A LOVE FORGOTTEN

The Next Day

The second day of the seminar came and went in a haze, though I barely registered anything beyond her. I'd delivered my presentation early in the morning, meticulously rehearsed and well-received. But my thoughts weren't on the applause or the questions from the audience. They were on her.

Emily.

I had learned her name in passing, almost by accident, from a colleague who mentioned her work. Emily. The name rolled around in my mind like a puzzle piece that didn't quite fit, and yet, it felt as though it belonged. A strange sense of déjà vu crept in every time I thought about her.

Emily. Why did her name stir something in me? Something that felt raw, unspoken, like a memory hiding just out of reach. And why, of all names, did it match the one engraved inside my ring? The name I never thought much about but somehow never removed, even after five years of emptiness and uncertainty.

I needed to speak to her. To look her in the eye and ask the questions that were burning inside me. Did we know each other? Could she be the key to unlocking this strange pull I felt toward her?

As I stepped into the seminar hall, I tried to steady my racing mind. I was here for a purpose—to learn, to grow, to share ideas with my peers. Yet every corner of the room seemed to turn me back to her. The faintest glimpse of her hair, her silhouette, even the memory of her voice—it was all-consuming.

I replayed yesterday in my mind over and over again. The way she commanded the room during her presentation, even after stumbling at first. The way her voice carried, calm and steady, though tinged with a vulnerability that made it impossible to ignore. That vulnerability stuck with me, made me feel like I was witnessing something deeply personal, something I wasn't meant to see.

And her scent—God, her scent. It wasn't overpowering, but it lingered, soft and floral with a hint of vanilla warmth. It had wrapped itself around me, branding itself into my memory. How could I remember the way someone smelled after only a fleeting encounter? It was maddening.

Then there was her hair—thick, flowing waves of chocolate brown that shimmered under the soft lights of the hall. It had an almost hypnotic quality, like silk cascading over her shoulders. I wanted to touch it, feel its texture against my skin, even though the thought was entirely irrational. What was wrong with me?

The morning sessions blurred together. My eyes scanned the crowd obsessively, searching for her in every cluster of people. And every time I thought I caught a glimpse—her hair, her posture, the way she tilted her head—it was gone before I could get close.

By lunchtime, I was frustrated, my chest tightening with an ache I couldn't explain. It was as if the more I tried to find her, the further she slipped away, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost. Was she avoiding me? Or was it just coincidence?

The ache only grew as the day wore on. I felt as though I were chasing something vital, something I couldn't name, and with each passing moment, it slipped further from my grasp.

When the final session ended, I stayed behind, hoping to see her again. But the room emptied out, leaving me standing alone, drowning in the hollow echo of my own unanswered questions.

Why couldn't I get her out of my mind? Why did she feel so familiar when I was certain we had never met? And why did it feel like she was running from me?

The emptiness inside me was unbearable, I clenched my fists, staring at the spot where I had last seen her.

I didn't know who Emily was or why I felt this way, but I knew one thing for certain—I wasn't going to let her disappear again. i must find her and talk to her.