The Lover My Brain Chose to Forget

After my shift, my doctor, Leo Aversa, was waiting for me outside the restaurant.

He drove me to his private clinic to start our daily log.

"Let's start from the moment you woke up," he said.

"I had a sandwich and went to the restaurant. Then, a couple came in. The man said a lot of things I didn't understand, and the woman seemed hostile. And then… then it gets fuzzy."

Leo watched me handle my phone and suddenly asked, "Elena, do you know what that passcode you just entered represents?"

I looked at him, confused. "It's just a string of numbers. 1018."

Leo paused and let out a long, heavy breath. "October 18th. That's Nico's birthday."

Nico? The man from the restaurant was named Nico, too.

"Leo, who is he exactly?"

Leo didn't answer. He just stared at my screen. "Elena, your brain right now is like a house that's been through an earthquake. Everything inside has collapsed. Some things are buried very deep. If you try to force your way in to dig them up, the whole thing might cave in."

I looked at him, not fully grasping the metaphor. I just stared down at those four digits—1018—and felt a sudden ache in my chest.

Leo handed me a couple of pills and set a glass of water by my hand. "Take your medicine. Let's stop here for today. We'll talk about the rest later."

I swallowed the pills, my fingertips brushing the cold glass. My head was a mess, filled with the memory of Nico's angry, resentful face from earlier.

I couldn't help asking again, "That man, Nico… Was I really involved with him?"

Leo was silent for a long time before he reached out and patted my head. His voice was barely a whisper. "Don't worry about that now. Just get some sleep. Everything will be fine tomorrow."

I gripped the strap of my bag and didn't push further. I said my goodbyes and left the clinic.

The evening breeze carried the salty tang of the sea.

While waiting for the bus, I couldn't resist checking my memo app again. That pinned note stared back at me. "You have a boyfriend. His name is Niccolo. Never forget him."

Niccolo. Nico.

Could they be the same person?

The buried fragments of memory felt like they were shifting, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't catch them.

The next morning, I went to work as usual.

As soon as we opened, a man entered.

He looked familiar, like the same man—Nico—from yesterday.

He walked straight to the table I was wiping and tapped the surface. "We need to talk."

"Good morning, Signore. Are you ready to order?"

He curled his lip. "Let's settle the debt for you pushing me into the ocean first. Then we'll talk about ordering."

I stood there, frozen.

When I didn't move, he continued, "Three years ago, on the Pediterranean, why did you push me overboard during the shootout between the Mancuso and Moretti families?"

A shootout? Pushed overboard?

A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my temples. I had to lean against the table with both hands just to keep from collapsing.

Flashes of imagery flickered through my mind.

Deep blue water. Someone struggling in the waves. The images were disconnected, but they felt terrifyingly real.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out instinctively.

Nico's expression shifted. He abruptly stood and grabbed my arm. "So you admit it? But what good is an apology? When you pushed me, did you even care that I couldn't swim? Did you want me to drown?"

Terrified, I stammered, "I-I'm sorry, Signore. I really… don't remember."

Nico shoved me back and slammed his fist onto the table. "You're still acting?"

He began pacing the restaurant until he stopped at my workstation.

He stared at the counter, which was covered in sticky notes. There were instructions for the register, guides for the espresso machine, and a small chalkboard with polite phrases to use with customers.

Above the sink, a note read, "Put clean plates on the left rack, and dirty ones on the right. Don't mix them up."

The one on the fridge read, "Milk on the second shelf. Vegetables on the bottom. Eggs in the door. Check the dates."

There was also one on the microwave. "Press open, put the food in, then press the button."

Nico stared at the notes for a long time. "Did you write all these?"

"Sì."

He turned to look at me with that same suffocating intensity from yesterday. I felt like shrinking away.

"Why bother writing all this down?"

I lowered my gaze. "My memory isn't good. If I write it down, I can follow the steps and do my job without being a burden to my boss."

Nico searched my face for a crack in the mask, but found nothing.

A second later, he swept the bag of coffee beans off my counter.