Riley looked smaller in the hospital room than he had at the pumpkin patch.

Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the bed, the pale walls, the thin blanket folded beside him, the quiet beeping somewhere down the hall. Maybe hospitals had a way of making everyone look younger than they were, stripping people down to fear and exhaustion until they became the child version of themselves again.

He looked up when I stepped inside with Milo's little gray dinosaur pressed against my chest, and for one second, the relief on his face nearly took me apart.

"Hi, Romeo," I whispered.

His eyes filled with tears before he could hide them. He looked down quickly, but not fast enough.

"Hi, Juliet," he said.

The words were quiet and shaky and so familiar that my heart didn't know whether to break or heal.

I walked toward him slowly and held up the stuffed dinosaur. "Milo wanted you to know Pumpkin is waiting too."

Riley stared at the dinosaur for a second.

Then he laughed.

Not loudly. Not fully. Just a small, wet sound that got caught somewhere in his throat.

"He named it Pumpkin?"

"Of course he did." I said.

Riley took the dinosaur carefully, like it was more fragile than fabric and stuffing. He set it on his lap and looked down at it, brushing one thumb over its bent little arm. "Is he okay?"

"Milo?"

He nodded.

I sat in the chair beside the bed. "He's confused. And scared. But he wanted me to tell you he's not mad."

Riley closed his eyes. His jaw tightened.

"He said that?"

"Yeah."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he wiped it away quickly. "I don't deserve him."

"Riley."

"I don't."

"You do."

He shook his head, still looking at the dinosaur. "I don't remember being his brother."

"But you are."

"I know."

"And he knows."

Riley swallowed hard.

"He asked if you were going to die."

The words hurt leaving my mouth, but I said them because I thought Riley needed to know. Not to punish him. Not to make him feel worse. But because Milo's love was simple and honest and scared, and maybe Riley needed to understand that even the person who understood the least still wanted him here.

Riley's face crumpled. "Oh."

There it was again.

That tiny, devastated word.

"I know," I whispered.

"I didn't mean to scare him."

"I know."

"I didn't mean to scare any of you."

I stared at him.

His hands tightened around the dinosaur.

"I don't remember writing those notes," he said. "I don't remember getting in the car that night with that in my head. I don't remember deciding anything. But I read it, and everyone looked at me like..." He stopped and shook his head. "Like I died anyway."

My throat tightened. "They were scared."

"I know."

"They love you."

"I know that too."

His voice cracked on the last word.

For a while, neither of us spoke. The room felt too quiet around us, full of things neither of us knew how to hold yet. I looked at his hands around Milo's dinosaur and noticed they were trembling slightly.

"Did the doctor help?" I asked.

Riley let out a slow breath. "I think so."

"That's not a very confident answer."

"It's the only one I have."

I nodded.

He looked at me then. Really looked. His eyes were red, and there were shadows beneath them, but there was something else there too. Something fragile.

"I remembered something."

My heart stopped. For one second, everything inside me went still. "What?"

Riley looked down at Pumpkin again.

"I remembered something," he repeated, as if saying it twice made it more believable.

My hands curled around the edges of the chair. I wanted to ask a thousand questions. What did he remember? Was it clear? Was it about his family? About the accident? About the journal? About me? But the doctor's voice came back to me.

Don't quiz him. Let the memories come as they come.

So I stayed quiet.

Riley looked up at me.

"It was about you."

My breath caught.

He saw it. Of course he did. He always saw too much, even now.

"I don't know when it happened," he said quickly. "I mean, I know we were younger. Maybe fifteen? Sixteen? I don't know exactly. It came back in pieces while I was talking to the doctor. He asked me about safe places, and I thought of..." Riley paused, brow furrowing slightly. "Rain."

My fingers tightened.

Rain.

"There was rain," he continued. "A lot of it. Not a storm exactly. Just heavy rain. The kind that makes everything look blurry through windows."

My chest tightened so hard it almost hurt.

I knew. I knew before he said anything else.

Riley stared at the floor like he was watching the memory happen there. "I was outside your house."

Tears filled my eyes instantly.

I pressed my lips together.

Don't interrupt. Let him have it. Let him find it.

"I had a red umbrella," he said softly.

A small, broken sound nearly escaped me, but I swallowed it.

The red umbrella. Fourteen. We had been fourteen.

He remembered. God, he remembered.

Riley's eyes narrowed a little, like he was trying to see through fog. "I was standing in your yard, and I was mad. No. Not mad." He shook his head. "Scared. I think I was scared."

"You were," I whispered.

His eyes flicked to mine. I immediately wished I hadn't spoken, but he didn't look upset. If anything, the confirmation seemed to steady him.

"I was scared because you weren't answering me."

I nodded slowly, tears blurring him.

"We fought," he said.

"Yeah."

"About something stupid?"

A laugh broke out of me, tiny and watery. "Probably."

He smiled faintly. "I don't remember what."

"Me neither."

His face softened at that. "You don't?"

"No."

"But you remember the day?"

"I remember you."

The room went quiet.

Riley stared at me for a second before looking down again. "I remember looking up at your window," he said. "I remember thinking you might see me and still not come down."

My heart ached. "I almost didn't."

His mouth curved, but it was sad. "That sounds like you."

I wiped beneath my eye quickly.

He kept going.

"Then the door opened."

The memory opened inside me too, but differently. Mine was clear and whole, worn smooth from years of carrying it. I remembered standing inside the front door, arms crossed, trying to look angrier than I was. Riley had stood at the bottom of the porch steps with rain hitting the top of that red umbrella, his shoes soaked, his hair damp around his face. He had looked irritated, but I knew now, listening to him remember, that he had been scared.

All these years, I had remembered the apology.

I had not remembered the fear.

"I said something," Riley murmured.

"You said I wouldn't answer you."

"Yeah." His brows pulled together. "And you said you were mad."

"I was."

"And I told you I noticed."

Despite the tears, I smiled. "You did."

Riley's own smile appeared for a second, so faint it almost wasn't there. "Then you told me to go home."

"Yes."

"I said no."

"You did." I nodded.

"I was annoying."

"You were very annoying." I agreed.

He looked at me then, and for one impossible heartbeat, there he was. Not completely. Not all of him. But a piece.

A real piece.

His eyes held mine, and the hospital room seemed to fade at the edges. "I remember you saying you hated me."

My smile crumpled.

"And I said..." His voice faltered.

My heart pounded.

He blinked, searching.

I didn't help him. I couldn't. I wanted him to find it himself.

Riley's lips parted, and then he whispered, "Love you too, Juliet."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

I nodded.

"Yeah," I breathed. "That's what you said."

He exhaled shakily. "I remembered that."

"You did."

"I remembered saying it."

I covered my mouth with one hand. Riley looked terrified suddenly, like the memory had given him something precious and he was afraid someone would take it back.

"It was real?"

I nodded quickly. "It was real."

"I didn't make it up?"

"No."

His eyes filled again. "It happened?"

"Yes."

A tear slid down his face. He looked down, and his voice became smaller. "I remember being cold."

I laughed softly through tears. "You were soaked."

"I remember your mom letting me in."

"She was not happy."

"She gave me a towel."

I smiled because I could see it. Mom standing in the hallway with her arms crossed, trying to look stern while handing Riley a towel because she had never been able to stay angry at him for long.

"Yeah."

Riley's hands tightened around the stuffed dinosaur. "I remember sitting on your bedroom floor."

My breath caught again.

The memory unfolded in me.

Him sitting cross-legged on my rug, hair wet, towel around his shoulders, looking far too satisfied for someone who had just walked through heavy rain because I refused to answer his texts. Me sitting in front of him with another towel in my hands, drying the ends of his hair while telling him he was the biggest idiot I had ever met.

"You dried my hair," he whispered.

My tears fell faster. "I did."

"You were still mad."

"Very."

"But you dried my hair anyway."

I nodded.

"I remember thinking that meant I was forgiven."

I let out a broken laugh. "You were not forgiven."

"No?"

"Not yet."

He looked at me, and for the first time since I walked into the room, his smile almost reached his eyes.

"How long did it take?"

"Maybe ten minutes."

"Generous of you."

"I'm very generous."

He breathed out something close to a laugh, but then his expression changed again. The softness remained, but sadness crept in around it.

"I remember falling asleep."

My entire body went still.

"Beside you."

I couldn't speak.

He looked at me carefully, like he was afraid of saying too much and not enough at the same time.

"Your blanket," he said. "It was... yellow?"

"Cream," I whispered.

"Cream," he repeated. "You told me I couldn't have it."

"You stole it."

"I remember that."

My laugh turned into a sob.

Riley's eyes filled as he watched me. "Autumn."

I shook my head quickly, trying to smile. "No, it's good. I'm okay."

"You're crying."

"I know."

"Is this good crying?"

I laughed again, and it hurt. "I don't know."

He looked down. "I'm sorry."

"No." I leaned forward in the chair, my hands clasped together so tightly my fingers hurt. "No, Riley. Don't apologize for remembering."

His eyes lifted.

"Please don't apologize for that."

He stared at me.

I tried to breathe around the ache in my chest.

"I've been telling you our memories for days," I whispered. "I've been handing them to you like maybe if I gave you enough, one would feel like yours again. And I know I wasn't supposed to expect it, but every time you didn't remember, it felt like..." I stopped, blinking through more tears. "It felt like losing you again."

Riley's face broke. "I'm sorry."

I almost smiled. "I just told you not to apologize."

"I know."

"You're terrible at listening."

"Apparently."

A little silence settled between us.

Beautiful. Painful.

Alive.

I looked down at my hands. "I remember that day too."

"The rain?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"What did you remember?"

I smiled sadly. "I remember being mad. I remember thinking you were ridiculous for showing up at my house in the rain. I remember telling you to go home and being secretly relieved when you didn't."

Riley watched me.

"I remember drying your hair and pretending I was still angry. I remember you stealing my blanket. I remember waking up later and realizing you had fallen asleep on the floor beside me because apparently walking through the rain to annoy me was exhausting."

His mouth curved.

"But I didn't remember that you were scared."

Riley's smile faded.

I looked at him.

"I didn't know that part."

He looked down at Pumpkin in his lap.

"I didn't either until now."

That sentence landed between us quietly.

The memory had changed for both of us. Mine had always been about Riley being stubborn. Riley being dramatic. Riley refusing to let one stupid fight last longer than a few hours.

But now it was also about fear. His fear. The fear that I would stay angry. The fear that I wouldn't open the door. The fear of losing me after one fight.

How strange, to learn something new from a memory I had carried for five years.

"I think I was always scared of losing you," he said.

My heart stopped.

Riley looked like the words had surprised him too. He stared at me, eyes wide, as if he wanted to take them back but couldn't.

I couldn't breathe. "What?"

He swallowed. "I don't know where that came from."

I stared at him.

His hands tightened around the dinosaur.

"I mean, I don't remember everything. I don't remember all of it. But when I think about that night, when I think about standing outside your house, I just..." His voice lowered. "I feel it."

I leaned forward slightly. "What do you feel?"

His eyes moved over my face.

Fear. Confusion. Tenderness. Something else he didn't have a name for yet.

"Like you mattered more than anyone else being mad at me."

My lips parted, but nothing came out.

Riley looked away quickly. "That probably sounds—"

"No." My voice broke. He looked back at me. "It doesn't."

I wanted to tell him everything.

I wanted to tell him that he had mattered that way to me too. That every fight with him had felt like the end of the world because losing Riley, even for six days, had been unbearable. I wanted to tell him that I had loved him through every stupid argument, every apology, every red umbrella and stolen blanket.

But I couldn't put that on him. Not now. Not after everything. So I only said, "You mattered that much to me too."

Riley's eyes softened. He looked down at our hands. They weren't touching. I noticed at the same time he did. For a second, I thought he might reach for me.

He didn't.

Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it wasn't.

"I don't know what to do with it," he admitted.

"The memory?"

He nodded. "It feels real. But it also feels... far away. Like I watched it happen through a window."

"That still counts."

"Does it?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

I thought about all the memories I had carried alone. All the times I had questioned whether they were enough if Riley couldn't share them. All the stories I had given him at the pumpkin patch. All the photographs on his wall.

"Because it came back to you," I said. "Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not completely. But it found you."

Riley stared at me.

"And that means something."

He nodded slowly.

"It found me," he repeated.

I smiled through tears. "Yeah."

He looked down at the little dinosaur in his lap. "Milo would be upset that the red umbrella memory came back before him."

I laughed. It surprised me.

Riley smiled. "He'll demand a memory next."

"He absolutely will." I agreed.

"Can you order memories?" He asked.

"No."

"That's unfortunate."

"He'll be disappointed."

"I'll apologize."

"You apologize too much."

Riley looked at me.

I froze.

Then he smiled faintly. "Did I say that before?"

My heart clenched. "Yeah."

"Recently?"

"Yes."

"Before too?"

"All the time."

He looked almost pleased by that. Another little thing. Another line crossing from past to present.

I wiped my face.

Riley watched me carefully. "Are you okay?"

I almost said yes. The lie sat on my tongue, familiar and easy. Then I remembered the doctor's words.

Honesty.

Safety in the present.

"No," I said softly. "But I'm glad."

Riley nodded like he understood. "I'm not okay either."

"I know."

"But I'm glad too."

I looked at him. He held my gaze.

"Because I remembered you."

My heart broke open. Not in the sharp way it had when he asked who I was. Not in the devastating way it had when I read the goodbye note.

This was different. This was grief with light inside it.

I stood before I thought about it. Riley looked up at me. For one second, I wasn't sure what I was doing. Then I stepped closer and held out my arms.

He froze. I did too.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I don't—"

Riley reached for me before I could finish. He wrapped his arms around my waist and leaned forward, his forehead pressing lightly against my stomach.

I stopped breathing.

Then my arms folded around his shoulders. He held onto me like he was afraid the memory might disappear if he didn't hold onto something real.

I looked down at his hair and closed my eyes.

He didn't remember everything. He didn't remember me completely. He didn't remember years of us. But he remembered rain. A red umbrella. My bedroom floor. The way I told him I hated him. The way he loved me back before either of us knew what kind of love it would become.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I held him tighter.

Outside the room, his family waited.

Inside the room, a memory had found him.

And for the first time since Riley opened his eyes and forgot me, I let myself believe that maybe not everything we had lost was gone forever.