Chapter 37:

Chapter 37: For The Golden Flower I Stole In That Rain

For The Golden Flower I Stole In That Rain

“So you came.”

I don’t remember how I made it to the rooftop that night.

The hospital corridors had blurred into one another, the beeping monitors and soft shuffling footsteps fading behind me.

All I knew was that it took me around 45 minutes just to get here, each step dragging like time itself didn’t want me to reach her.

“…Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m not sure why, but—my legs just…moved.”

She stood near the edge of the rooftop, arms resting lightly on the railing, her golden hair undone—dancing in the night breeze like a candle still resisting the dark.

I stopped a few steps away, the squeaky IV pole beside me the only sound that betrayed my presence.

A silence passed, long and tired.

Then she slowly tilted her head upward. Toward the stars.

“They’re brighter tonight,” she said. “Like they’re all watching.”

I looked up too.

Countless pinpricks of light strewn across a navy sky, interrupted only by the slow bloom of distant fireworks from somewhere deeper in the city.

“They always watch,” she added, her voice nearly drowned by the wind. “Even when you’re crying. Even when you want the world to disappear. The stars never look away.”

“…You sound like you’ve known them a long time,” I said.

“I have.”

She smiled faintly, finally looking at me.

“I used to climb to the rooftop in Marseille when I was little. I laid there until I froze—fingertips too numb to sketch. Grandma Marie would scold me, but…it was the only way I could breathe sometimes.”

She laughed softly to herself.

“It’s already almost January. The clearest skies are always in winter,” she said, almost absentmindedly. “You can see Orion best this time of year. And Cassiopeia. If you squint, you’ll catch Andromeda too.”

"...Are you an astrophile?"

She nodded with a smile, stepping down the railings.

“Back then, I believed constellations were gods watching over broken kids like me. I made up my own stories about them—ones that didn’t end in tragedy like the Greek myths.”

Another firework burst in the distance, painting her face in soft pinks and golds.

“Did it help?” I asked. “The stars.”

She closed her eyes for a beat. Then nodded.

“They didn’t leave.”

“…Unlike people,” I muttered without thinking.

She flinched.

And then smiled, but I wasn't happy.

“I told my father everything.” she said. “The talent scout that lured you. The anonymous text message that brought me to that street. My breakdown, and the stupid thing I tried to do that night.”

I held my breath.

“I thought he’d disown me,” she went on. “But instead…he cried too. Papa told me he was sorry. That calling me ‘defective’ was the cruelest thing he’s ever done. That no child should be thrown away just because they stopped being convenient.”

I said nothing.

“I’m flying back to France tonight,” she whispered. “With him. In less than thirty minutes.”

“…That soon?” I asked, too quiet. “I know that France has far more potential to secure somebody’s future stability than here. It might be a greater choice for you to start over there.”

She didn’t react, not a smile, even.

And I feel like my words were insensitive and betrayed my supposedly ‘lover’ that I forgot.

“You really think so?” she asked, almost bitter. “That doesn’t sound like something the old you would’ve said.”

Her words hung in the air, washed away by the walls of my blown-out memories.

“I’m sorry. I’m hurting you again.”

“I know. You’ve said it a dozen times.”

What could I say though? Letting myself pretend that I do remember everything and say the words she expected me to say? I don't even know where or when we even started. Anything that comes from me, genuine or not, would only hurt her further.

“The old you,” she said, more softly this time, “would’ve begged me not to leave.”

Now I know.

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat.

“I don’t remember,” I said helplessly. “But…”

“But?”

My voice wavered. “It still hurts.”

That made her look at me.

“…Why?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe because…even if my mind forgot, my body hasn’t.”

I stepped closer.

And gently pulled her into an embrace.

Her breath hitched as her arms slowly wrapped around me. The cold air vanished between us.

“If words weren’t enough,” I whispered, “Then let my actions decide if it’ll return the warmth we lost.”

I’m not pretending.

This is real.

What am I feeling right now, embracing her, the way my heart beats, the way I’m deeply captivated by her by the time I woke up in that damned hospital ward, it’s genuine.

It’s so strong that it started to hurt.

Even though I will never be able to say that this is the ‘old me’ because my current self has no idea what a person of that past is like, at least I can tell myself that I'm the one who stayed, regardless if I remembered or not.

And I believe.

The bond that we shared together, like she said, I’m finally believing it.

Because I would’ve responded otherwise.

Slowly, she shook her head against my chest.

“It’s not enough.”

She looked up.

And kissed me.

Her lips were trembling.

Her tongue slid in, and I met it with everything I didn’t have the words for.

It’s not the kind of kiss that will remind someone that you love them.

That’s the kind of kiss to pretend that it would last longer.

The kind you give when it’s your last.

With an aching chest, my hands tightened against her back. And even though my mind was blank, something deep, unspeakable, responded to her.

She pulled away first, her lips brushing mine one last time.

“Let’s make this the last time we’ll ever talk again, okay?”

I didn't register what that meant, but it seemed like my heart just dropped.

I didn’t mean to question it…but…

“Why?”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a worn sketchbook.

“I was thinking that soon, you’ll just see me as a ghost in your memories. I don’t even have a picture of myself on your phone and…”

She lifted the sketchbook, just enough for me to take.

“Here,” she said. “This is yours.”

I took it, hands trembling.

“I drew every moment. Every day we spent together. Even the ones you forgot. Oh, especially the ones you forgot.”

She paused.

“When you feel like nothing’s left…open it.”

She started to turn away. Her shoulders shook. Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides.

I wanted to call out and beg her to stay. But my throat wouldn’t work.

“Itsuki…” she said, voice breaking.

“Yeah?”

She turned just slightly, eyes glistening with tears.

“You once told me that stars don’t lie. That if I ever felt lost, I just had to look up and follow the one I loved most.”

Her lips curved in a sad smile.

“So…maybe someday, you’ll remember which one was me.”

She didn’t wait for my answer.

“Look at it whenever you feel alone. Whenever you want to know what kind of person you were and what kind of person you loved.”

“...”

“And…when your memories and feelings return, don’t hold to it much longer.”

“...”

“Forget me, Itsuki. Because I don’t want to see you looking for me even though we're countries apart. I won’t be able to reach you, the same goes for you.”

She kept that stiff smile even as tears rolled down on her cheeks torrentially.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to fall in love with you longer but fate…has other plans for us.”

I wanted to say something.

Come on, just say something.

Stop her, Itsuki.

She doesn’t even mean whatever the hell she was saying.

Why?

Why can’t I?!

She wanted to stay.

I wanted her to stay.

I wanted to chase her.

To reach for her hand.