I got all the crying and tears out of my system in the first two days. An ugly mess I was, all covered in snot and tears as I clutched onto the nearest thing that was nearby, which was usually a pillow or somebody’s shoulder. It took two days. Two days. While his parents, especially his mother, heaved their sobs into their hands, burying their faces into their palms, too in pain to face the real world, I came to realization. Crying would not stop the present.

            There is no point in crying.

            That was why I stopped. I was the first to do so.

            As I sat by his hospital bed, I looked at the strong curve of his jaw and the innocent cheekbones of his face. Everything was flawless and damaged at the same time. He was the perfect imperfection. I didn’t dare to touch him the way his mother did, holding his hands, murmuring sweet, encouraging words into his ears. I knew he wouldn’t want me to do that.

            We found about the memory loss two day ago when he had woke up from a coma, dazed about the current events. He simply looked at the calendar and asked why it was set a year into the future. That was when we knew. I took great caution to remain hidden behind the door to the bathroom so he wouldn’t see me. I spared him the sight.

            It wasn’t long after his awakening that he sunk back into another deep sleep. Who wouldn’t if they had been in a tragic car accident? I wish I were still in mine, but I had woken up a week ago. So as I stare at him, I cannot help but scratch the stiches on my side and touch the wound on my back. They’ll heal. But his mind might not.

            “Paige.” I looked up to see his little brother, Jongmin, staring at me with a notebook in his hand. Tutoring lessons. Jongmin had just begun high school and already was beginning to fall back in his classes. I pulled over a chair and beckoned him over, opening the notebook to a page of basic Algebra. And thus that was how I spent the third day.

            He woke up the fourth day.

            I left before Kai could see me.

*          *          *

            It was simple so I didn’t understand why his parents and ShiNa could not understand me. “You’re insane,” ShiNa shook her head at me, repeating the same two words for the fortieth time.

            “Hmm, I remember getting checked for that,” I said as I put my books into my locker, “and the doctors ruled out insanity. But I do have pretty bad vision.”

            “You’re a .”

            “Thank you,” I muttered as I placed a binder into my backpack, zipping up the bag afterwards. “Anyway, it’s not your decision.”

            “Yes! I know, but you’re making the wrong decision!”

            I said nothing as I shut my locker door. I knew my decision came with consequences, but I had already accepted them at the hospital. Just as I was about to head off to class, ShiNa put her hand against the wall, blocking me from leaving. Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms. “Don’t you think it’s unfair to him? That you’re not going to tell him?”

            I scoffed.

            “He’s coming back to school today. You still have a chance.”

            “You’ll see,” I smiled. “I made the right decision.”

            And it was as if on cue, the doors to the hallway opened to reveal Kai, bandaged and slightly bruised. He was in a much better sh