Heartprints in the Void
⊰ 18 ⊱ Cries in Korean

"Oh! Can we get a to-go boxes, please?" Krina kindly asks the waiter before he excuses himself.

As promised, Krina invited me to have lunch with her today. Between shoving bread rolls down our throats and a long conversation about the upcoming IPv6 migration project, we hardly touched our food. I regret none of it. Those were the best bread rolls I've had in my entire life.

The waiter returns swiftly with boxes and receipts for Krina to sign. "Thank y'all so much. Y'all have a great day!" he says with a warm smile.

I offer him a small smile, averting my gaze to the half-eaten steak and rice as I slide it into the foam carry-out box.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but..." Krina pauses as she packs her plate. I look up and meet her curious gaze. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

*That didn't take her very long.*

I'm not surprised by her question. From the moment we met, I pegged her as the type to ask about my personal life. I don't mind it her friendly nosiness is almost endearing. "No... I don't," I reply simply.

*But if only you knew the complicated history behind that answer...*

She gasps quietly, her eyes widening as she says, "What?! No way. You're too beautiful. You should get a boyfriend!"

*Oh, how I wish it were that simple.*

"My husband and I met when we were in college," she continues. "He proposed like a year after we graduated. But you'd be surprised-we almost didn't get married."

I raise my eyebrows, watching her as she takes a french fry from her to-go box before closing it. "Mmm..." she hums, lowering her voice as she says, "Apparently, I wasn't the right kind of brown for him." *Wow...okay.*

"I know. It's so dumb. He's Indian too, and he was supposed to marry this girl that his parents picked for him." She rolls her eyes, waving her hand as she adds enthusiastically, "But he met me, and we didn't care. We're happy." "Aww. Well, that's good. I'm happy for you," I say sincerely. Mirroring Krina's movements, I grab my things and stand from my seat before following behind her, out of the restaurant and to her black Ford SUV.

I hop into the passenger seat, offering to hold her purse and box in my lap as she hops in the driver's seat.

"But seriously, Elys, you need a man," she reiterates. "You're too pretty to be single."

*I'm also too hung up over my past to be with someone right now.*

I have to refrain from rolling my eyes at my own sarcastic thoughts, attempting to change the subject as I ask, "So, how many kids do you have?"

"Three," she sighs. "A fifteen-year-old boy, eleven-year-old girl, and a nine-year-old boy. They're a handful. I told my husband we should've gotten dogs instead." She laughs. "I'm kidding. I love them, even when they drive me crazy." I smile softly, telling her, "I can only imagine. Raising my Saint Bernard puppy was a lot of work. I can't fathom having three human children."

"Mhmm!" She nods, clicking her tongue before asking, "How many kids do you want?"

*Ugh...*

Her question makes me pause, my mind wandering to thoughts of Cade. "I'm not sure," I reply carefully. "I guess I haven't given it much thought recently."

The truth is that I hadn't thought about having a family of my own since after Cade and I broke up. We had made plans for our future, and after he left, I stopped thinking about it. It's not that I wouldn't like to have a family of my own someday. It's that I imagined my life with him, and I haven't been able to imagine my life without him.

I had allowed myself to become all about him. I made plans and every single one of them involved him.

Sometimes I like to sit back and try to remember what my life was like before him, and it almost feels not worth remembering. The life that I was living before him isn't a life that I'm proud of. I had a very different mindset, and while it didn't seem detrimental at the time, in hindsight, I wish I'd have made different choices.

Ultimately, I suppose it's not *really* regret. If I would've chosen differently, I probably wouldn't have met him.

Between small-talk and the walk to the office floor's kitchen refrigerator, Krina thanks me again for having helped her and asks me to place her food in the fridge while she steps in the restroom.

There's still fifteen minutes of the lunch hour left, and as much as I would like to spend the rest of it reading a book, I instead find myself sitting back at my desk. Unsurprisingly, I'm the first from my team back from lunch. Well, that is unless you include Cade-who I'm pretty sure never takes lunch breaks.

My eyes lock with his as I glance over the monitors in front of me, and my heart flutters. For the first time since I started working here, I don't feel like a stranger is looking back at me. For the first time, I don't feel so unwanted.

I offer him a tentative smile and avert my gaze to the monitors, shooting Krina a sideways glance as she returns to her desk. The rest of the team eventually find themselves back from lunch, and the hours that pass consist of a 30-minute team meeting, light chatter, and the occasional eye-contact with Cade.

After we spoke at the parking garage last night, I kept trying to figure out how I'm supposed to help him. I tried to read up on everything hypnosis while I laid in bed, and nothing I found seems remotely helpful.

What's worse is that there's no public record of whatever hypnotherapy Treatment #3427' is. I suppose that's the point of having kept his file in the NSA system.

For all I know, it may have permanently altered his mind and nothing I do will change that.

*Maybe he's bound to hate me for the rest of his life...*

It almost seems as though time's gone faster than it usually does, and while the rest of the team say their goodbyes, I wrap up the lab configuration that I'm working on and make my way to the elevator.

Cade walking with me to the parking garage twice may have been a coincidence, but I refuse to believe that it happening again-*now*-isn't something he'd planned all along.

Just as before, he times it perfectly, meeting me at the walkway to the elevator. We walked beside each other. The line of professionalism has been well drawn, both of us holding our silence until the elevator doors open and we emerge into the garage.

Not so coincidentally, I yet again, find his car parked beside my own.

*Is he planning to corner me again?*

"I'd like to see you this evening," he says abruptly. I nearly stumble, caught off guard.

"Oh, um, okay. Where should I meet you?" I ask as I come to a halt before my car, eyeing him as he turns to face me with one hand drawn in his pocket while the other holds his backpack.

"I'll come to you," he tells me.

*Like, to where I live? To my apartment?!*

"Uh...I—"

"I'll be there at 8." He doesn't let me respond, turning away from me and hopping into his car.

*Okay...this is good. *

...

*Maybe.*

As he has twice before, he waits until I'm safely in my car before he drives off, leaving me with an anxious foot that refuses to stop jumping.

I knew that upon agreeing to help him, it would involve having to spend time with him. After all, how else am I supposed to trigger memories or whatever it is that he's expecting from me if not for passing time with him on a personal level?

It begs the question: why? Why does he want to remember? Does he want to remember because he wants to try to make sense of what's in his head now? Does he want to remember because he'd like to stick it to his dad?

Or does he want to remember because he cares about the truth, despite what his current feelings may be for me?

I supposed that ultimately, it doesn't matter. However, I can't help but wonder if my own desires and emotions in this are a form of self-sabotage. Should I have any expectations? Am I setting myself up for disappointment?

I wish that I weren't so conflicted by the idea of him magically remembering all of the reasons why he used to love me. I don't know what I'm supposed to do if he does.

*I can't go through this again. I don't think I'll survive. *

While the rational part of me reminds me that the possibility is far-fetched, I can't help but wonder if I'll be prepared.

I wish that I knew what the probability of him remembering all of it is. I'd be much more comfortable if I braced myself with statistical outcomes than being so blindsided by the lack of data. Evidently, I rest easy being able to see the world through a lens of numbers.

*It kills me to want to see the world numerically.*

"I'm gonna cry," I say to myself as I start my car. I inhale sharply, audibly whispering, "Cries in Korean."