Chapter 17
Chapter 17- Alex’s POV
The alarm buzzed next to my bed, sharp and annoying.
I groaned and reached out blindly, hitting the button to shut it off.
For a moment, I stayed there, staring at the high ceiling of my penthouse apartment.
The city skyline stretched outside the tall glass windows, the first hints of sunlight brushing over the buildings like a painting.
Everything around me screamed success.
The soft sheets.
The leather chairs.
The expensive paintings on the walls.
A life most people could only dream about.
And yet, my chest felt hollow.
Empty.
Like something important was missing — and no amount of money could buy it back.
---
I got out of bed slowly, my bare feet sinking into the thick carpet.
The housekeeper had already left fresh clothes on the dresser — a pressed suit, shining shoes.
I ignored them for now.
Instead, I walked into the bathroom, the floor heating up under my steps.
The shower blasted hot water, filling the marble room with steam.
I stood under it, eyes closed, letting it wash over me.
It didn’t help.
Behind my closed eyes, a face flickered.
A girl.
Laughing.
Bright eyes full of life.
I tried to hold onto the image.
Tried to remember her.
But like every morning, it slipped away before I could grab it.
---
By the time I was dressed, my schedule had already started.
Meetings.
Phone calls.
Emails piling up.
I owned a law consulting firm — one of the best in the country.
Clients begged to work with me.
Investors chased my signature.
People respected me.
Feared me, sometimes.
I should have been happy.
I had everything I ever wanted.
Everything except the one thing I couldn't even name.
---
At breakfast, my assistant dropped off a fresh stack of documents.
Rachel, my girlfriend, texted asking if we were still on for dinner tonight.
I replied with a simple, "Busy."
I wasn’t lying.
My schedule was packed.
But deep down, I knew the real reason I didn’t want to see her.
It wasn’t her fault.
She was smart, beautiful, successful.
Perfect on paper.
But every time I looked at her, something inside me ached.
Because she wasn’t her.
The girl from my flashes.
The one I couldn't remember.
The one my soul still missed.
---
Work was a blur.
Meetings with high-profile clients.
Calls with investors across the world.
Presentations about numbers that no longer meant anything to me.
Everyone shook my hand and smiled.
Everyone wanted something.
Money.
Favors.
Power.
I gave it to them easily.
Because none of it mattered.
Not really.
Not without her.
---
Around noon, I stepped into my private office — a giant room filled with glass, steel, and cold light.
I stood by the window, looking down at the tiny people rushing across the streets far below.
And for a moment, I saw it again.
---
A kitchen.
Warm.
Alive.
Not sleek and polished like this place.
But real.
Laughter filled the air.
A girl stood by the stove, her hair messy, wearing one of my old T-shirts that drowned her frame.
She looked up at me, her eyes dancing.
"You’re late," she teased.
I crossed the room and grabbed her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around.
She squealed, laughing, her hands clutching at my shoulders.
"I missed you," I said, burying my face in her neck.
"I missed you more," she whispered back.
Home.
That was what she had made — a real home.
Not just walls and furniture.
Love.
---
The memory slipped away, leaving me breathless.
I stumbled back and sat on the edge of my desk, gripping the wood tightly.
My assistant buzzed something through the intercom.
I ignored it.
My heart pounded against my ribs.
Who was she?
Why did losing her feel like losing my whole world?
---
Later, I attended a charity event.
Rachel was there, stunning in a black dress, smiling for the cameras.
I stood beside her, my hand on her back, posing for photos.
Answering questions with perfect, polished answers.
Laughing at the right moments.
Pretending.
Always pretending.
Inside, I felt like a shadow of myself.
A man wearing someone else’s life.
---
After the event, Rachel leaned against me in the limo.
"You’re quiet tonight," she said, running her fingers along my sleeve.
"Long day," I answered automatically.
She smiled, brushing her lips lightly against my jaw.
"I’m proud of you, Alex."
I nodded, staring out the window at the blur of lights.
Proud.
What did that even mean anymore?
When I couldn’t even remember the one thing that mattered most?
---
I got home past midnight.
The penthouse was dark, except for the city lights flickering beyond the windows.
I dropped my jacket on the floor and collapsed onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.
Another flash came, soft and sudden.
---
Lying in bed.
The soft sound of her breathing beside me.
Her hand resting on my chest.
A feeling of absolute peace.
Belonging.
She stirred, lifting her head sleepily.
"I love you, Alex," she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.
"I love you too, baby," I whispered back, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
I had never meant anything more in my life.
---
The flash ended, leaving me aching.
I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, willing the tears away.
I didn’t cry.
Not anymore.
But the feeling was there, heavy and choking.
---
I walked to the window and stared out at the city.
Billions of lights.
Billions of lives.
And yet I knew — somewhere out there — was the only one that mattered.
The one I had lost.
The one I couldn’t forget, even if I didn’t remember everything yet.
I placed a hand against the cold glass.
"I’m sorry," I whispered to the night.
"I don’t know who you are."
"But I miss you."
A beat passed.
A silence thick enough to break.
"I’ll find you," I said softly, a promise to the stars, to the night, to whoever was still listening.
"No matter what it takes."