Always

“I don’t remember you,” I say, taking a hesitant step away from the boy. As beautiful as he may be, father has warned me of the dangers that strangers can pose to me. Just because he may look trustworthy does not mean that he is.

He doesn’t attempt to move closer to me, just heaves a sigh that I can tell is full of pain.

“It’s me, Sera. Lyzender. Zen,” he pleads.

I want to remember him, I really do. But my mind is a blank. I want to remember the ways in which those eyes have looked at me previously. I want to remember conversations that we’ve had. I want to remember if he has ever touched me. But I can’t. And I don’t know why, and that is terrifying me.

Zen must see the fear in my eyes because his suddenly turn dark.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scare you. Please know that I would never – it would be impossible for me to – I am not someone you need to be afraid of, Sera. I promise.”

Even with father’s warnings of strangers, I find myself believing this boy. Whether or not that will come back to bite me, I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I nod to him in reply, and his shoulders sag with relief. When he sits down on the grass, I follow suit although I do ensure that there is a respectable distance between us.

“What have you been up to day?” he asks me, not even glancing in my direction.

I’m disappointed that he is not looking at me; although I cannot fathom why.

“I have been reading,” I answer.

Finally his eyes are upon me. And my face flares. His gaze is so piercing, so personal. Again, I wish that I could remember. What was I to him? What am I to him? Are we – I stop the thought in its tracks. Perhaps if I don’t remember him there is a reason why. Maybe he’s dangerous.

“What book?”

I take a moment to study him. His brown hair falls into his eyes, and although my fingers itch to brush it aside, I keep them at bay. His eyes are two shades darker than his hair, and still have that magnetism within them, even though he only asked me a simple question. When I realise I have been staring, I turn away quickly.

“I like to read classics. I’ve made it my mission to read them all. I feel as if people are forgetting their magic, and I want to make sure that I am not one of those people who forgets.”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and he is smiling and nodding.

“I know.”

I’m not surprised, and yet my heart still skips a beat. Why can’t I remember him?

“Would you read to me, Sera?”

“But I’m halfway through Sense and Sensibility. You won’t know what’s happening.”

He shakes his head. “I do. Trust me.”

I swallow loudly, and clear my throat. I open my book to where I was reading before he interrupted me.

“ ‘Yes, I found myself, by insensible degrees, sincerely fond of her; and the happiest hours of my life were what I spent with her.’ ”

Zen clears his throat, and when I cast my eyes in his direction, his cheeks are a most beautiful shade of red.

“Zen? What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

I narrow my eyes at him.

He laughs. “I promise, Sera. Nothing is wrong. Nothing could ever be wrong when I am with you.”

When he says that last sentence, there is something in his eyes. Hopefulness, eagerness. Expectedness. As if there is some response that he knows I will give him. I manage to raise one brow quizzically before I am suddenly hit with a barrage of images and sounds.

We have done this before. We have sat in my garden, next to this stone wall before. Had this conversation, almost verbatim before. Everything has happened before. Including me forgetting him. But still, he comes. Still, he waits. Zen. My peace. My freedom. My happiness.

“Zen!” I cry, throwing myself into his arms with helpless abandon.

“Sera?”

“I remember,” I whisper into the folds of his shirt. “I remember you.”

“Just like always,” he says softly, the breath from his mouth moving my hair.

“I will always remember you, Zen. You just have to wait for me.”

“You will always remember me, and I will always wait for you,” he replies. “Always.”