Читать книгу Pieces - - Страница 4

It was five days after my discharge from the hospital. The air outside the hospital was sharp with freedom, yet fragile. My legs felt uncertain beneath me, but the world was dazzling – too bright, too fast, and too alive. My friend held my arm as we walked toward the car. Every step away from the hospital felt like a step into an unfinished story.

And then I saw her.

She was walking ahead of us, sunlight glancing off her dark hair, the denim jacket folded perfectly across her shoulders. She stopped to check her phone, head tilted the way I remembered, like she was smiling at some secret only she knew. My chest seized. Heat spread through me, unstoppable. “It’s her,” I whispered, voice trembling. Before my friend could react, I broke away and hurried toward her.

“Hey!” My voice cracked with desperation. She turned, startled, eyes wide.

When I reached her, I grabbed her hand before I could think. The contact jolted through me like electricity. “It’s you,” I breathed, tears already burning my eyes. “God, it’s you. The night, the jacket, the music – I thought I’d lost you.” She froze, staring at me, her lips parting in shock. “I’m sorry… do I know you?”

I laughed and shook my head, overwhelmed. “Of course you know me. The bar in Moscow Rébellion. The amber lights, the sound, the crowd. You touched my hand and told me not to pull away. You said I’d never forget you.”

Her face softened, a mixture of confusion and pity. She tried to pull her hand back, but it clung tighter, needing her, begging her. “Please, don’t say you don’t remember. You’re the only thing that survived. The only thing I know is real.”

Her eyes glistened – fear, sympathy, or something else, I couldn’t tell.

My friend rushed to us, gently prying my hand from hers. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice low and steady. “He’s recovering from an accident. His memory… it’s been broken. He keeps recalling someone who looks like you.”