“Sometimes the past doesn't come back all at once — 
it returns in fragments tucked in between photos,
flavours and the silence in between.”
***** ***** ***** *****
“I have good news, guys,” Raelynn said, unable to stop the smile from blooming across her face.
She had just settled herself on an empty bench in the hospital’s garden. The early afternoon sun warmed her back while the breeze played gently with her hair. She could occasionally hear the sound of wind chimes coming from the children’s ward and it soothes something within her.
Under this blue sky, it made her feel easier to breathe.
She had excused herself from Kayden’s room about fifteen minutes ago, letting him rest after having him interact with her sister. Speaking of her, Freya had agreed to leave early to fetch his clothes from his apartment, very confident about Kayden being released today. And, with a pocket of quiet finally available, Raelynn had jumped on the chance to call their friends.
The screen lit up with familiar faces one by one — Mace’s camera showing a chaotic hotel room backdrop, Ellie sitting cross-legged at the foot of a bed while drying her hair with a towel, and Micah — who looked like he had just escaped a war zone — slumped on a chair of his workplace’s break room with a water bottle in hand and a box of food right in front of him on the table.
“Hey Rae… What’s up?” Mace’s voice greeted her first.
They all responded with the usual chorus of greetings and cheerful noise, but before they could slip into usual banter, Raelynn leaned closer to the camera, her voice dipping with significance.
“Like I said, I have good news…” Her smile widened more as she couldn’t wait to see their reaction. “Well… Kayden told me that if his condition is good enough, he might be discharged today.”
The silence that followed was instant and palpable. A beat of stunned quiet passed between them — jaws slack, eyes wide.
Then—
“No way!” Mace barked first, body unconsciously jolted upright on the bed — nearly dropping the fruit bowl in his lap. His face nearly filled the screen as he squinted in disbelief. “Are you serious?! Today?!”
“Oh my god!” Ellie screamed next, a delighted shriek as she flung the towel off her head and launched herself onto the bed. Her tablet — the one that she brought with her every time she had to fly out of the country because of her job — wobbled in her hands as she tried to keep it upright, but the smile on her face was so wide it nearly split her in two.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! That’s amazing!”
Micah — the last to process — blinked slowly, exhaustion briefly forgotten. He sat up straighter, brushing a hand through his short hair. “Wait — like, for real? They’re letting him go home already?”
Raelynn nodded, trying not to laugh at their stunned expressions. “Dr. Charles said if everything looks good through the afternoon, he’ll sign the papers and let him go today.”
Mace let out a whoop and threw a pillow into the air — almost caught the fruit bowl in the process. “Let’s goooo! My man’s walking free!”
“He’s not walking anywhere yet, genius,” Ellie laughed, rolling her eyes.“He still has a broken arm.”
“Okay, hobbling free, then! I’ll take it! I can’t wait for my business trip to be over! I wanna meet Kayden, man!”
Micah chuckled low under his breath, the sound quieter than the others, but just as full of relief. “He really pulled through…”
Raelynn’s smile softened, her gaze dropping for a second. “Yeah… he did.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She hummed. “It still feels surreal sometimes. Seeing him awake. Hearing him speak. But he’s trying so hard, you guys. He really is. Even if he doesn’t remember much.”
There was a quiet beat, the kind that only old friends shared — the kind filled with unspoken understanding.
Ellie sat up slowly, her voice gentler now. “Is he going to stay at his apartment then?”
Raelynn shook her head. “No. I told him that he will stay with my family for the time being. He tried to argue about it but between me and Freya, he had no choice but to agree. Also, Mom’s already getting the guest room ready.”
Micah leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing for a second like he was letting the news fully sink in. “That’s good…” He dipped his head in agreement. “He needs people around him right now. People who won’t give up on him.”
“We never would,” Mace said immediately, his voice serious for once. “Not ever.”
“Damn right,” Ellie echoed. “When he’s ready — even if it takes months — we’ll all be there. Even though we are busy with work and stuff, we’ll stay. Like we always have been.”
Raelynn felt the lump rise in her throat before she could stop it, but she swallowed it down, and let herself laugh through the emotion instead.
“Yeah, just like how he was with us. Just wait until he remembers you guys properly,” she said, brushing the edge of her sleeve against her cheek.
Micah cracked a smile. “Of course. I can’t wait to nag at him for not looking left and right before crossing. And then, annoy the hell out of him so much that he feels like he wants to smack me with one of his hard cover books.”
“Oh god,” Ellie groaned. “I remembered that. You annoyed him so much that time, and he took that book of his, and managed to smack your head once!”
“And he tried to go for a second round before Rae stopped him!” Mace butted in.
Laughter filled the group again — not loud, but full. Whole. The kind that filled the spaces between them despite the distance.
And as Raelynn watched them through the screen — this mismatched, ridiculous, deeply loyal group of people — she thought of Kayden lying upstairs, probably sleeping or staring outside of the window again, and felt something in her chest settle.
He was going to be okay.
They all were.
***** ***** ***** *****
Kayden lay on the bed, still and gentle, letting the afternoon light slant through the half covered window in soft gold. The sheets were slightly rumpled around him, a reminder of how long he had been there — unmoving, thinking or trying not to think — heʼs not exactly sure.
He had excused himself earlier, slipping away from the comforting noise of Raelynn’s family with a hushed apology and a hand to his temple. The dull throb behind his eyes had started to blossom more — the kind of headache that felt like it was trying to tug something loose inside his skull, pulsing with each second of him not taking the painkiller. Not sharp, but persistent. 
It is slowly becoming a familiar territory now.
As soon as he had arrived at the guest room, he had taken two painkillers from the small prescription bottle Dr. Charles had provided — popped them into his mouth, and washed them down with a glass of water he’d brought up from the kitchen earlier. The glass now sat on the nightstand beside him, half full, catching the light in slow ripples.
It had been exactly thirty minutes since.
Kayden lay flat on his back, one arm stayed beside his body, and the other resting on his stomach, fingers gently curling and uncurling. The room was cool — the steady hum of the air conditioning overhead filling the silence in a way that wasn’t unpleasant. The ceiling above was a soft shade of pale blue — the same colour as the walls — blank and still. He had memorized the way the plaster curved at the corners, the faint crack near the right side. He watched it like it might change.
Like it might tell him something.
His eyes drifted closed eventually — not exactly strong enough to fight the effect of drowsiness from the meds or maybe the stillness in the room.
Until—
Ding.
The notification tone pierced the stillness like a single drop in a calm lake. His eyes flew open. Kayden didn’t exactly remember when he had fallen asleep but the ceiling above was suddenly too bright for his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to readjust his sight while groaning softly as he shifted. His body felt leaden — a mix of lingering drowsiness from the medicine, and the slow fatigue that never seemed to fully leave him since waking from the coma.
Kayden sat up slowly, mindful of the dull stiffness in his healing arm. With some effort and careful movement, he reached for a pillow, and tucked it behind his back, leaning into the headboard with a careful exhale.
The notification tone chimed again.
His phone.
It lay face-up on the nightstand right between the glass and a pot of baby breath flowers. The screen lights up briefly with another alert before going dark again.
He hadn’t touched it yet.
Raelynn had given it to him the first time he had stepped into this house. Her voice was careful but steady. “This is yours…” she’d said, holding the device out like it was something precious. “The hospital gave it to me when you were admitted. I changed your screen protector since it was cracked — but don’t worry, I didn’t peek.”
Her smile then had been small, almost apologetic — but warm, the kind that made him feel like he could breathe easier.
He had taken the phone from her hold gently, thanking her in a voice barely above a whisper. And since then… it had just sat there. He didn’t know what to do with it. What he wanted to do with it. Before, the idea of seeing pieces of a life he couldn’t remember felt like holding glass — too fragile to grasp carelessly, too dangerous if he dropped it.
Now, though, curiosity stirred.
Especially after what had transpired during breakfast.
Kayden reached for the phone with his left hand — slower than usual — and held it carefully. He examined it — the device with its casing was black in colour and it had a sleek design. It felt familiar and foreign all at once, like muscle memory and amnesia had decided to share custody. His thumb hovered over the screen before he pressed the power button, illuminating the lock screen.
A six-digit passcode box blinked up at him.
He frowned. No clue.
But a second later, the phone shifted slightly in his hand — scanning his face automatically — and unlocked with a muted click. The screen opened without resistance.
He blinked, clearly forgetting about the face-recognition system in smartphones nowadays. “Huh…”
A small, triumphant hum escaped his lips. “Still got it,” he murmured under his breath, the corner of his mouth quirking.
He stared at the home screen for a long moment, letting his eyes sweep across it.
A photo of a night sky captured in black and white. The image featured a crescent moon slightly off-center, glowing softly amid a scatter of faint stars and wispy clouds. The absence of color made the moment feel timeless, evoking solitude, stillness, and perhaps even the hush of something unspoken.
Kayden wondered where it had been taken. Or why he had chosen it.
The app layout looked simple and intuitive enough, but something about the arrangement of it all — the playlists saved in his music app, the folders labeled Important and Recipes To Try — hinted at a man he didn’t quite recognize yet. Someone with preferences. With routines. With favorite things.
He looked at the Photo app and gently tapped it, thumb hesitating for a second before it opened. The screen lit up to reveal five main folders — All Photos, Camera, Videos, Friends, and one that made his breath catch a little:
Maman.
His gaze lingered on that last folder for a moment, but he didn’t open it — not yet, he told himself. Something about it felt sacred, like a door he wasn’t quite ready to walk through. Instead, he tapped on Camera.
The first image that greeted him was a close-up of a kitten — small, with black fur, too-big blue eyes and ears, and a visible frailty in its tiny body. Its face was turned upward, looking at the camera with its mouth half opened, and resting against a soft blanket. The kitten looked sick, delicate. Vulnerable.
He was confused.
Raelynn hadn’t mentioned anything about him having a pet.
His brows furrowed as he swiped to the next one, and then the next — seven in total. Each photo was dated day by day. The last was a dimly lit image of the kitten curled into itself, sleeping in a small cardboard box lined with towels in a car which he assumed was his. Something about the soundless finality of that image told him all he needed to know.
The kitten hadn’t lived long.
Kayden let the phone rest against his thigh for a second. His breath slowed as he could feel his chest tightened — his eyes burned like something fragile also had lodged on his throat. He hadn’t told anyone about it, apparently. Maybe he didn’t have the heart to. Maybe it had hurt too much so he kept silent. 
Somehow, he felt that more than he knew it — like the kind of quiet grief you carry silently because saying it aloud might undo you. Might make people realise you were already on your last leg.
He picked up the phone again, this time with a bit more care, and swiped to the next batch.
Photos of food appeared — beautifully plated dishes under warm kitchen lighting. Some looked rustic, others almost gourmet. There was a rhythm to them, a sense of joy and focus in the way they’d been captured. 
Is this homemade?
Did he cook this?
Were what he wondered.
The thought felt warm, grounding. He could feel a faint flicker of pride threading through the fog. “I guessed that’s why there was a folder named ‘Recipes To Try’,” he mused to himself.
There were other photos too — shots of the sky, soft clouds lit gold by sunrise or sunset, or the moon between clouds or rooftops. Then night skies filled with stars or framed between building silhouettes. He could almost feel the stillness of those nights again. The cold wind danced along his skin — the kind where he’d stepped outside and just… looked up.
Then a photo of him and Raelynn — taken in a cafe slash bakery. He was holding a paper bag filled with breads and pastries alike while she wore a flour-streaked apron. She had taken the photo herself, one hand outstretched to frame them both. Her eyes sparkled. His expression was relaxed, content.
Maybe that’s where she works, he guessed. Maybe he was visiting her. The moment captured felt safe.
Curious now, Kayden tapped the Friends folder.
It opened to a mosaic of snapshots — messy, alive, real. Him with Mace and Ellie. Raelynn. Micah too — still trying to suffocate him in his bear hug. Most photos here during their college days, full of motion — someone mid-laugh, someone reaching across a table, someone holding a sparkler in one hand and a drink in the other. There were beach outings, karaoke nights, board game nights. The recent photo showed all of them at a restaurant, leaning into each other, mid-toast, with a cake half-cut on the table. Probably a birthday.
Kayden leaned in, trying to recognize the details of each photo. There were flickers — half-memories that danced just out of his reach. Some tugged on his brain, making him visualise the clink of a glass, the sound of someone shouting his name, and laughter echoing through a hallway. Some feelings returned, but most of it was like trying to remember a dream you had already begun to forget.
He stared at their faces, willing himself to remember more.
But, nothing really happened.
Then finally, he tapped Maman.
His heart slowed as the folder opened. The weight of it settled across his chest — heavy, still, reverent.
He started from the beginning.
The first photo was grainy, clearly old — his mother sitting on a couch in their living room, smiling with dimples showing on both cheeks. Her curls were loose, wild around her shoulders while her eyes were full of life. There were photos of her in the garden next — holding tomatoes, showing off other vegetables that she planted. She sent photos of food, of skies, of little mundane moments. Each one was like a tiny thread stitching their lives together across time and space.
The images began to change.
In the more recent ones, her face looked thinner. Her hair had disappeared beneath scarves. The light in her eyes remained, but her smile was gentler now — more tired around the edges. There were photos of her sitting in what looked like a hospital bed, still flashing peace signs to the camera — the only pose that she used in most photos that he had of her.
And then the last one.
She was still in a hospital bed, propped by a pillow behind her back. A dark brown scarf tied around her head, hospital gown tucked around her tiny frame. Her skin was pale, cheeks slightly sunken, but she was smiling. Genuinely. Bravely. As if to say, Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m still here. I’m still me.
Kayden’s thumb hovered over the screen.
He traced the outline of her form with his eyes, trying to memorise every detail — the slope of her cheek, the gentle smile that she always wore, the way her hands were folded in her lap, the tilt of her head. He felt it again, something raw rise in his throat — that tightening in his chest he’d ignored earlier now becoming impossible to push away.
That’s why he knew.
He had felt it.
The quiet kind of grief you carried silently.
Because he had endured it once — with his mother
The same way he had with the kitten.
His voice cracked when he spoke.
“I’m sorry for forgetting you, Maman...” he whispered, the ache laced thick in his words. His thumb brushed the edge of her face on the screen. “I’ll try to remember you back. You can count me on that.” 
The silence in the room deepened.
Outside, the wind moved softly past the window, and for a moment — just a moment — Kayden swore he could feel her presence. Not as a memory, but as something else. A breath in the silence.
A warmth in the stillness.