant to be?
I didn't know yet.
But I was sure of one thing:
My name wasn't Anita.
It was Eva.
And someone out there—maybe *he*—held the key to the rest of my story.