Shards of Memory [English - Under Revision]

Chapter 19: Date

Skylane 

"Miss Skylane, time to wake up."

The maid's voice tugged at the edge of my dream. I groaned, pulled the blanket tighter, and whispered, "Five more minutes." My voice sounded like gravel, half-asleep, half-annoyed.

But when I rolled over, it wasn't the maid's voice that echoed in my head.

"You're not alone."

My eyes flew open. Heat rushed to my cheeks. Of all the things my brain could choose to remember first thing in the morning, it had to be Blaise's voice from last night—the warmth of his chest when he hugged me, the steady way he said it. I buried my face in the pillow and groaned again, this time from pure embarrassment.

"Ma'am, are you okay? Your face is red," the maid asked, hovering.

"I'm fine!" I squeaked, waving her toward the door with my good hand. "Please just... lock up after you. I need to shower."

The second the door shut, I scrambled into the bathroom and splashed freezing water on my face until my skin stung. It didn't help. His words clung like perfume—sweet, dizzying, impossible to scrub off.

Pathetic, I told my reflection. I sound like a teenager with a crush.

Then again—I was a teenager.

I shook my head, turned on the shower, and nearly screamed when icy water hit me full force. The shock grounded me, though. Maybe freezing to death was exactly what I needed.

⸻

By the time I made it downstairs, my parents and Dalyn were already finishing breakfast. The dining table gleamed under the morning light, silver cutlery lined like soldiers. My father was hidden behind the newspaper, my mother sipping her tea with the elegance of someone born for hotel boardrooms.

Dalyn sat across from me, already in his uniform, pretending to focus on his toast. Pretending, because I caught the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I glared. He only raised his eyebrows innocently. He didn't have to say a word—I knew exactly what he'd seen from his balcony last night. My cheeks betrayed me again, burning like I'd swallowed the toaster.

"Sky, sweetheart," my mother said gently, pulling me back. "Are you all right? You look pale. Or tired."

I forced a smile. "I'm fine. I just couldn't sleep. Too much on my mind."

Dalyn chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying my misery. I made a mental note to "accidentally" swap his shampoo with glue someday.

"That's good then," my father said without lowering the newspaper. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself yesterday."

Enjoyed. That was one way to put it.

But beneath the embarrassment, another thought pressed harder. I hated being left behind. I hated sitting in this mansion, surrounded by walls that used to be familiar but now felt like a stranger's. Everyone else's lives kept moving—school, classes, the crew—and I was stuck here, pieces missing.

I put down my fork and took a deep breath. "Dad, Mom... I want to go back to school. Please let me."

The clatter of cutlery stopped. Three pairs of eyes landed on me.

"I'm better now," I pressed on, heart pounding. "It's boring here, and the longer I stay, the harder it'll be to catch up with my class. But more than that—my memories. Only some of my childhood has come back. I feel... lost. If I go back to school, if I see my classmates, the hallways, the routines—maybe I'll remember faster. Maybe I'll feel like me again."