She's Mine. She just doesn't know. (hiatus/editing)

I'm your husband.

Male's Perspective

I found myself seated in the dimly lit ICU recovery unit, the faint beep of machines serving as an unsettling backdrop to my thoughts. I cradled my beloved's delicate hand in mine, feeling the slight warmth still radiating from her skin; each pulse of her heartbeat was a reminder of the fragile, flickering life within her. I was waiting, aching for the moment when those stunning blue eyes of hers would finally flutter open and capture me once more. Earlier, listening to the devastating news on the radio had sent shockwaves through my body, nearly causing me to veer off the road in a panic. With my heart racing, I had barely regained my composure before changing direction, racing toward the hospital as dark thoughts invaded my mind. What if she didn't make it?

I forced myself to shove those thoughts aside; she wasn't allowed to depart this world until I said so. That was a certainty—after all, I was immortal. Soon, she would share in that eternity with me. I had resolved to move our wedding day up, envisioning it for the moment she was able to walk again, the day we would reaffirm our vows and seal our connection.

---

Time Skips

Days melted into one another like colors on a palette, each blending into the next. I heard the doctor's casual mention of the possibility of memory loss, his words slicing through my hope. If she woke up, there loomed a high chance she wouldn't recognize me. It was a scenario all too common, but those words clung to the air like a thick fog, unsettling my very core and threatening to smother the flickering flame of hope that resided in my heart.

Yet, just when despair began to unfurl its dark wings, a flicker of movement caught my eye—the slight twitch of her eyelids. My heart raced with newfound vigor as I leaped to my feet, summoning the doctors with frantic urgency. They rushed in, calling her name, their voices hearty with encouragement and enthusiasm.

I held my breath, trembling with anticipation, as her eyes slowly opened. Confusion clouded her gaze, framing it as she scanned the room—a sterile landscape painted in harsh white, filled with machinery and unfamiliar faces. When her eyes finally landed on me, they reflected a bewilderment that sent a chill spiraling down my spine.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice soft and unsteady, as if each word was a fragile snowflake, ready to melt away.

"Where am I?" she continued, the uncertainty hanging in the air like a thick blanket.

I moved closer to her bedside, my heart pounding in my chest as I hesitated, then gently inquired, "Do you know who I am, love?" Deep inside, I desperately hoped she'd say "no."

"No, should I remember you?"

My heart sank like a stone in still water, yet a dark thrill coursed through me, electrifying my veins.

"I'm your husband," I answered lovingly, swathing my outward expression in sadness while inside, I reveled in the bittersweet unfolding of our reality.

The scene played out in my mind like an intense moment from *Moulin Rouge*, where emotions ran high, and love danced effortlessly in the air, tantalizing and elusive.

"When can I take my wife home?" I urged eagerly, the thought of reclaiming our life together energizing me.

"If she's stable and feeling well, you can take her home today," the doctor responded, filling me with a wave of relief. "Being in familiar surroundings might gradually trigger her memory."

Moments later, as I gathered the discharge papers, we were in the car, the weight of the world and the thrill of secrecy swirling around us, electrifying the atmosphere between us.

---

Time Skips

Upon parking in the garage, I noticed her glancing around the house, her expression an intricate tapestry of awe and confusion.

"Are you sure I'm your wife and that we live here?" she asked, her voice quivering with uncertainty, as if she were testing the solidity of the world around her.

"More than anything in the world, my love," I assured her, stepping closer to her petite frame, feeling the pull of our past intimacy. I wrapped my arms around her, drawing her gently into an embrace, cherishing the moment as if it were a crystal memory I wanted to preserve forever. Lowering my head, I pressed a tender kiss to her temple before guiding her upstairs—this wouldn't be her old room; it would be ours, a sanctuary where we would rebuild our life together.

I possessed the formula that would grant her immortality, a potent elixir designed to erase her forgotten memories forever. Nestling her gently on the right side of the bed, I retrieved the vial, the glass catching the faint light and shimmering like an unfulfilled promise. "The doctor wants you to take this immediately now that we're home," I informed her, my voice steady yet laced with a deep undercurrent of emotion.

I spun an elaborate web of comforting lies, careful to keep any suspicion at bay; fortunately, she was still fragile, her trust in me unwavering, a delicate bloom in the garden of our shared existence. I felt a mix of hope and dread as I prepared to intertwine her fate with my own in ways she could not yet comprehend.