The conference hall buzzed with polished voices, camera clicks, and the scent of expensive perfume and ambition.
Mo Zeyan hadn't planned to attend the Paris summit.
He hadn't planned anything for a long time — not since she vanished.
But when he caught her name listed in the keynote speakers, something in him stilled. Then snapped.
Liang Ruoxi.
Five years.
He had searched in every way he knew how — digging through hospital records, hiring private investigators, calling in favors from every contact.
And now, here she was. Standing tall, elegant, and alive, delivering a speech on sustainable global fashion. The woman who once loved black coffee, always forgot her charger, and had cried silently during rainstorms… now commanded the stage like royalty.
But what stopped him cold wasn't just her presence.
It was her eyes.
They held no recognition.
Backstage, Ruoxi sat with her team reviewing notes. Her fingers tapped nervously against the coffee cup.
For some reason, she'd felt a strange pressure in her chest during her speech. Like someone was watching — not in the way the audience did, but in the way… someone who had once held her heart might.
"Ma," Ruiyan whispered beside her, tugging at her sleeve. "There's a man looking at you like you're a fairy tale."
Ruoxi chuckled softly, ruffling his hair. "You and your wild imagination again."
But then she turned — and froze.
Their eyes met across the room.
Zeyan.
His gaze was quiet fire. It didn't demand. It just stayed. Like it belonged there. Like he had been waiting every day for this exact moment.
And for a moment, her body reacted — her heartbeat sped up, her breath caught, a cold shiver ran down her arms. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the name… never came.
She didn't know him.
But something inside her… remembered him.
Tian appeared beside her with narrowed eyes, sensing the shift.
"Who's that?" he asked quietly.
"I… I don't know," she whispered.
"Then why do you look like you've just seen your future or your past?"
Mo Zeyan didn't approach her at first. He watched from afar, afraid the moment he spoke, it might shatter the fragile magic of seeing her alive.
When he finally did, it wasn't planned.
They met near the corridor leading to the press lounge — accidentally, fatefully.
She turned the corner with a glass of water and almost bumped into him. The cup nearly fell, but he caught it — along with her hand.
Their fingers touched.
The contact was electric.
He looked down at her, unable to hide the tremble in his voice. "Liang… Ruoxi."
Her brow furrowed. "Yes?"
She didn't know him. It was clear in her polite confusion.
He forced a smile. "You don't remember me."
"I'm sorry… should I?"
"I used to know you," he said softly,
She let out a nervous chuckle, but something in her expression flickered. "I've… had memory issues. I was in a coma once. They say parts of my life are missing."
Zeyan swallowed hard. She didn't even know what had torn them apart.
"Do you mind if I… talk with you sometime?" he asked. "Just talk."
She studied his face for a moment. His features were handsome, yes — but there was something deeper in them. Something that made her heart ache without understanding why.
"…Okay," she said.
That evening, she couldn't sleep.
She sat on the balcony of the penthouse hotel suite, watching Ruiyan sleep peacefully.
The stars shimmered above Paris. And yet her thoughts were stuck in one gaze — that man's eyes, the pain they carried, the warmth they refused to let go of.
"Why do I feel like I've broken someone… without meaning to?" she whispered to herself.
Meanwhile, Mo Zeyan stood at the Seine River bridge, the cold wind brushing against his coat.
"She's alive," he whispered to himself. "And she doesn't remember me. Or… us."
But she was still Ruoxi.
The woman he had fought for, fallen for, kissed under midnight rain, and held when the world was collapsing.
If he had to start over — if she needed to fall for him again from the beginning — he would.
Because she was his forever.
Even if she didn't know it yet
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will Ruoxi ever remember Zeyan again?
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