Tuesday had passed, and with it, something inside Elara had shifted — like a book with missing pages.
She came to work the next morning pale, distracted, her eyes unfocused as if searching for something that wouldn't stay still.
Mara noticed first.
"You're not listening, El," she teased gently, nudging Elara's shoulder.
"Sorry," Elara murmured. "What were you saying?"
"That you look like you didn't sleep at all," Mara said, laughter fading to quiet concern. "Nightmares again?"
Elara hesitated. Words felt brittle on her tongue.
"Not nightmares," she whispered. "More like… forgetting something I can't afford to forget."
They sat together at the small break-room table, steam rising from their mugs.
Mara leaned forward, voice soft but serious.
"El, you've been spacing out more lately. Blacking out sometimes. I know you say it's nothing, but it scares me."
Elara swallowed, pulse quickening.
"It's hard to explain," she whispered. "Every Tuesday, there's someone I meet. Someone… important."
"A boyfriend?" Mara asked, trying for lightness.
"More than that," Elara said, eyes misting. "It feels older than that. Like I've known him forever."
Mara reached across, hand warm on Elara's trembling fingers.
"Does he know about the blackouts?"
"Yes," Elara whispered. "And every week, he helps me remember. But… yesterday, I didn't go. I don't know why."
"Call him," Mara urged softly. "Or let him call you."
"I'm afraid," Elara murmured. "What if… what if I can't remember what to say? What if I see his face and feel nothing?"
Mara squeezed her hand gently.
"Then let him remind you," she whispered. "If he loves you, he'll wait. And if he's worth it, he won't give up."
That afternoon, as autumn rain tapped against the office windows, Elara stared at her phone.
Thumb hovering over his name: Ciel.
"Tuesday," she whispered to herself, willing the word to anchor her.
But her hand trembled, and she couldn't bring herself to press call.
Somewhere across the city, Ciel sat beside a window darkened by rain, phone silent in his palm.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Remembering — for both of them.