BALANCED LUCK

two

☘︎ clover ☘︎

SEPTEMBER

Time seemed to blur as the weeks went by. I was still in the hospital, receiving treatment and slowly regaining my physical strength. I had spent the last month trying to adjust to the fact that I had lost two years of my life and had woken up to a world that had changed, without me even knowing it.

Every day, I went through a routine of physical therapy to regain my mobility and strength. My body had grown weak from disuse during my time in the coma, and every task required a great deal of effort. Slowly but surely, though, I could feel my strength returning, and with it, my determination to get my life back on track.

Despite my gradual physical progress, there was one aspect of my recovery that proved to be a constant challenge: my memory. The two years of being in the coma had robbed me of countless memories, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to recall anything from that time period. It was like a black hole in my mind, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration and helplessness.

The lack of those vivid memories was a constant source of torment for me. I had lost two years of my life - two years of experiences, relationships, and milestones that I couldn't remember. I had missed so much, and the more I tried to remember, the more I was met with that same wall of oblivion.

Dr. Johnson and the other medical professionals were optimistic, though. They assured me that amnesia was not uncommon in comas and that my memories might return in time. "It takes time for the brain to rewire itself and recover from the trauma," Dr. Thompson had said one day as he examined me. "Just have patience, Clover. Your memories might come back soon."

But I was growing increasingly impatient. Every day, I felt like I was making progress, but every night, the same sense of helplessness washed over me. Each time I closed my eyes, I longed for a flash, a fragment of a memory, anything that would give me insight into those lost years.

There was one constant in my recovery, though: Atlas. He visited me every day, without exception. He talked to me, told me stories about what had happened since I had been asleep, and patiently answered any questions I had, no matter how repetitive they might be.

His unwavering presence and loyalty served as a stabilizing force for me. He was my link to the past I couldn't remember and a source of comfort in this strange and confusing new world. I knew that he carried with him memories of the past two years, and a part of me desperately wanted to ask him about them.

However, I hesitated to pry too deeply. I could see the tension in his eyes whenever we spoke about these lost years. There was a heaviness to his words and a guardedness in his demeanor that told me there were secrets he was keeping, things he wasn't telling me.

I respected his boundaries, though. I knew that there was more to his visits than simply keeping me company. He was also watching me, studying my reactions, trying to see if the memories would suddenly resurface. I could see the hope in his eyes every time he visited, but the disappointment that followed when I didn't show any signs of remembering.

One day, as I lay in my hospital bed, feeling a bit restless, there was a knock on the door. I looked up to see Atlas standing in the doorway, a smile on his face. But he wasn't alone. A girl with wavy blonde hair, a kind smile, and sparkling blue eyes stood beside him.

As the girl stepped further into the room and approached my bedside, I studied her face intently. Her expression, her mannerisms - everything seemed so familiar, yet I couldn't place when I had last seen her or what our relationship had been like. It was like trying to remember a dream - fleeting and just out of reach.

She noticed my confused expression and looked at me quizzically. "Clover? You don't remember me, do you?" she asked gently, her voice filled with understanding.

I shook my head, feeling a pang of guilt for not being able to remember such a familiar face. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice wavering. "I just...I don't remember much from the past couple years. It's like I'm living in a fog."

Her expression softened, and she reached out to pat my hand. "It's okay," she said, her voice soft and reassuring. "Don't worry. You've been through a lot, and these things take time."

Despite her kind words, I couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt. I knew that she must have been an important person in my life, but the memories just weren't there. It was incredibly frustrating, and I found myself wishing that I could just snap my fingers and suddenly remember everything I had lost.

I looked up at Atlas, who had been quietly watching our interaction. There was a mixture of concern and sadness in his eyes, and I could sense that he was also struggling with the weight of my memory loss.

He gave me a reassuring smile, and I knew that he was silently telling me it was okay, that he understood. But I couldn't help but wonder if he secretly hoped that my memory would return, so that I could return to the person I used to be - his friend.