After a traumatic incident, Mishti awakens from a one-month coma with psychogenic amnesia- she can't remember the last five years of her life or the event that took it all away.

Returning to a house she can't call home and a man who claims to be her husband is the least of her worries when secrets are revealed that may prove all of her new memories are nothing but lies dressed in an all-consuming love that she just isn't ready for.

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Psychogenic Amnesia- Memory loss due to the effect of stress or psychological trauma on the brain. Certain experts see this form of amnesia as an act of self-preservation, therefore meaning the individual has forgotten raw memories rather than facing a usually painful reality that may be too much to deal with. Those suffering with this phenomenon also usually lose memories of their name, address, job, experiences etc., but can recall factual memories such as names of cities, how to play an instrument and other education, they can also create new memories.

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Abir had always been a man in control, perhaps obsessively so? Each object within his home had a certain place and never moved an inch, his routine was one of extreme measures, each act planned down to the last second- time was an extraordinary fete and he wasn’t one to waste even a little bit of it. He wasn’t the kind of person to enjoy the exhilarated thrill of losing control, he certainly didn’t feel pleasure when the wind swept through his luscious locks of hair causing them to tangle within whispers of air.

But then came Mishti.

Then it all changed.

Suddenly irritating nuances that led to his tongue slithering between both rows of teeth began to taste of the sweetness of laughter filling empty halls he tended to prefer to be quiet, nails cutting into his palms gifted him the sensation of the brightest stars he could only ever see when he was dizzy enough or looking into her eyes since the sky didn’t have a glimmer bright enough. The intensity of his heart sinking down into his stomach was all-consuming with each breath she stole from him as he fought not to touch her, have her, hold her as his own.

And he had spent far too long fighting urges, swallowing back desperation and ignoring desires not to give in now, so that’s exactly what he did. Fell to his knees before a shrine merged from the letters of her name and gave himself over to the power she had over him. It did not matter that he’d been denounced from normalcy, abnormality suited him when it grew from her.

Upon receiving the call that his beloved had awoken to glossy white tiles and tubes down her throat, he’d rushed like he’d never rushed before toward the Hospital he spent each day at only to hear a selection of words that burnt his throat box when he repeated them. “Psychogenic Amnesia? I don’t” his fingers looped around the hooks of his belt, “I don’t understand” his eyes re-opened from the calming breaths he’d forced himself to take.

“I’m afraid your wife seems to have no memory of the past few years before her attack, nor the attack itself” the woman sighed sympathetically, hand reaching to cup his shoulder only to fall once he’d shrugged it away. “There are options to help with regaining the memory but-“.

“NO” he coughed, laughing it off, “No, let’s not stress her out, we can rebuild memories, uh make new ones” wiping away beads of sweat from his forehead, his hand coiled menacingly around the handle of the door. “Can I see her now?” Impatience wrung his body out till exhaustion dredged its tired way in, he didn’t claim to be a good man or a nice one, all he really wanted to be known as was her man- that was the only title he needed, the only crown he’d wear with pride.

“Yes, but be careful, don’t push her too hard, she needs rest and to be away from stressful environments, it’s likely she may go into a depression of sorts during this time, be empathetic and do things on her time, sometimes memories return in hours, sometimes years, sometimes they never do” smiling sadly at him, she turned away, confusion like a needle knitting her brows and scratching lines across her forehead at how quickly he’d turned her suggestion down.

“Mishti?”

At the sound of her name, she jumped, eyes wide and body on the edge of a double-edged sword that tore apart any desire she had to run when he smiled kindly at her. Holding her neck, her chapped lips upturned “You must be my husband” her voice was throaty, hoarse and crackly at a quiet decibel.

Nodding, he took a seat beside her “I assume you have some questions, I can-“.

Cutting him off, she spoke up: “How long have we been together?”

Holding three fingers up, he remained silent.

“Years or months?”

“Years”.

Accepting his answer, Mishti looked straight at the blank screen of the T.V. while her hands found solace beneath the scratchy blanket “How long have I been under?”

“5 months” shaking away the memories of those dreadful moments, he slid the chair closer. “I visited every day” and he had, those hours led in an uncomfy chair by her bed had been the only relief he’d allowed himself to accept, she was a part of his routine now and no one knew better than him how against editing his schedule he was.

“Why?” She whispered in apprehension, it didn’t make any sense to her why anyone would wait that long when there was no guarantee that she’d ever wake up, even now she could offer him no assurance that she’d ever love him again, it was with those doubts that she found hope to cling onto, anyone who waited like he had, visited like he had, had to love her, at least a little.

“Because you’re my wife”.

She scoffed, finally turning her head to watch him “So you stayed out of duty?”

“No” Abir dropped his head, a reluctant huff escaping his parched lips. “I stayed because as my wife I love you”.

Hearing the words caused her body to lock down, joints stuck stiff and her breaths hitched upon her tonsils. Noting the clear sincerity hidden in the murkiness of caramel deep within his eyes, she gasped “You do?”

“I do” he promised, hand over hers. “If you’d allow me to, I’d like to take you home?”

“Okay,” she murmured.

Her agreement calmed his racing heart, it was only her who could bring his house into the territory of a home, for wherever she was, was home for him, she was home for him. Standing once more, he brushed through his hair with fingers drenched in lacklustre as he ran his tired eyes over her thin figure. “Mishti, there’s” he stopped, rewording his sentence in his head before continuing, “There’s no rush to do anything, we can take as much time as you like”.

“Thank you” Mishti didn’t bother to watch him leave, his arrival and departure didn’t matter to her because he did not matter to her, not yet anyway.

The second he stepped out of the room, his eyes fell upon the front paper of a visitor’s newspaper, peering around slowly, he grabbed the paper from his hand and scrunched it up.

“Hey” the man jumped up, “Who do you-“ his words died down when he saw his face, “I’m so sorry, I’ll go” raising his hands, he stumbled back, tripped over his own feet then ran.

Unfolding the creases, he ran his index finger over the image “I’ll keep you safe” he vowed, “No one will take you away from me ever again”.