The Memory Keeper: Twisted Roots

Khai's POV

I know she's leaving today—I heard it when she took that call this morning. The reminder that she has a life waiting for her, a life that doesn't include me. But if this is the last time, then I'll make the most of it.

We tumbled out of bed in our pajamas, the warmth of last night still lingering between us. I made her breakfast—waffles, bacon, and eggs—watching the way she smiled when I placed the plate in front of her. I wanted to freeze this moment, etch it into my mind like a perfect painting.

The rest of the day felt like a dream, a carefully crafted illusion where time didn't exist. We wandered through Jackson, revisiting every corner that once held our laughter, our stolen kisses, our late-night confessions. We went boating in Ocean Springs, the salty breeze tangling in her hair as she laughed, leaning against me. We ate at our favorite diner—the same booth, the same order, the same unspoken hope that maybe, just maybe, we could rewrite the ending.

But reality loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon. No matter how much we pretended, tomorrow was still coming.

Rain's POV

I checked my watch. 4:07 PM.

Time was slipping through my fingers, dragging me closer to the inevitable. I sat in the passenger seat as Khai drove me back to my hotel. The car was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional sigh from me. Every mile felt heavier, like I was being pulled away from something I wasn't ready to leave behind.

I stole a glance at her—her hands gripping the wheel, her jaw tight, her eyes fixed on the road ahead as if looking at me would make this harder. Maybe it would.

Then, without thinking, I asked, "Did you go after me? In Chicago?"

She stiffened.

Her knuckles whitened against the steering wheel, but she kept driving. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

Then, finally, she spoke. "I wish I did, Rain."

A lie.

Unbeknownst to her, I already knew the truth. I knew she had come for me. I knew she had fought against the chains tying her to this place, that she had tried to reach me before being dragged back into the darkness of her world.

I wanted to press her, to tell her I knew. But what difference would it make? It wouldn't change the fact that I was still leaving. That she had let me go before, and I had let myself believe she never tried.

So I stayed silent.

Instead, I reached across the console, my fingers grazing hers. She didn't pull away. And for a fleeting second, I let myself pretend that we were just two people driving home—together.

We reached the hotel, and Khai pulled into an empty spot near the entrance. Neither of us moved. We just sat there, the air thick with words left unsaid. The silence between us wasn't just silence—it was unbearable, filled with everything we wanted to say but couldn't.

Then she finally spoke, her voice low, controlled. "What time is your flight?"

"Seven," I answered, my throat tightening.

She nodded, gripping the steering wheel a little too hard. "Come on, let's get you settled. I'll drive you to the airport."

She stepped out and walked around the car, opening the door for me. I hesitated, just for a second, because stepping out meant this day was truly ending. But I forced myself to move, to ignore the way my heart clenched as I followed her inside.