Sophie stared at him for a long while…
Then she suddenly turned, opened the door, and walked out without looking back.
"Sophie!" He only managed to call her name once.
The front door slammed shut with a loud "bang."
From a distance came Sophie's voice: "Eat by yourself first. I'm going to the supermarket to buy ingredients—I'll be back soon."
Her old Ford runabout had been fixed. Though it was ancient and beat-up, as long as it could get her from point A to point B, she had no plans to replace it.
After lunch, Sophie accompanied Ned to the hospital for his follow-up appointment and to change his dressings.
"How are you feeling? In the few days since you were discharged, have you started to vaguely recall anything from the past?" Dr. Kent, the psychologist, asked Ned kindly. He was one of the more senior psychotherapists at the hospital, around fifty years old.
"I remember the taste of the sandwich, and the taste of the chicken cutlet inside the omurice," Ned replied with a beaming smile, savoring the memory of lunch.
"What? The taste of food?" Dr. Kent raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, exactly—the taste of the food. Does that count as recovering memories?" Ned explained more clearly, "And the flavors in my memory are exactly the same as the ones Sophie makes."
"Oh—" Dr. Kent glanced at Sophie. "You're saying the taste of food you ate before is identical to what Sophie cooks for you now?"
There was something meaningful in Dr. Kent's look, and Sophie suddenly felt a little uneasy.
Ned turned to look at Sophie tenderly. "Yes, the delicious taste, the familiar taste!"
Dr. Kent let out another drawn-out "Ohhh—" and gave Sophie a knowing glance.
Sophie tried to explain to him, "His memory has been quite jumbled these past couple of days. He can't even remember what he's eaten before—how could he possibly recall the taste of specific foods? He must be talking nonsense." Her smile was somewhat awkward and guilty.
Because she suddenly remembered that back when she was Ned's assistant at C&C, the sandwiches, chicken cutlets, seaweed rice rolls, and meat wraps she brought for herself would always end up being snatched by him for breakfast. Then at actual lunchtime, he would helplessly drag her—half crying, half laughing—to other restaurants to eat more refined dishes.
Only now did she finally realize what Ned truly thought deep down: the food she made was actually very delicious.
"Is that so? Are you making it up?" Dr. Kent asked Ned.
"How could I? I'm not making it up. The taste is really exactly the same. I don't know why either." His expression was earnest and stubborn. He lifted his head and asked Sophie, "Don't you believe what I'm saying?"
Snapping back to reality upon hearing those words, Sophie suddenly held her breath, unable to utter a single syllable.
Dr. Kent, meanwhile, watched the two of them with an odd expression—one growing increasingly serious, the other visibly guilty and evasive.
"You don't believe me?" Ned asked again. This time his expression was grave, as though the pre-amnesia version of him had resurfaced for a moment.
Faced with a Ned whose look overlapped perfectly with the one from four years ago, Sophie froze completely.
The two of them simply stared into each other's eyes in silence, saying nothing, as if time itself had stopped.
Dr. Kent suddenly cleared his throat. "Ahem. It's really fine, you know. It's possible that you simply really like the food Sophie makes—sandwiches, chicken cutlets, maybe other dishes too—and that strong feeling has caused a kind of memory overlap for you."
"But this feeling is extremely real," Ned emphasized once more, completely serious.
Dr. Kent raised his hand slightly in a soothing gesture. "I know," he said, casting a brief, calm glance at Sophie. "I know it feels very real. Right now your memory is essentially a blank slate, so when you associate that powerful sensation with something real in your current life, it can indeed produce exactly this kind of experience."
After that, Dr. Kent asked Ned a few more questions before telling him to wait outside the consultation room for a moment.
Once only Sophie and Dr. Kent remained in the room, he suddenly asked, "In the past, did you ever make food for Ned? Sandwiches, chicken cutlets, or anything like that?"
Sophie was taken aback for a second. "No," she answered.
Dr. Kent's shrewd gaze fixed straight on her. "Sophie, you're not my patient, so I have no intention of analyzing you from the perspective of a psychologist. However, for Ned, sensations like this can cause serious memory confusion—and once memory becomes confused, it creates significant obstacles for his treatment."
Sophie said nothing. After a moment of silence and thought, she finally asked, "Will he recover his memories?"
"Maybe he will, maybe he won't," Dr. Kent replied. "Based on the current diagnostic results, it appears to be temporary amnesia without any underlying physiological issues. Apart from not remembering certain people and events, he has no other impairments in learning, application, or other types of memory."
"Then how long will it take for him to recover his memories?" Sophie immediately followed up.
"It's hard to say. It could be a month, it could be a year, or perhaps the very next moment some sudden external stimulus could trigger his memory recovery."
"So… he might never recover them for the rest of his life?" Sophie covered her mouth tightly, instantly regretting the words that had slipped out.
"Memory can return slowly and gradually. As long as there's no brain damage, he should recover his memories. The speed, the extent, and the timeline are simply a matter of time. Or, more precisely, if he encounters a powerful piece of evidence or a strong sensation that guides or stimulates him, rapid recovery is also very possible."
After leaving the hospital, on the drive home, Ned asked Sophie from the passenger seat, "You don't believe me?"
"What do you mean 'believe' or 'not believe'?" She kept her eyes on the road, her mind still replaying what Dr. Kent had said.
"I mean, do you not believe what I told Dr. Kent?" Ned patiently repeated.
Sophie glanced at him. "Then do you like eating sandwiches? Do you like chicken cutlets?" she asked in return.
Ned froze for a second, then instinctively shook his head. "No, they're not my favorite flavors."
Sophie had always remembered how picky Ned was about food—whether it was street snacks or fine dining, he was extremely particular. So how could he possibly truly like the sandwiches or chicken cutlets she made?
When they arrived home, Sophie parked the car and turned to see Ned still sitting in the passenger seat, brows furrowed tightly, as if he was desperately trying to figure out something that troubled him…
She couldn't help but secretly laugh. She opened the passenger door, unbuckled his seatbelt, and tried to help him get out.
Ned looked at her hesitantly. Holding back her amusement, Sophie curved her lips slightly. "Time to get out. We're home!" she said with a straight face—only to immediately start laughing again the moment she turned away.
"But I really do like the sandwiches you make. I'm not lying!" Ned got out of the car, closed the door, and followed behind her like a sulky child.
Sophie finally couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing, walking quickly ahead. How could a post-amnesia Ned be so unfairly adorable?
She had never seen this side of him before…
And she probably never would again.
Though she refused to admit it outwardly, the fact that he kept insisting he liked the sandwiches she made—calling them "really delicious"—filled her with a quiet, irrepressible joy…
In that moment, she inexplicably tasted something called "happiness."
It felt like happiness borrowed from heaven—fleeting, perhaps illusory…
Yet so very real.
After dinner and a shower, Sophie changed into comfortable clothes, sat in the living room with her laptop, and began searching for jobs online.
She could feel Ned's eyes fixed on her the entire time, unwavering.
Sophie tried hard to immerse herself in her task, forcing herself to ignore that gaze as she copied down suitable job listings and submitted one résumé after another. Whenever she saw postings looking for on-site interview part-timers, she noted down the details, planning to try her luck tomorrow or the day after.
The living room was completely silent. Sophie became increasingly aware of the intense, almost aggressive way Ned was staring at her.
"Why do you keep staring at me?" she finally couldn't stand it and asked.
"Was I?" He looked away, but it was obvious he was doing it on purpose.
"Weren't you?" She narrowed her eyes.
Ned suddenly laughed out loud. "If I was, it's definitely because you're so beautiful that my eyes can't help but follow you wherever you go!" Then he went right back to staring straight at her.