Unexpected Co-star

Part 10

I want to remember him. I want to be her—the girl I was before the accident. The one who knew him, who had a life, a history. I stare at Hugh as he sits by my bed, recounting our days together, painting a picture of a life I can't feel anymore. The frustration gnaws at me like a deep ache because no matter how badly I want to, I just don't know him.

But I want to.

I want to love him.

"I was thinking," I say softly, watching him shift in the chair. His face lights up with cautious hope every time I start to speak, like my words might bring the person he's lost back to him. "I want to try. I want to remember."

Hugh leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he clasps his hands together. He looks at me like I'm the most important thing in the world, like he's holding on to every word I say. It makes the weight of it all heavier, the pressure to be her again.

"I'll tell you everything," he says, his voice steady but full of emotion. "We've been through a lot together, Emerson. I'll remind you of everything."

I nod, bracing myself for whatever memories he's about to give me. I want to soak them in, make them mine, but the truth is, I'm terrified they'll feel like someone else's.

Hugh takes a deep breath before he starts. "We met on set, right? You were cast for this film, and I remember thinking how incredible you were. You had this energy, this spark that just lit up the room." He smiles faintly, his eyes distant, lost in the memory. "We hit it off right away. The banter between takes, the late-night rehearsals... We just clicked."

I watch him, trying to picture it—me, being this vibrant person he's describing. It feels foreign, like I'm hearing about someone else's life. I want to reach out and grab onto it, but it's slippery, always just out of reach.

"You were funny," he says, his smile growing. "You used to make me laugh between scenes. Always had a way of lightening the mood. We'd go out with the cast after long days of filming, and you—" He pauses, his voice faltering. "You were always the center of it, always bringing everyone together."

There's a lump in my throat, and I swallow hard, trying to keep it down. I want to be her. I want to be that girl who made him laugh, who was at the heart of everything. But I'm not.

"And then..." His voice grows softer, more tentative. "Then things started to change between us. We started spending more time together, just the two of us. We'd go on these long walks after work, talk about life, about things that had nothing to do with the movie. I felt it—you felt it too. Something more than just friendship."

His words settle in the air between us, heavy and aching with meaning. I can see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he's opening himself up to me, hoping I'll remember that connection we had.

But I don't.

It kills me that I don't.

"Did I... love you?" I ask, my voice small, almost afraid of the answer.

Hugh looks down for a moment, his jaw tight. When he looks back up, there's a flicker of pain in his eyes. "You never said the words. Not out loud. But I think you did. I could feel it, in everything you did, in the way you looked at me." He pauses, swallowing hard. "I was waiting. I was waiting for the right moment to tell you how I felt." Hugh looks like he hasn't slept in days but he's here with me. A girl who can't remember a man she loved and was his whole world supposedly.

A tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. "I want to be her, Hugh. I want to feel those things again."

He gets up from the chair, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches out slowly, like he's afraid to scare me, and takes my hand in his. His touch is warm, familiar, but it doesn't stir the memories I wish it would.

"You are her, Emerson," he whispers, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. "You're still the same person. You just need time."

I shake my head, feeling the weight of the truth. "I don't feel like her. I don't know how to be her."

Hugh's face softens, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. "You don't have to do this alone. I'll help you. I'll remind you of every moment, every laugh, every look we shared. We'll figure this out together."

The intensity of his gaze makes my heart stutter, and for a moment, I believe him. I want to believe him. But the fear is still there, lingering in the back of my mind, that I'll never truly be that girl again.

"Tell me more," I say, needing to hear everything, hoping that maybe this time, something will click. "Tell me everything."

Hugh nods, his voice steady as he continues. "We spent a lot of time together. Not just on set. There was this one night, after a really long day of shooting... we went out to dinner. Just the two of us. It wasn't planned. We were both tired, but we didn't want to go home. We talked for hours that night. About everything—your dreams, your fears, what made you happy. You were so open with me, so raw."

I search his face, trying to see myself in the reflection of his words, but I still can't find her. The girl he's talking about is a stranger.

"We were close," he continues, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Closer than either of us realized. I think... I think we were both scared of how much we were starting to mean to each other."

I blink back the tears that threaten to spill over again. "And now?"

He looks at me, his eyes full of hope, pain, and something deeper that I can't name. "Now... I'm still here. And I still feel the same. I just want you to feel it too."

I squeeze his hand, trying to hold onto this connection he's offering. I want to be her. I want to love him. But as much as I try, the memories are still out of reach, like shadows slipping through my fingers.

"I want to remember," I say, my voice cracking. "I want to feel what you feel."

Hugh leans forward, resting his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my skin. "You will, Emerson. You will."

But as I close my eyes, willing the memories to come, I can't help but wonder—what if I never do? What if the girl he loves is gone forever, buried beneath the wreckage of the crash? And what if I'm just a shell, left with nothing but the pieces of a life I can't remember?