Term Number One

PARTY A (the client) and PARTY B (the ghostwriter) WILL SLEEP IN ONE ROOM.

Jiro came home late, a few hours after Airi had eaten dinner.

While waiting for him, she stayed in the guest room rereading the contract.

“What have I signed up for?” She sat on the bedside, confused why Atty. Ferrer only asked her to sign the first page of the contract. She pouted after reading the lower portion of the paper.

NOTE:

THE TERMS ARE SUBJECT TO AMENDMENTS BASED ON PARTY A. THIS PAGE IS JUST THE FIRST PART. THE REST IS TO FOLLOW.

She stepped in the shower to freshen up as well as to clear her thoughts. Getting close to him, even back in high school, was her kryptonite. Just thinking about being in the same room as him already sent her heart into a wild drumroll.

After taking a shower and changing into her pajamas, she gathered all the necessary things she needed to bring to his room.

Pen.

Notebook.

Two mobile phones.

And the most important thing—her courage.

Then, a knock broke the stillness of the room.

“Coming!” she answered.

She packed all the stuff in a bag and hurried to the door. She didn’t want Jiro’s stuck-up face to meet her just because she took a while.

“Good evening,” Jiro said when she opened the door. “Have you had your fill?”

She nodded.

“Good. I hope I didn’t bother you,” he said.

“Not at all. I was also heading out to your room when you knocked.” She low-key scanned Jiro’s posture. He was still in his long-sleeved white shirt and tie, looking exhausted. But his bright and excited eyes caught her attention the most.

“Do you want to eat first before we go to your room?” she asked. “I can wait for you at the dining table while you eat.”

“I’ve already had a feast… in front of me,” he said. The last four words were whispered under his breath while scanning her from head to toe.

Despite pretending to be oblivious, Airi’s cheeks burned. She heard those whispered words. She couldn’t discern what to feel—coyness, annoyance, or embarrassment—certain her face had turned red. ‘Even with amnesia, this tease hasn’t forgotten his whispering habit.’

“Shall we go?” he asked, extending his hand to collect the stuff from her.

“It’s okay. They’re not heavy.”

“I insist,” he said. “Term number five on the contract emphasized that you can’t oppose what I say or do, unless it’s related to writing the story.”

In Jiro’s room, Airi waited for him to finish his bath.

She stayed at the corner where the bookshelves were. It was across the bed, which luckily blocked her view of that area. It was a mini sanctuary for her—for Jiro most likely since it was his room.

She ran her fingers through the back spine of every book, deciding which one to read. Most books were about business and fiction.

“Shall we begin?”

Jiro’s sudden appearance behind her made her skin crawl because of excitement.

She slowly turned to face him and smiled coyly. She furrowed when his chiseled chest greeted her. He was topless, only wearing his jersey shorts. His hair was still damp, and the towel hung on his shoulders.

“Are you sure we can proceed with you looking like that?” she asked, trying to avert his intense gaze. The way he looked at her made her feel like a guinea pig being prepared for an experiment.

“I’m comfortable this way. Besides, it’s almost bedtime.”

“At least put on some shirt.”

“Do I always have to remind you of term five?”

She forced a smile, not wanting to argue.

He took the couch opposite hers. “This is our first night together—” he paused as if assessing what her reaction would be. She remained unfazed, staring back at him. “—as client and ghostwriter,” he continued.

She nodded, maintaining professionalism.

“As is stated in the contract, we will brainstorm every night. My therapist suggested that I write every fragment of memory I could collect because it can help me remember. Unfortunately, I’m too swamped to do that; thus, you’re here. And I’m not good at journaling.”

He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his lap. Once again, he stared at her while doing the triangle scanning. He started with her eyes, down to her lips, and back to her eyes again before simply biting his lips.

Airi swallowed her nervousness. But she didn’t let his gesture distract her. “Why do you want to remember your past when you’re doing fine just having the memories you can remember?”

“I want to remember a specific girl.” His face softened—eyes became sad. "She's everything to me," he said, averting his gaze to prevent any flashbacks. But when nothing materialized, he scowled.

“Why?” she asked. At that moment, her heart beat erratically.

He shrugged. “All I know is not remembering her felt like there’s a hole in my heart. I’m incomplete if I fail to remember her. I feel empty inside.”

That dropped heavy on her. ‘Is he talking about me?’ She shook her head to erase the stupid question. ‘It might be some else. I'm not the only girl he has met in his life.'  

“So, where do we start?” he asked.

*

Airi woke up to another smell of coffee. And when she opened her eyes to the semi-blinding light of the chandelier, Jiro was sitting on a swivel chair beside her bed. His deep eyes stared at her while she was sleeping. And looking straight into them almost sucked her into a vortex of yet another confusion.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling. His bed was across from hers. The bedside table served as their division marker.

She looked outside to see that it was still dark, and the wall clock said that it was only 4:00 in the morning.

“It’s still dark outside. Why are you up so early?” she asked, fixing her hair. Her vision was blurry, so she washed her hands over her face.

In between sips of his coffee, he muttered, "I just can't believe you're here with me."

“What?” His voice was so inaudible that she needed to ask him.

“Nothing.” He put the cup on the side table. “I usually wake up early, especially when I have no work to do.” He rolled his chair to his bed and grabbed the phone. “I already listened to my voice you recorded while I talked in my sleep. Do we really need this?”

She nodded. “Since you mentioned you talk in your sleep, I thought that it might help. According to my therapist, sometimes we express emotions, especially when dreaming.”

Jiro held her gaze as he walked to her bedside and slammed his body on the cottony comforter. His arms spread wide open, accidentally brushing her knees under the covers.

She froze. Her mind panicked, not knowing how to react. That slight brush sent a voltage of feel-good electricity throughout her body.

“Do you have other ideas on how to help me remember my special someone?” he said, grinning from ear to ear while staring at the ceiling.

He then abruptly got up, and in split seconds she was already trapped between his arms that were pressed against the headboard of the bed. Her reflexes were quick, though. She immediately pulled one of the pillows to cover her face.

Jiro, however, steadied himself, kneeling in front of her and using his one arm for support—still pressed on the headboard. He freed one arm from the headboard and grabbed the pillow from her.

He tossed the poor thing to the floor and leaned his face closer to hers.

Airi’s chest heaved in panic as his face got closer; the tip of his nose touched hers.

“A part of my brain reminded me of this exact position,” he said. Airi could smell the coffee from his breath. “Somewhere in my memory, I knew that I’d done this thing to my girl a long time ago.”

“Do you mind?” She hinted for him to give her space because her heart was about to explode in bliss and excitement, though she tried her best to hide it.

“Need I remind you of term number five? You can’t oppose what I say or do.” He smiled. "Just for a few minutes. Let's stay this way."