She Writes Her Own Heartbeat

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.