Andra-Astrid Belibou is participating in the International Literary Creation Competition, 7th Edition, from Constanța, Romania and is 32 years old. We thank her for her participation and wish her success.

Memories Of You

Daisy stretched until every muscle protested, then shoved the heavy wool duvet down to her knees. Cool air brushed against her skin, but the bedroom remained wrapped in winter sunlight. Golden light spilled through the tall windows, warming the wooden floor and softening every corner of the room. For one blissfully empty second, it felt exactly like waking in her foster mother’s house, where mornings had always smelled of tea, cinnamon, and safety.

Oh, poor Mrs Montgomery…

She refused to let herself think about Mrs Montgomery. Instead, she buried her face in the pillow, clutching it to her chest as though it could anchor her. The fabric carried the faint scent of orange blossom, clean linen, and something she couldn’t quite name. Christmas, her mind supplied. Not the holiday itself, but the memory of it. Warm lights behind frosted windows. Mulled wine. Fresh pine. A feeling she could almost reach before it slipped through her fingers again.

She inhaled the scent of orange blossom one more time before letting out a weary sigh. The previous day had been too much. After the hug, she had ended up wiping away her tears again and avoiding Ben’s gaze. The embrace had only made things more awkward between them.

He had scratched the back of his head.

„You must be hungry. Would you like to join me for dinner?”

She had nodded. She wasn’t even sure whether she was truly hungry, but she knew she had to eat something, and Ben inviting her to dinner felt like progress, especially if it helped ease the awkwardness between them and allowed them to grow accustomed to each other. Besides, with her brother rejecting her, she needed an ally, and Ben seemed… well… he was probably the only person who truly knew the woman she had been before. The woman who had worn the clothes hanging in the walk-in wardrobe upstairs.

She sat back down at the table and watched him silently, like a scolded child. After unpacking everything, he opened a cabinet, took out two bowls, two plates, cutlery, and two mugs, then set the table by himself. Daisy absentmindedly chewed on a strand of her hair while staring at the purplish galaxy-themed plates. Somehow, she knew they were made of high-quality glazed ceramic, custom-made, and incredibly expensive.

„It seems my father forgot to leave your prescription.”

Daisy flinched.

A prescription? For what?

„I can make you some tea if you can’t sleep.”

„I’ll… thanks,” she replied, taking the bowl of cauliflower soup.

She tore off a piece of garlic bread and began eating while Ben remained lost in thought. He wasn’t a bad man. A bad man wouldn’t have taken care of a long-lost wife who didn’t even remember him, nor would he have fed her like this. Cauliflower soup was one of her favourite meals, and although this version wasn’t as delicious as Mrs Montgomery’s and the garlic bread was no longer fresh, it still felt like a feast.

She was very hungry after all.

She ate quietly while Ben cradled his bowl in one hand. Broad palms, long fingers, faint calluses across his knuckles. Hands built for strength, yet every movement remained absurdly careful, as though he was afraid of breaking whatever he touched. It was unsettling that something so large could look so gentle.

„Are you okay?”

She stopped coughing and waved a hand, trying to reassure him without words that she was fine. Her old, filthy mind wasn’t, however. It had once again sent an unwelcome rush of tingling warmth through her body.

And now his palm rested against her leg, burning straight through the fabric.

„I was… my mind wandered, and I choked on a piece of bread. But I’m okay.”

„Are you sure?”

She blinked and lowered her gaze to her hands before she ended up hypnotised by them again. He wasn’t conventionally handsome, not in the obvious way, but there was something undeniably attractive about him.

Incredibly attractive.

Her heart had once belonged to him.

„Your face is red. Do you feel hot? I have some medicine in…”

„I’m okay,” she interrupted a little too loudly, covering her cheeks with her palms.

Ben sighed, apparently realising there was no point insisting, and returned to his seat looking rather grumpy.

„Would you like some sweet and spicy turkey with beetroot and feta salad?”

Daisy looked at him, then at her almost empty bowl, then back at him.

That was her birthday meal.

How many birthdays had she missed?

A sudden sadness pulled her into the depths of the unknown. Her head spun as fleeting images surfaced. Her own hands preparing the dish. Ben smiling, laughing as he diced the beetroot into tiny cubes. She could hear the laughter as clearly as if they were sharing it in that very moment.

„Daisy?”

Fine.

She finished the turkey and salad quickly, hoping they would stir more memories, but nothing else came. Her stomach simply became painfully full. Still, all hope wasn’t lost. If she had recovered even that tiny glimpse of her past, perhaps living with him really would help her heal. Perhaps it would bring back more memories.

„Did you know this was my birthday meal?”

She hadn’t meant to ask him that yet, but desperation had outrun caution. Since he had already finished eating and was getting up to leave, she excused her impulsiveness as necessity.

„Yeah,” he answered, chewing on his bottom lip.

„Did I ever cook it for you? Or with you?”

Ben frowned. He was probably suspicious. It was hardly a coincidence that he had bought that exact meal, especially given how unusual the combination was.

„Yes, you did.”

Daisy’s face brightened.

„But only for your first birthday after we got together. After that, never again.”

Never again? But she must have celebrated another birthday!

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Ben had already left the kitchen. He returned later as she was drying the cutlery and cleared his throat.

„I left you towels, shampoo, shower gel, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a pair of pyjamas. There’s also a bathrobe. Everything’s in the bathroom upstairs. I also left the door to your bedroom open, so you’ll know which room is yours.”

„Thank you,” she murmured, staring at the cabinets.

„I’ll put everything away, so don’t worry. I’ll leave a mug out and a bottle of still water in case you get thirsty. I’ll also leave some fruit in the bowl on the counter and put the rest in the fridge in case you get hungry.”

She nodded as countless questions emerged in her mind. However, only two dominated her thoughts. The first was whether the pyjamas were ordinary or one of the more questionable sets she had seen. The second was why she was being sent away.