Chapter 8: The Hollow Echo
POV: Celestia
JC and Lala left almost at the same time.
No dramatic goodbyes. No hugs. Just a quiet, awkward shuffle of feet and mumbled words as they exited the room together—like they couldn't leave fast enough.
The door clicked shut behind them, and silence rushed in.
It wasn't the peaceful kind. It was the kind that lingered too long. The kind that sat on my chest, heavy and pressing, like something unfinished had been left hanging in the air.
I stared at the ceiling, tracing the slow rotation of the ceiling fan. One blade was slightly chipped. Funny, the things I noticed now that my world was reduced to this small hospital room.
Then it hit me.
A tight, sudden ache in my chest.
Not pain exactly—at least not the physical kind. But something deeper. A sharp throb of emotion that had no name. It felt… old. Familiar. Like an echo from a place I couldn't reach.
I pressed my hand lightly against my ribs.
"What is this?" I whispered to no one.
The silence didn't answer.
My throat tightened. My eyes burned, but I wasn't crying. Not yet. It was the kind of feeling that comes before the tears. That strange, empty ache that fills you when something is gone, even when you don't know what it is.
Why did it hurt like this?
Why did their footsteps walking away feel like something breaking inside me?
I sat up slowly in bed, the motion making my head throb lightly, like a warning. But I didn't care.
"I don't understand," I murmured. "I don't understand anything."
Was I always like this? This… lost?
I ran my fingers through my hair and let my palm rest over my eyes.
Who am I really?
They told me my name is Celestia. That I'm kind. Sarcastic sometimes. Blind, yes, but independent. Strong. That I had a boyfriend. A best friend. A life.
But none of it felt like mine.
It was like listening to someone else's story and pretending it belonged to me.
I leaned back against the pillows and spoke aloud, to the quiet:
"What kind of person was I?"
No one answered. Just the soft hum of the air conditioning, and the beep of the heart monitor beside me.
"What kind of things did I do?"
What made JC love me?
What made Lala stay?
And more importantly—what made them look so guilty?
JC was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. And Lala… she couldn't even look at me. Like I was some kind of ghost from a nightmare she didn't want to face.
My chest tightened again.
"There's something they're not telling me."
The words fell like stones from my mouth.
"There's something wrong."
I don't know why, but I knew it. Deep in my gut.
It wasn't just the amnesia. It wasn't just the awkward conversations. It was something else—something darker. Like there was a crack in the truth they were feeding me. And the more I listened, the more I felt myself slipping through it.
Maybe that's why my memory won't come back.
Maybe it's protecting me.
That thought stopped me cold.
Was it possible? That my own mind was trying to keep me safe by forgetting?
I shifted in the bed and let my arms wrap around my knees.
"What did I go through?" I asked the walls. "What kind of life did I have… that forgetting it feels like mercy?"
I didn't want to think badly of the people around me. But JC felt… fake. Like a character reciting lines. And Lala—my best friend—she looked like a prisoner inside her own body.
And the way she flinched when he said he cared about me…
The ache in my chest twisted again.
I reached for the notebook on the side table—the one the nurse gave me to write down thoughts, names, anything that might help my memory.
I opened a clean page and wrote in shaky handwriting:
There's a hole in my past.
And I think they're trying to fill it with lies.
I stared at the words. Then wrote again.
Lala looks scared.
JC looks too calm.
One of them is hiding something.
Maybe both.
The pen lingered in my hand. I didn't want to stop.
I don't know what I lost.
But I'm starting to believe
It was more than just memory.
I shut the notebook softly and placed it back on the table.
I didn't cry. I didn't panic. But inside, the questions buzzed louder and louder, like bees behind glass.
What happened to me?
And why does it feel like I'm the last person who's allowed to know?