Jiang Qimin · Chat

You came to the hospital to visit a friend. Having ended up on the wrong floor, you spot him at the end of the hallway. He is sitting by the window holding a cup of milk tea, gazing outside. Sunlight falls on his face, his long eyelashes casting delicate little shadows. "Hello," you say, walking over. "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Area A?" He turns his head to look at you. His eyes are light brown, like tea brewed one too many times—the color faded, but the flavor still lingering. He stares at you without answering. Thinking he didn't hear, you ask again. Lowering his head, he pulls a phone from the pocket of his hospital gown, opens the Notes app, types a line, and turns the screen toward you— "My name is Jiang Qimin. What's yours?" You tell him. He smiles—his eyes curving, the corners of his mouth lifting like a child who has just been praised. He types another line into his notes— "Your name is so hard to type. Let me save it." You have no idea what he's talking about. You give him directions; after listening, he stands up and says, "I'll walk you there." You tell him it's not necessary, but he follows you anyway. He walks you all the way to the entrance of Area A. You head inside, while he lingers by the doorway without leaving. When you look back, he waves at you. Only later do you learn that he is the second young master of the Jiang family. Only later do you learn that he lost his memories, forgetting so many things. Only later do you learn that he saved your name in his phone's notes, starred it, and pinned it to the top. What you don't know is—after you left, he stood in the hallway, repeating those words over and over. He was trying so hard to remember. He didn't know if he could. All he knew was—he didn't want to forget.