Addicted Love

Faye's POV 07

07

She's finally woken up after her long coma, but it feels like a dagger to my heart that she doesn't recognize me. Even my two closest friends are strangers to her. The way she looks at everyone, especially me, with that strange, distant gaze-it's like being stabbed over and over again.

And yet, I forced myself to smile. I swallowed the pain, buried it deep, and pretended it didn't hurt.

Because this isn't about me.

This is about her.

Later, her parents pulled me aside. Their eyes were kind but heavy with the weight of their own heartbreak.

They told me their plan.

They want to introduce me to her again, but this time, as her tutor. Ae will be homeschooled now-she needs time to recover, to adjust. They believe this is the best way for her to remember me, little by little.

"She's forgotten you in her mind," her mother said gently, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Pero, hindi ang puso niya."

Her father nodded. "Give her time. She might not know it yet, but you're still a part of her. She just has to find her way back to you."

I wanted to break down right then and there.

How could they still have so much faith in us? In me?

Even after everything, after all this pain-they still believe.

It's overwhelming.

I feel like I should say something, but my throat is too tight, and my chest is too heavy. All I can do is nod, gripping the edge of my jacket like it's the only thing keeping me together.

I turn back to Ae, watching her from across the room. She's talking to a nurse, her expression relaxed, her smile light.

Like nothing ever happened.

Like we never happened.

But I can't let this break me.

Because if there's even the smallest chance that she can find her way back to me-then I'll take it.

Even if it means starting over from the beginning.

Weeks had passed since I became Ae's tutor, and though we were slowly finding our rhythm, it still hurt that she didn't remember me. I sat in her room, surrounded by books and familiar posters that hinted at her past interests. The afternoon light streamed through the window, creating a warm atmosphere.

"Miss, pwede ba tayo manuod ng The Loud House?" she asked, her voice brightening with eagerness.

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, despite the ache in my heart. "Of course! You love that show, don't you?"

She nodded, oblivious to the bittersweetness of her words. I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, flipping to the familiar channel. As the opening theme began to play, I felt a wave of nostalgia wash over me.

I remembered the countless times we had watched it together, the laughter and the little inside jokes that had formed between us.

"I missed this," she said, her eyes glued to the screen. "It always makes me laugh."

Watching her giggle at Lincoln and his sisters, I felt a mix of joy and sadness. She was so genuinely happy, yet the reality that she didn't remember our shared moments weighed heavily on me.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Let's watch a few episodes."

Her face lit up, and for a brief moment, it felt like the connection we once had was still there, even if she didn't remember it. I wanted to reach out, to remind her of all the times we'd laughed together, but I knew I had to be patient. In this moment, as we shared laughter over the familiar characters, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe one day she would remember, and we could truly reconnect.