POV: Samantha

***

The rain was the kind that felt personal. Sharp. Cold. Like it was mocking me.

My boots were thoroughly soaked as I ran in the rain holding the last cardboard box of my things. I’d just been evicted. The landlord gave me a full three days’ notice - how generous. Turns out that when you owe rent for two months, sweet smiles and apologies won’t stop a disgruntled lamdlord.

I stopped under the only source of light, I was practically freezing in the rain. I dropped my box down to shake out my wet jacket. One of the handles had broken off during the walk from the café, and the soggy contents - half-used notebooks, a chipped mug, a few worn-out paperbacks - were beginning to tear out like my self-esteem.

Great. Brilliant. Just perfect.

I looked up at the sky hoping God would offer me a break. Just a small one.

That’s when I saw him.

At first, I thought it was a pile of clothes dumped at the side of the road. But then the shape moved - or twitched, more like - and I realized it was a man. Slumped against the bus stop bench, soaking wet and utterly still.

My heart lurched. "Hey!" I called, stepping closer. "Are you alright?"

No answer.

I dropped my box with a soggy thud and rushed over. His hair was plastered to his forehead, blood trailing from a gash above his brow. He looked expensive - even unconscious. He was in a coat that fit his tall frame, tailored to a body that looked sculpted.

“hello” I stretched out my hand and touched his shoulder. Still nothing. Panic bubbled up my throat. What if he was -

He groaned softly.

Okay. Not dead. That was a start.

I checked through my jacket for my phone. The screen lit up, cracked and on 9% battery. Just enough to call for help. As I dialed, I heard the last voice I wanted to hear in this lifetime.

“Oh. Wow. Look who it is.”

I turned - and there he was. Darren.

Of course.

“Bad night, Samantha?” he sneered, arms folded as he stepped under the streetlight. His umbrella was big, black, and smug - just like him.

“What do you want, Darren?” I snapped, thumb still hovering over the emergency call.

“Nothing. Just thought it was interesting to see you out here... with a homeless guy?” He eyed the unconscious man at my feet and smirked. “Is this your new boyfriend?”

The laugh that slipped from his mouth stung more than the rain.

Something in me snapped.

“Yes,” I blurted.

Darren blinked. “What?”

“He is my boyfriend,” I said, my voice louder this time to hide the shake in it. “So can you please have some sense of decency or were you just born a jerk?”

I didn’t know what made me say it. Maybe I was just sick of being looked down on, walked over, treated like an old dishcloth he threw out the moment he found it useless.

Darren stared, trying to mask his surprise. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” I leaned in and placed my arm around his shoulder protectively.

He stirred again. I froze. Darren didn’t notice.

“Huh,” he said finally, expression unreadable. “Well. Good for you, then. Guess some girls bounce back faster than others.”

He turned to walk away, umbrella bobbing as he left.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

What. The actual hell.

I looked down at the stranger beside me and whispered, “Thanks for playing along.”

He didn’t respond. Obviously.

The ambulance came fifteen minutes later.

***

The hospital was quiet. Too quiet. I sat in the waiting area, playing with a plastic cup of water I didn’t want. My clothes were still wet and the box of my stuff was now a puddle of paper mush beside my feet.

A nurse called me over. “Are you family?”

“No, I just... found him,” I said quickly. “He was unconscious at the bus stop. I didn’t see what happened.”

The nurse gave me a ‘are you kidding me’ look. “He had no wallet, no phone. No ID of any kind.”

“Right. Yeah. I didn’t see anything near him, sorry.”

She nodded, but she no longer quized me. “Well, the good news is… there’s no internal bleeding. He’ll have a headache and some stitches, but nothing too serious.”

“And the bad news?”

“He has no memory of who he is.”

My stomach dropped. “What?”

“It happens sometimes after head trauma,” she said with clinical calm. “Retrograde amnesia. Could be temporary.”

I looked at her, a feeling that I didn't understand welled up at her words. “So... he doesn’t know anything? At all?”

“Nope.” She scribbled something onto a clipboard. “We’ll keep him overnight for observation, but when he wakes up - if he’s confused, just try to be patient.”

“But I told someone he was my boyfriend,” I mumbled, almost to myself.

“Sorry?”

“Nothing. Just... thanks.”

***

I was told that he was up an hour later.

I was still in the waiting room, mostly because I didn't have much of where to go. My phone was dead, my box, if I can still call it that and I hadn’t even eaten dinner. But when the nurse popped her head out and said, “He’s asking for you,” I forgot all of that.

I stepped into the softly lit room.

He was sitting up looking better than he was earlier, though still pal3. His eyes met mine - blue, deep, clear - and something about that stare made me stop breathing for half a second.

He spoke slowly, confused. “You’re... her.”

“Me?”

“My girlfriend. Right?”

I froze.

This was the moment to correct it. To laugh awkwardly and say, “Oh, that was just a stupid lie to my ex.” To let the nurses explain everything. To let the system do its job.

But instead, I said:

“Yes.”

He smiled - just slightly.

“Good,” he murmured, voice gravelly and low. “I had a feeling you’d be beautiful.”

I nearly choked on air.

“I - what?”

His eyes closed again, his words full of exhaustion. “Can we go home now?” he whispered.

And that’s when it hit me.

He had no home. No memory. No name.

And I’d just become the only person in the world he trusted - even if it was all built on a lie.

POV: Samantha

***

It wasn’t until I helped him into a taxi the next morning that the weight of it hit me.

He had no idea who he was.

And I had just told an entire hospital staff - and him - that he was mine.

“Careful,” I said, holding his arm as he bent into the back seat of the car. His movements were slow, careful, like he had forgotten what to do but they still moved. His brow was stitched and still red, his knuckles bruised hinting at a possible fight before I found him.

“You alright?” I asked as I climbed in after him.

He looked at me, almost… shy? “Yeah. I think so. My head’s still pounding a bit, but... I feel safe.”

That word caught me off guard. Safe. From me?

I gave the driver my address before I could overthink it. What else could I have done? He couldn’t exactly check into a hotel with no name, no ID, and no clue what city he belonged in. I had £13 to my name, a half-eaten protein bar in my pocket, and a man with no memory blinking at me like I was some sort of anchor.

Even though I had no choice but to go back to my former apartment, we'd make do.

“Thank you,” he said after a long silence. His voice had that slow gravel again, the kind that scraped against your skin in the quiet.

I glanced over. “For what?”

“For not leaving me.”

my breath hitched.

***

My old - well now my only flat was small - studio small. Just a kitchenette, some space, and one small window with rubbish bins, as a view. Everything smelled faintly of peppermint tea and broken dreams.

I pushed my box out of the way and waved around. “Home sweet home.”

He stepped inside slowly, as if unsure he was allowed to touch anything. “This is... yours?”

“Yep. All mine. I even have a toaster that only works on one side. Such premium luxury.”

Then he smiled, a simple curve of his lips that took my breath. It lit up his face beautifully. He turned toward me suddenly. “What’s my name?”

I froze.

I should’ve seen that coming.

“I... you don’t remember anything at all?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. No flashes, no faces. Not even what kind of food I like. Just a weird ache in my chest, like something’s missing.”

I nodded slowly and walked to the sink, mostly to give my hands something to do. “Well... at the hospital, you didn’t have anything on you. So there’s no way to know until something jogs your memory.”

He stepped closer. “But you called me something when we were at the hospital. The nurse said I asked for you by name.”

Oh god. I had. I had called him something.

I thought back to that moment, trying to remember what exactly had come out of my mouth. Some vague, desperate lie I’d made up on instinct.

“Right,” I said, feigning calm. “I called you... Levi.”

“Levi.” He said it slowly, testing it. “That feels... nice. Like it fits, almost.”

I turned away so he wouldn’t see the guilt in my eyes. “It suits you.”

He gave me a strange look then. “Is that what you really called me before? Or are you just naming me now?”

I opened the cupboard and pulled down two chipped mugs, pretending not to hear the question.

“I’ll make tea.”

***

We sat on the futon in awkward silence, sipping cheap chamomile like we were two strangers in a waiting room - which, I suppose, we were.

“You’re sure we were... together?” he asked after a while, his voice soft.

I nearly choked.

My lie was turning into a hot, sticky mess and I couldn’t get out of it without admitting that I had made it up just to get one over on my smug, cheating ex.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” I said, and hated myself immediately for how easily it came out.

He nodded slowly, looking at his hands.

“But I think you should rest,” I added quickly, trying to shift the mood. “You’ve had a concussion. The doctors said sleep will help.”

He looked around. “Where should I...?”

I pointed to the futon. “You take the bed. I’ll make up a spot on the floor.”

“No,” he said, instantly. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I can’t kick you out of your own - ”

“You’re injured.”

“You’re a woman.”

“Don’t be sexist.”

His mouth curved once more into a blinding smile. “I might not remember who I am, but I know I was raised with manners.”

“You can keep your manners,” I said, tossing him a pillow. “And get some bloody sleep.”

“We can change it tomorrow.”

***

That night, I lay on the floor wrapped in a blanket, as I looked at the ceiling.

What the hell had I done?

I’d lied to an ex. Fine. People do that. But now I had a grown man with a head injury sleeping ten feet from me, thinking we were in love. That we had a whole history. That I knew his favourite colour and how he took his tea and what he dreamt about at night.

He didn’t know that I was broke. That I worked part-time at a café with a boss who never remembered my name. That I hadn’t spoken to my parents in six months. That sometimes I cried in the bath because the silence scared me.

Levi - if that was his name now - was trusting me with everything. And I was placing it all on lies.

A drop of water fell from the ceiling and hit my forehead.

Perfect. Even the roof knew I was full of it.

***

I woke up to the smell of burnt toast and the sound of someone humming.

Sitting up groggily, I stretched my aching and looked around.

Levi stood at the stove in nothing but his dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair messy and bathed in sunlight. He was flipping eggs like he’d done it a thousand times.

I rubbed my eyes. “You... cook?”

He looked over, and blushed “Figured I’d try. Something told me I used to do this a lot. Instinct or something.”

The eggs were slightly overdone, the toast a little charred - but my stomach growled all the same.

“You didn’t have much in the fridge,” he said as he plated the food. “But this should do for now.”

He brought it over and sat beside me.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

He took a bite and made a face. “Might’ve gone too heavy on the pepper.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “We’ll call it gourmet.”

We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, eating. Then he spoke again.

“I’ve been thinking. If we were together... what did I do for work?”

My fork paused mid-air.

I had no idea.

“Something... stressful,” I offered, chewing slowly. “You always came home late. Wore suits. Had headaches.”

His eyes lit up a little. “Yeah? Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice smaller. “You were always tired. But you loved me anyway.”

He looked at me for a long moment, something unreadable behind his eyes.

“I still do,” he said simply.

My chest cracked open in five different directions.

I smiled.

And told myself I’d fix it. One day.

Just not today.

POV: Samantha

***.

The rain kept us in for almost three days, it felt while the world was ending. Either way, my world had shrunk down to the walls of my tiny flat - and the man who occupied it like he’d always belonged.

“Levi,” as I continued to call him, was adjusting to the small routines of life with surprising ease. He didn’t complain about the scratchy towels or the temperamental kettle or the fact that we didn’t have proper heating and relied on a space heater I’d bought second-hand off Facebook Marketplace.

If anything, he seemed... grateful.

And given the fact that it was all a lie made my tummy ache.

“Do you want sugar in your tea?” I asked that morning. I was barefooted and the floor felt cold from the weather.

He looked up from the floor, where he sat reading one of the few books I had.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Let’s try it both ways. Maybe one of them will feel... right.”

“His voice had this low, calm quality. Like even without his memories, he wasn’t easily shaken. Everything he did was deliberate - graceful, even. The way he stirred his tea. The way he carried himself. The way he folded the throw blanket when he stood up from the futon, even though I never asked.

He was... composed.

More composed than anyone I knew, especially someone who’d literally just lost their entire identity.

And yet, he laughed at the awful reality shows I put on to fill the silence. He didn’t seem to judge me for living above a takeaway with chip grease permanently baked into the hallway walls. He didn’t recoil from the unglamorous truth of my life.

He just... existed here. With me. Like it made sense.

I handed him his tea and sat down beside him. Close. Maybe closer than I needed to be.

He took a sip and made a soft noise, somewhere between surprise and thoughtfulness. “That’s... sweet.”

I tilted my head. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.” His smiled curved at the corner

And just like that, I felt a butterfly in my tummy.

I looked away quickly. “Right. Well. Good.”

He watched me for a beat longer than necessary. “Thanks for looking after me.”

I gave a half-hearted shrug. “You looked like a half-drowned ghost out there. What was I supposed to do - just leave you to haunt the sidewalk?”

His smile slipped for the briefest moment. “You could’ve... called the cops.”

I straightened, the air shifting between us. I tried to use the normal voice I could muster. “On my boyfriend?”

He opened his mouth, paused. Then shook his head without looking at me.

***

Later that afternoon, I watched him fix the dodgy handle on my bathroom door like he’d done it a hundred times before. Not just like a guy who was good with his hands - though he clearly was - but like someone used to solving problems. Quietly. Without fuss.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” I asked, crouched a few feet away, towel wrapped tight around my damp hair.

He froze for a second, brows knitting. “I don’t know. I just... did. My hands knew what to do.” He looked at his hands, flexing his fingers as if trying to make sure it was his. “It’s strange, isn’t it?

“Like I'm living someone else’s life - and my body remembers even more than I do.”

His words met heavy silence.

I shivered, but I wasn’t sure if it was from what he said… or the cold in the hair.

I leaned against the wall. “You really didn't tell me much of your life but I guess you were someone really useful. Like a handyman. Or... a spy.”

He laughed, and it made me stupidly happy. “A spy?”

“Sure. You’ve got the posture for it. The voice, or being secretive.”

I let out a sigh of relief, that should cover for all the times I couldn't answer basic questions that a girlfriend was meant to know. If Levi suspected my hint, he didn't show it.

“Oh? What’s spy posture like?”

“Exactly what you’re doing now,” I said, gesturing. “Standing like you're about the choke someone or beat them raw.”

His eyes glinted with a mischievous light “Which would you prefer?”

The air went still between us.

My throat went dry. “Well I'd rather be choked than beaten, no that's what I meant… depends. No, no, forget I said anything.”

Why the fuck was I still talking…

He grinned again, but this time his eyes darkened. And I felt my body heat up in a way I couldn't explain.

My heart beat faster. I pushed off the wall and moved toward the kitchen. “You hungry?”

“Always,” he called after me. “Especially for those burnt toast masterpieces.”

I smiled.

***

I stood in front of the mirror again, brushing out my hair for the third time.

I didn’t know who I was trying to impress. Maybe it was just habit. Or maybe it was something else. Something I didn’t want to name.

Levi - or whoever he really was - had folded his blanket neatly on the futon and was now standing by the window, looking out at the wet, orange-lit street below.

“I don’t recognise any of this,” he said softly. “Not the buildings. Not the sounds. But the rain feels familiar.”

I came to stand beside him.

“Do you think your memories will come back soon?” I asked.

“Honestly?” He exHayesd. “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel close. Like it’s right there, behind a locked door. But then it’s gone again.”

I nodded, because I didn't know what to say.

He turned to me. “Does it scare you? Having a stranger in your flat?”

I studied his face. The soft frown, the vulnerability he didn’t try to hide. I could’ve said yes. I could’ve told him the truth - that some nights, I lay awake wondering if this was the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

But I also remembered the way he looked when I found him. The lostness. The storm in his eyes, dangerous yet beautiful.

“No,” I said after the moment passed. “You don’t feel like a stranger.”

He looked at me then - really looked. And I even though I wasn't sure what he was seeing, I could feel a slight shift.

***

We didn’t talk much the rest of the night. He stayed up reading again, and I pretended not to watch him from the corner of my eye.

But as I lay on the bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, I let myself admit something - silently, in the dark.

I didn’t want him to leave.

Not just because I felt responsible. Or because I was scared of what would happen when his memories returned.

But because for the first time in ages, someone saw me. Sat in my cramped little flat, drank my terrible tea, and made me laugh like it wasn’t impossible.

Because when he smiled at me, it didn’t feel like pity or politeness. It felt like presence. Like I was there - and enough.

I closed my eyes, trying to ignore how my heart beat louder than the rain on the window.

Levi might’ve lost everything.

But I was starting to wonder if I’d just found something I wasn’t ready to let go of.