Ahce had demanded to know what he was doing in her apartment and how he had even found the address, but the man only offered that same mischievous smile she had learned to distrust, and yet could never ignore.
"Guess?" he murmured, the single word dancing on his lips like a secret he would never share.
He never explained further. Before she could press him, he announced lightly that he was only dropping by and had to return home to deal with family matters. The weight behind his words dimmed his usual playfulness. Ahce, ever sensitive to tones that carried pain, didn't ask more. She knew his parents' separation was a wound too deep for casual conversation.
When he left, the late morning light had already spilled across her small apartment. Silence reclaimed the space like a tide returning to shore, until the doorbell rang.
Her parcel had arrived.
Inside the box were four sets of tarot cards, a folded velvet cloth, and a collection of candles in varying colors, the relics of a life she thought she had buried. The sight of them stirred a quiet ache, like rediscovering an old melody once forgotten.
Ahce brought the box into the living room, closed the door behind her, and let the familiar rhythm of ritual overtake the stillness.
She changed into plain white clothes and tied her hair neatly back, a gesture of both reverence and readiness. The small table near the window became her altar once again. Carefully, she spread the velvet cloth over its surface, smoothing out every crease as if calming the energies that would soon awaken.
Three white candles stood at equal points, their flames steadying the air with a faint golden glow. Three sticks of incense followed, their smoke unfurling in slow, elegant spirals, like whispered prayers rising to the unseen. The cards were ready.
In college, she had suffered in silence. Anxiety. Depression. Loneliness. Tarot and Feng Shui had not merely been pastimes then. They had been her lifelines. Where logic had failed, these symbols had spoken. And somewhere along that spiritual path, her family's strange inheritance had awakened in her. A psychic sensitivity that blurred the edges between the tangible and the divine.
The cards were not paper to her. They were keys. Doors. Voices.
Ahce unboxed the first deck and ran her fingers over the crisp edges, feeling the faint hum that lingered in their touch. She whispered an invocation, asking for clarity and divine guidance, then began to shuffle. The rhythm of the movement soothed her, each flick of the card drawing her deeper into focus.
The question rose unbidden, heavy and unresolved.
Why did I forget my memories after the breakup with Patrick?
One by one, ten cards fell into a spread. The Tower. The Three of Swords. The Hermit. Cups overturned, figures walking away. The narrative was unmistakable, the pattern of endings, pain, and surrender.
This was no accident.
It was not a chance.
It was a choice.
Ahce's heart tightened as understanding dawned. The cards revealed that her forgetting had been no cruel twist of fate. It had been a deliberate offering, a desperate plea she herself had made to be freed from pain. Something, or someone, had answered. And in exchange for peace, a part of her had been taken.
She had chosen to forget.
The realization struck like lightning, splitting the dark. Her throat constricted. Her hands trembled over the spread.
She had prayed for the pain to end… and the universe had listened too well.
Faces blurred in her mind, laughter she could no longer recall, hands she could no longer reach. Whole fragments of her past dissolved like mist. She had begged for the ache to vanish, and it had, along with every memory of the love that caused it.
The cards, patient and merciless, confirmed the truth.
Frozen in disbelief, Ahce stared at the spread until the candle flames wavered in sympathy. She began shuffling again, almost mechanically, the incense curling like spirits restless for speech.
A new question burned in her heart, sharp and undeniable.
Who is Richard Jing in my life?
Each card fell with a weight that defied coincidence.
The Tower, destruction, the tearing down of illusion.
The Ten of Cups, fulfillment, family, the echo of happiness.
The Lovers, choice, passion, union.
The Empress, creation and nurture.
The Emperor, stability, and protection.
Together, they whispered of bonds forged beyond the mundane.
Richard was not a stranger. He was a mirror, her past, her lesson, her reflection. The man her soul seemed to circle back to through cycles of breaking and rebirth. A figure written into her story not as chance, but as destiny.
Yet even destiny, she thought, could be cruel.
Time dissolved as Ahce lay spread after spread, hoping the cards would contradict themselves, that one reading, just one, would offer a different truth. But the symbols remained steadfast. Pain had been necessary. The fall had been the only way to rebuild.
The cards painted him not as a fleeting lover but as something eternal, a counterpart written in divine language. And still… doubt slithered in her chest.
Was destiny truly so fixed? Or were people simply prisoners of the choices they made, mistaking consequence for fate?
The flames burned low. The incense thinned to nothing but a trace of perfume and memory. Darkness wrapped the apartment until only the moonlight slipping through the curtains illuminated the scattered cards and half-melted candles.
Ahce sat motionless, drained, her spirit heavy as though the ritual had taken more than truth. It had taken a piece of her.
"Richard…" she whispered into the stillness. "Why did I need to forget you? Why us?"
Her voice trembled, dissolving into the quiet.
Then, suddenly, warmth, two strong arms wrapped around her from behind.
Her body stiffened.
"Are you okay?" The voice was low, roughened by worry.
Ahce's breath caught. "How did you get in?"
"I asked the landlady for a spare key," he admitted, his breath brushing her ear.
"You did?"
"I couldn't contact you since lunch. I came here, knocked and knocked, but you didn't answer. I searched the building, even asked the neighbors. They said you hadn't stepped out all day." His grip tightened, his words edged with panic. "I was so worried something might have happened."
Slowly, Ahce turned to face him. Their faces hovered only inches apart. Her pulse thundered in her chest, the silence between them heavy with things unspoken. And then, what she saw in his eyes froze her blood.