Chapter 82

Chapter 82
KAIA

The key felt foreign in my fingers as I unlocked our dorm room door, though Amy assured me I'd done this thousands of times before.

The small suitcase dragged behind me with every step, and I had to pause twice just to catch my breath. Six months of being unconscious had left my body weaker than I cared to admit.

The room greeted me with an odd sense of déjà vu. Everything was exactly as I'd apparently left it—textbooks stacked on my desk, a coffee-stained mug on the windowsill, even my favorite sweater draped over the chair back.

Amy had maintained everything perfectly, yet walking into what should have been my sanctuary felt like entering a stranger's space.

I set my suitcase down and surveyed the room, hoping something—anything—would spark a memory. The pale yellow walls, the half-peeling Glossier stickers Amy had plastered above her desk,, the small succulent plant that had somehow survived six months of my absence. All familiar, yet completely foreign.

It was while unpacking that I discovered them.

A collection of romance novels sat on my shelf, all in pristine condition with careful inscriptions from Adrien:

"Hope this story keeps you company on boring afternoons."

"The heroine in this one reminded me of you."

"May you find joy in these pages."

"You're back!" Amy's voice startled me from my thoughts. She emerged from her side of the room, her expression brightening when she saw me.

"I found these," I said, holding up one of the novels. "From Adrien."

Amy's smile faltered for just a moment. "Oh, those. Yeah, he... well, speaking of which, I have some good news. The school arranged for a writing tutor to help you prepare for your English exam. It's actually my elder brother—Adrien—the guy from the hospital."

"The one who..." I trailed off, remembering his desperate embrace and my panicked reaction.

"Right, about that." Amy sat on her bed, fidgeting with her hands. "He used to tutor you before the accident. When he heard about the crash, he was really worried—you know how hockey players are, all intense and emotional. He felt terrible about scaring you when you woke up, totally beating himself up about it."

Her excuse sounded half-baked at best, but I just nodded slowly.

"And the books?"

"Oh, those." Amy waved her hand dismissively. "He mentioned you liked reading during study breaks, so he'd pick up recommendations sometimes. Nothing major."

I studied her face, noting how she avoided my eyes. The explanation felt thin, like she was covering for something bigger, but I was too tired to press.

"He'll meet you at the library tomorrow at two," Amy added quickly, clearly eager to change the subject.



The next afternoon found me in the library's quiet corner, the same spot Amy had directed me to. I'd arrived early, spreading my writing materials across the table and trying to calm my nerves.

"Hi, Kaia."

I looked up and felt my breath catch. Green eyes—those unmistakable green eyes from the hospital. Adrien.

"I'm the writing tutor," he said, settling into the chair across from me with careful movements. "I want to apologize for the other day. I was just... relieved you were okay."

His voice was gentle, controlled—so different from the raw emotion I'd witnessed in the hospital room.

"Amy explained," I said. "You used to help me before."

Something flickered in his expression—relief, maybe?—but it was gone quickly. "Right. We should focus on getting you ready for this exam."

For the next hour, Adrien proved to be everything Amy had promised. He was patient when I struggled with thesis statements, encouraging when I doubted my analytical skills, and remarkably insightful about essay structure. His teaching style felt intuitive, like he somehow understood exactly how my mind worked.

"You're getting the hang of this," he said, reviewing my practice paragraph. "Your instincts for argument are actually quite good."

"It doesn't feel like it," I admitted. "Everything feels so... foreign."

Something flickered in his expression—pain, maybe?—but it was gone so quickly I might have imagined it.

"That's normal after what you've been through," he said quietly. "The skills are still there."

During our break, Adrien pulled out his own laptop and began working on what looked like a research paper. I found myself watching him—the way he frowned in concentration, the habit he had of tapping his pen against his lips when thinking. There was something so familiar about these gestures, like watching a half-remembered movie.

Then he shifted in his chair, leaning back with casual confidence, and suddenly the room tilted.

The library. This same table. Him sitting across from me, but different—colder, more challenging.

"You know, this obsession with fictional characters is starting to make you unrealistic and irritable."

Heat rising in my chest. Anger. The feeling of being deliberately provoked.

"Maybe you should cut back on the book addiction before you end up like my aunt—she needed therapy for it."

My hands clenching into fists under the table. The desperate urge to throw something at his smirking face.

"Are you trying to annoy me on purpose?"

"Maybe I am."

The breaking point. Standing up so fast my chair scraped loudly. Other students turning to stare. My voice rising as I—

"Kaia? Are you alright?"

I blinked hard, the memory dissolving like smoke. Adrien was leaning forward, his face creased with concern—genuine concern, not the mocking expression from my flashback.

"I'm... yes. Sorry. Just a headache."

He studied me for a long moment, and I could see him wrestling with something behind those green eyes. "Do you need to stop for today?"

"No," I said quickly, surprising myself. "No, I'm fine."

But I wasn't fine. I was deeply confused. The man in my memory had been cruel, deliberately provoking. This Adrien was gentle, patient, kind. Amy's explanation about him being my tutor before suddenly felt even more hollow. If we'd had sessions like this, why had that memory been so hostile?

When our session ended, I found myself reluctant to leave.

"Will you..." I hesitated. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

His carefully neutral expression cracked slightly, revealing something warm and hopeful underneath. "If you'd like me to be."

"I would," I said, and meant it.

Walking back to the dorm, I couldn't stop thinking about the contrast between my memory and reality. In my flashback, we'd been enemies—or at least antagonists. But today, he'd been nothing but helpful and considerate.

Either way, I found myself looking forward to tomorrow's session, eager to unravel the mystery of Adrien—and perhaps, in the process, unravel the mystery of myself.