A beautiful morning arrived quietly. Sunlight slipped through the curtains and woke Laura, warming her face. She opened her eyes and lay still for a while, staring at the ceiling. I work at the bar today, she thought. And maybe I'll walk around the neighborhood again. Maybe something else will come back. Ever since she had helped a girl near the bar, fragments of memory had surfaced—how Tomas once helped her too. Even near the store, familiar feelings had stirred. She hoped the streets might remember what she could not.
Laura got out of bed, washed up, dressed, and went downstairs to the bar. It was empty—work wouldn't start for a few hours. She made herself coffee and a couple of sandwiches, ate slowly, then stepped outside for a walk. She wandered between apartment buildings for some time, but nothing came. No images, no sensations. Just quiet streets and unanswered thoughts.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Michael.
Hi Laura, are you free tomorrow? Would you like to go see a movie?
She paused. He's a good man, she thought, but I don't want him to misunderstand me. I only see him as a friend. I need to talk to him.
She replied: Okay, we can meet tomorrow, but only in the evening—I'll need to go back to work.
Great, Michael wrote back. We can watch a movie and then get something to eat.
Okay, Laura answered.
As she walked, she noticed a park not far away and headed toward it. Near a small stream and a narrow bridge, she sat down on a bench. Suddenly, images flooded her mind—herself crying, Tomas holding her, comforting her. She remembered how safe she had felt with him. Then another memory surfaced: the two of them walking, laughing. A warm feeling spread through her chest, followed immediately by anxiety and fear. And then it was gone.
She was alone again, sitting on a bench.
We looked so happy, she thought. What happened? Why doesn't he want to see me?
She checked the time. It was time to return to the bar. At least she had remembered something—but the more she remembered, the less she understood. Laura went back to work and spent the evening with Lukas and Kristina. Another long night passed, filled with drunk men and careless remarks. For now, I don't have another choice, she told herself.
Late at night, she returned to her room, washed up, and lay down. Tomorrow I'm going to the movies with Michael. I need to sleep. As usual, sleep came only for a few hours before morning arrived.
She got up, washed, found clean clothes, and dressed. A message appeared on her phone.
Michael: I'm already waiting near the bar.
Laura took a small handbag and went outside. Michael stood by his car. He opened the door for her, handed her coffee and pastries once she was inside.
"For breakfast," he said with a wide smile.
"Thank you," Laura replied softly. "I want to talk to you about something."
Michael started the car. "I'm listening."
"Maybe it's better once we get out," she said.
He laughed nervously. "I can tell it's something important. Okay—let's talk near the cinema."
They parked a little farther away and walked toward the building. Laura stopped and took a breath.
"You've helped me a lot since I woke up after the accident," she began. "You're a good man. But I don't want you to misunderstand me. I'm very grateful to you—but I only see you as a friend. I'm sorry if I gave you the wrong signals."
Michael clenched his fist for a moment, then relaxed and smiled.
"I'll be honest—you do matter to me. But I don't expect anything in return. We can be friends. Who knows what the future holds? I'm not in a rush."
Laura smiled with relief. "Okay. Friends."
They went into the cinema, chose a movie, and watched it together. After a couple of hours, they stepped outside.
"Are you hungry?" Michael asked.
Laura's stomach answered for her. She laughed. "Yes."
"There's a restaurant nearby," he said.
They sat at a table near the window, ordered food, and talked about the movie, smiling. Then Michael gently took her hand.
"Thank you for today," he said.
Laura turned toward the window—and froze.
Outside stood a familiar figure. At first, she thought it was another memory, another illusion. But the sadness in his eyes was real. The pain was real.
It was Tomas.
Her heart began to race. This isn't a vision, she realized. He's really there.
She stood up abruptly and ran outside. Michael remained at the table, confused. Laura pushed through the crowd and caught up to Tomas, grabbing his sleeve.
"I want to talk to you, Tomas," she said, her heart pounding as if it would break free from her chest.
She heard only one quiet word.
"I'm sorry."
He pulled away and vanished into the crowd.
The pain that followed was sharp and overwhelming. Tears burned in her eyes as she searched for him, but he was gone. After a few minutes, she returned to the restaurant. Michael had already paid and stood near the door, holding her jacket.
"I'm sorry I ran out like that," Laura said quietly. "I thought I saw someone I knew. I'm tired—I'll go home by taxi. Don't worry about me."
Michael handed her the jacket. He understood more than he said.
"I'm free all day," he replied gently. "I'll take you home."
Laura hesitated, then nodded. He drove her back. She stepped out of the car, said only "Thank you," and went inside alone. Laura closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. The room was silent, too silent. She slowly slid down until she was sitting on the floor, her back against the wood. Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
Her hands were shaking.
"I'm sorry."
The words echoed in her mind, again and again. Not loud, not angry—just distant. As if he had already decided to leave long before she ever saw him.
She stood up, took off her jacket, and placed it carefully on the chair. Every movement felt heavy. Laura walked to the small window and looked out at the street below. People passed by, living their lives, unaware that something fragile inside her had just cracked open.
Why does it hurt this much? she wondered. If I don't even remember everything… why does my chest feel like it's collapsing?
She pressed a hand against her sternum, trying to calm the tightness there. Images flickered again—Tomas standing close, his voice low and steady, his presence protective without being suffocating. She remembered the way she used to feel safe without knowing why. Not excitement. Not passion.
Safety.
Laura turned away from the window and sat on the edge of her bed. She felt angry—not at Tomas, not even at herself—but at the emptiness between the memories. At the missing pieces that refused to come together.
If you didn't want to see me, she thought, why did you look at me like that?
His eyes had been full of something she couldn't name. Regret. Pain. Resolve.
She lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the city outside. Somewhere, far away, Tomas was moving through the same streets, choosing distance over answers.
Tears finally slipped free, silent and warm, tracing a path into her hair.
"I just want to understand," she whispered to the empty room.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook her. Laura turned onto her side, pulling the blanket close, holding it as if it could replace what she had lost but could not remember. As sleep claimed her, one thought remained steady, refusing to fade:
Whatever had happened between her and Tomas—it wasn't over.
Not yet.