And I really tried my hardest to keep my promise.

 I had often come to visit Suho even before, but after our latest conversation, I began to spend more than just a few hours by his side. I often came by in the morning around the time he had finished breakfast and I stayed until the doctor’s second visit. Sometimes we sat on his bed, our feet stretched out so it would be comfortable for both of us, sometimes we took a walk in the hospital’s park, enjoying the golden rays of autumn sun, and sometimes we sat by the window of his room, looking at each other and then looking at the world passing by outside.

He wanted me to help him remember everything, and I tried my best. I didn’t care about what a psychic might have said about helping people suffering from amnesia to get their memories back; I wanted to try doing it intuitionally. I brought some pictures with me that we took together, most of them in the early spring. I told him that we loved to take walks when the cherry trees were blossoming, and that he had always enjoyed the sweet scent and the lovely sight they spread. I told him about the little concerts we had given to ourselves, him singing and me accompanying him on the piano that he owned, and that he would always praise me for my skills afterwards even though I wasn’t anywhere as good as he was – but on that, he wouldn’t agree.

 I told him about a lot of things. About the places we loved to go to for dinner, about the times we went to visit my parents or his, about the times in winter we just stayed at my place, listening to music or watching the snowflakes fall outside the window, as close to each other as possible, and then fell asleep on the couch until my hungry cat woke us up. Keeping a straight face when talking to him about all these things was harder than I ever would have imagined, but somehow I was still able to manage it. It had been Suho’s wish to have me remind him of the times we shared together, and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

 But still – no matter how many times we talked, things didn’t really seem to get better. I paid attention to Suho’s face when I told him about ‘us’, trying to read it. He clearly enjoyed everything I told him. He smiled at the thoughts I was offering, he seemed to like what I said. Sometimes he even laughed or blushed, and I figured that somewhere in the depths of his unconsciousness there surely was a part of the memories hidden, but obviously unable to break free. The smile he showed off was the one of a child that is told about fun things – he was happy to hear about them, but he didn’t yet know if they really were as good as promised. He trusted my blindly, believing the things I said without questioning them, but I wasn’t sure he really knew that he was the one who had already experienced each and every one of them.

One time, after I had told him about the day we went to a Super Junior concert just for fun, I asked him: ‘Do you remember?’
 As an answer he bit his lower lip and faced the window we were sitting next to, avoiding my gaze like I had caught him in the act just now. And then, after a moment, he shook his head no. I took a deep breath, not wanting to let him see how much this answer was making me tremble, not wanting to cry again. After all I wanted to remind him of the good times, not remind him of the fact that he didn’t remember any of them. I told myself that I had to be strong for him. I wanted to be someone that he could lean onto when he felt weak, just like he had always been for me. I wanted to show him that I was going to stick with him through all this, and stick with him I would.

So when he looked back at me, I smiled at him lovingly.
‘Good for you. We walked out of that concert feeling like grandparents between all these 14-year-old girls, and you convinced me that you wanted to buy a walker for yourself.’
And even though Suho still seemed a little sad, he laughed.

These days surely weren’t the ones you would want to live through with someone you loved, but I couldn’t say that I didn’t enjoy them. We were together most of the time, sitting next to each other, looking in the same direction. And every time my boyfriend smiled at me or touched my hand or my arm ever so casually, I knew that what we had was worth the hardships. It was worth everything.