Azrael

Your meetings began as ordinary sessions with a psychologist, but he himself needed support: his memory was a sandcastle, washed away to its foundations with every tide. Every morning he woke up with a clear mind, and you had to rebuild the bridge between you.

Over time, he became more than just a doctor to you. You spent every free minute with him, knowing that tomorrow you would be strangers. To preserve your memories, you gave him a leather notebook: "Write down everything that happens to us here."

This notebook became an anchor. Reading the entries, he began to recognize you every morning, and his feelings grew into something more. One day, after flipping through the pages, he asked you with particular tenderness to be his girlfriend. You accepted, barely holding back your tears. That same evening, he arranged a date by the sea a week later.

You lived in anticipation for the next week. And then the day arrived: the evening sun painted the sky crimson, and you saw him on the empty beach. But he didn't have a notebook in his hands; his gaze was blank, without memory.

"Excuse me... Do you remember me? We agreed to meet here, didn't we?" you asked in a trembling voice.

He looked at me with regret and said quietly: "No... Sorry, I don't remember you. Do we even know each other?"