Chapter 81

Chapter 81
KAIA

They probably thought they’d hidden themselves well, but thanks to the brilliant glow of the sunset, I caught sight of them through the half-open door—Amy standing in the hallway, with a tall figure behind her, his back turned to me. Even from that angle, his posture struck me as familiar, though I couldn’t place why for a moment.

It wasn’t until I caught a glimpse of his profile, those dazzling green eyes, that I realized he was the stranger who’d hugged me that day.

I couldn't shake that image. Those same eyes – intense, pained, holding something I couldn't quite decipher. And if my suspicions were correct, this was probably Adrien, the one Amy had mentioned, the one who had been giving me books.

But beyond that educated guess, I knew nothing. The name "Adrien" meant nothing to me beyond Amy's casual mentions and the signature on the book deliveries. I couldn't remember ever having a conversation with him, couldn't recall any shared moments or experiences.

I shifted against the pillows, my body still aching but my mind racing with questions. Why had he been here? The careful distance he'd maintained, the way Amy had positioned herself between him and the door – it all suggested a complicated history that everyone knew except me.

The thought should have frightened me. Instead, I found myself curious, almost eager to understand what connected me to this green-eyed stranger who didn't feel entirely like a stranger at all.

The door opened, and I turned to see my mother's familiar figure. "Kaia, my darling." Her voice broke slightly as she rushed to my bedside, and I felt the familiar warmth of her embrace.

"Mom." I breathed in her scent – the faint smell of hospital soap mixed with the lavender hand cream she'd used for as long as I could remember. Some things, thankfully, my mind had held onto.

She pulled back, her hands immediately moving to check my temperature, my pulse, her nurse instincts taking over even in her relief. "How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Have you been eating enough?"

"I'm okay, really." I caught her hands in mine, stilling their worried movements. "Better, actually. The headaches are less frequent, and I'm starting to feel more like myself." I paused. "Well, the parts of myself I can remember."

Her face crumpled slightly at my words, but she quickly composed herself. "Oh, sweetheart. I've been so worried. When your advisor called me about the accident..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"I know." I squeezed her hands gently. "And I'm sorry for putting you through this."

She shook her head firmly. "Don't you dare apologize for something that wasn't your fault." Her voice softened as she continued, "But Kaia, I've been thinking... maybe it would be good for you to take some time off from school. Just to focus on recovering, to give yourself space to heal without the pressure of academics."

I felt my chest tighten at her suggestion. "Mom, no. I can't do that."

"Darling, it would just be temporary. The university would understand, given the circumstances—"

"No," I said more firmly, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. "I won't let this accident derail everything I've worked for. I've already lost enough."

She studied my face with concern. "Kaia, there's no shame in taking time to recover. Your health is more important than any deadline or semester."

"But this is my life we're talking about," I insisted, feeling that familiar surge of determination I'd always had when it came to my goals. "What I need is to feel normal again. Learning, studying – I think it might actually help me remember. Give my brain something constructive to work on."

She was quiet for a long moment. I could see her weighing the pros and cons, analyzing my determination.

"If you truly believe continuing your studies will help," she said finally, "and if the doctors clear it, then I'll support you. But you have to promise me you'll be honest about your limits. No pushing yourself beyond what's healthy."

"I promise." I smiled, feeling a weight lift from my chest. "Thank you for understanding. I know you just want what's best for me."

She kissed my forehead gently. "I’ll go check with the doctor about you. Get some rest, okay? I'll be right back."

After she left, I lay back against the pillows, but my mind refused to settle. Everything felt like it was swirling together in a confusing mess – the upcoming exams I'd missed, the coursework that was piling up while I lay here, the accident that had stolen pieces of my memory.

And threading through it all, those green eyes that kept appearing in my thoughts.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to make sense of the fragments floating around in my head. The harder I tried to remember, the more elusive the memories became, like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.

The confusion, the pressure to remember, the worry about my studies – it was all too much. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the darkness would quiet the chaos in my mind.

ADRIEN

Two days. It had been two days since that conversation in the coffee shop, two days since Mrs. Lilian had looked me in the eye and told me to stay away from her daughter. Two days of replaying every word, every expression, every moment of that painful exchange.

Your impulsiveness, your pride – they don't belong in my daughter's life.

I stood outside the hospital's main entrance, watching the steady stream of visitors and staff coming and going. I'd been here for over an hour, waiting for the courage to approach her again, knowing full well that I was probably crossing a line she'd drawn clearly.

When I finally spotted Mrs. Lilian emerging from the elevator, she looked tired in that particular way that comes from spending hours being strong for someone else. She noticed me immediately, her steps faltering for just a moment before her expression hardened.

"Mr. Levont." Her voice was carefully controlled.

"Mrs. Lilian, please. Could we talk? Just for a few minutes?" I gestured toward the small garden area beside the hospital. "I know you told me to stay away, but I need to ask you something."

She hesitated, glancing back toward the hospital entrance, then at her watch. After a moment, she nodded curtly and walked toward the garden.

We found a quiet spot near a small fountain, the sound of water providing a gentle backdrop to what I knew would be a difficult conversation. She remained standing, arms crossed, waiting.

"I want to help Kaia with her writing," I said directly, not wanting to waste her time with elaborate explanations.

"We've already discussed this—"

"Amy told me about the supplementary writing exam she needs to take. If she doesn't pass, she'll have to repeat the semester." I took a breath. "My grades are excellent, and I was originally assigned as her tutor before... everything happened."

Mrs. Lilian's expression didn't soften. "And why would you want to do this?"

I could have given her a dozen professional reasons, could have focused solely on my academic record and the honors. Instead, I chose honesty.

"Because I have feelings for your daughter that I can't simply turn off. I won't lie about that – there is personal motivation here." I met her eyes steadily. "But more than that, I want to help her achieve what she's working so hard for. She's determined to continue her education despite everything she's lost, and I want to support that goal."

Something flickered across her features – surprise, perhaps, at my directness.

"Mrs. Lilian, I'm not asking you to trust me with Kaia's heart. I'm asking for the chance to help her succeed academically, to be there while she works toward something that clearly means everything to her."

Amy stepped closer. "Mrs. Lillian, Adrien really was the writing tutor assigned to Kaia. He is the best person for the job—please give him a chance."

"It's all right, Amy," Mrs. Lilian said, though her tone remained cautious. She turned back to me. "What exactly are you proposing?"

"Tutoring sessions to help her prepare for the exam. Academic support to catch up on missed coursework. Nothing more than what any qualified tutor would provide."

Amy stepped closer. "Mrs. Lillian, the writing tutor assigned to Kaia before was Adrien. He really is the best person for the job—please give him a chance."

Mrs. Lilian was quiet for a long moment, her gaze moving between Amy and me. I could see her weighing something in her mind, and I held my breath waiting for her response.

"I need to get back to work," she said finally, checking her watch again. "My flight takes off in an hour and a half."

My heart sank, thinking this was her way of ending the conversation.

But then she looked at me directly. "I do need someone to take care of Kaia, but I have one condition."

Hope flickered to life in my chest. "I'm listening."

"You would never mention your past relationship with Kaia. Not even once. If she asks why you’re helping her, you can only tell her that you were assigned by Professor Mellark to assist her—and that’s it."

She added immediately afterward "If she starts to remember things on her own, you neither encourage nor discourage those memories."

I nodded immediately. "Of course."

"And if I determine at any point that this arrangement is causing her emotional distress or interfering with her recovery, it ends immediately. No arguments, no second chances."

The weight of what she was offering – and demanding – settled over me. This was my only opportunity, but it came with the understanding that one mistake would cost me everything.

"I accept your conditions, Mrs. Lilian. I promise to wholeheartedly help Kaia get her life back on track"

She studied my face for another moment, then nodded curtly. "I really do need to get back to work now. Hope you will keep your promise."

As she walked back toward the hospital entrance, Amy and I were left standing in the garden. The late afternoon sun was casting longer shadows now, and I felt something I hadn't experienced in days: a carefully guarded hope.

It wasn't forgiveness, or even acceptance. But it was a chance – perhaps my only chance – to be part of helping Kaia achieve her goals. And for now, that was enough.