The weight of the journal pressed down on Liang Zhi as he walked through his apartment, unable to shake the feeling that something had shifted within him. His fingers still tingled from the last page he had read, the words echoing in his mind. He had tried to ignore them, but the more he thought about them, the more they seemed to haunt him.
The apartment was quiet, far too quiet for his liking. The silence was oppressive, almost suffocating. As he moved to the small desk by the window, the dim light of the evening sun cast a long shadow across the room. The journal lay open before him, its pages fragile and worn, each one filled with fragments of a life he could barely remember.
Liang Zhi ran his fingers over the paper again, his heart aching with the words that felt so familiar, so intimate, as if they had been written just for him. The lines were soaked with emotions he hadn't known he still had. His chest tightened as he reread the final entry:
"I'll never forget you. I'll remember everything."
It was as if the words had been burned into his soul. He couldn't escape them, no matter how hard he tried. There was something about the journal—something about the way the woman had written it—that felt like an undeniable truth, even though it made no sense. How could she have known so much about him? How could she have remembered something he didn't even know himself?
His mind raced, his thoughts spiraling in every direction. He couldn't make sense of it. The more he tried to understand, the more confused he became. It was as if his past was a shattered mirror, pieces scattered in every corner, but he couldn't see the whole picture. And yet, the journal felt like the first real clue he had to put it all back together.
A sudden knock on the door broke him from his reverie. Liang Zhi blinked, startled, and for a moment, he forgot where he was. Slowly, he stood up, walking toward the door with a mixture of curiosity and dread. Who could be at his door? He didn't expect anyone, not now, not when his mind was consumed by the woman and the mysterious journal.
When he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat.
It was her.
The woman from the park.
Standing there, as if she had appeared out of thin air, her dark hair falling in soft waves around her face. Her eyes met his, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to stop. It was as if nothing else mattered, as if everything had led to this moment.
She was real. She wasn't just a figment of his imagination or a ghost from his past. She was standing there, in front of him, alive and breathing, and yet still so enigmatic.
"I... I didn't expect you," Liang Zhi said, his voice trembling. "What are you doing here?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile, a smile that was both comforting and unsettling at the same time. "I knew you would find the journal," she said, her voice soft but steady. "I knew it would call you."
Liang Zhi stared at her, his mind racing. "The journal... it's yours, isn't it?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "You wrote it. You know everything about me."
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she stepped inside, her presence filling the room with a strange energy. It was as if the very air around them had changed, charged with a power that neither of them could fully understand.
"Do you remember?" she asked, her eyes locking with his. "Do you remember the first time we met?"
Liang Zhi froze, his heart racing. The question hit him like a wave, crashing into him with such force that he couldn't breathe. He tried to recall the memory, but it was like trying to grasp smoke with his bare hands—fleeting, elusive, impossible to hold onto.
"I... I don't," he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. "I don't remember."
Her eyes softened with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. "You will," she said quietly. "You'll remember everything, I promise. But not all at once. It's too much for you right now."
"Then why... why did you leave?" Liang Zhi asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Why did you disappear?"
She sighed, her gaze drifting toward the window. The light from the street outside filtered through the blinds, casting long shadows on the floor. "Because I had to," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Because sometimes, we have to let go of the things we love the most, in order to save them."
Liang Zhi's heart skipped a beat. "Save them?" he repeated, his mind spinning. "What do you mean? Who are you?"
The woman turned back to face him, her expression unreadable. "I'm someone from your past," she said, her voice steady but filled with a deep sadness. "Someone you loved. Someone you lost."
Liang Zhi's chest tightened, his breath coming in short gasps. He shook his head, trying to make sense of her words. "No... I don't remember," he said, desperation creeping into his voice. "Please, tell me the truth. Who are you?"
She stepped closer to him, her presence overwhelming. The air between them crackled with something more than just the physical distance that separated them. "You will remember," she said again, her tone firm, yet gentle. "But not today. Not yet."
The words cut through him, like a blade to the heart. He wanted to scream, to demand answers, to force her to tell him everything. But deep down, he knew that whatever truth she had to share wasn't something that could be rushed. It had to come in its own time.
"Please," Liang Zhi whispered, his voice breaking. "I can't keep living like this. I need to know. I need to understand."
The woman's gaze softened as she reached out, gently cupping his face in her hands. "I know," she said quietly. "But all in good time. Your heart remembers what your mind cannot. And when it's ready, you'll see."
For a long moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of their unspoken words hanging in the air. Liang Zhi closed his eyes, allowing the warmth of her touch to soothe the ache inside him. It was a strange comfort, like a memory he hadn't lived yet, but that was already a part of him.
"I'll wait," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.
She smiled, the sadness in her eyes deepening. "I know you will."
With that, she turned and walked out of the apartment, leaving Liang Zhi standing there, his heart torn between the longing for answers and the hope that one day, he would remember everything.
Later That Night:
Liang Zhi couldn't sleep. The journal lay open beside him, its pages filled with words that felt like a forgotten dream. His mind raced with questions he couldn't answer, but the woman's presence—the memory of her touch—lingered in his heart like a promise.
He didn't know what the future held, or how he would ever find the answers he so desperately sought. But one thing was certain: the past was not as lost as he had once believed. And when the time came, the pieces of his life, the memories of the love he had lost, would come rushing back.
And when they did, he would be ready.