I Waited For Her Even After She Forgot Me

She was more than just someone I admired.

She was my go-to person. My quiet. My reason to anticipate the following day. Aira.

Like my favorite song, her name resounds in my head to this day. I never want to forget her, not because I cannot. We met in the most routine of settings: in a quiet library, two strangers were sitting at opposite ends. She was reading a book by Sylvia Plath. I was secretly watching her smile at every poetic line while pretending to read Hemingway. She was aware. And rather than becoming enraged, She dragged a single-lined note across the table: "Bring me coffee at least if you like to stare at me." ☕

She was that. Aira.

a combination of sarcasm and tenderness. Feather and fire.

The Foundation of Everything: >

She became my every Sunday from that point on. 4:30 PM.

That park bench made of old wood. Her preferred location We didn’t do much—no expensive dinners or dramatic dates.

Merely sat there. Coffee in hand, laughter in the distance, and hearts in tune. She once said, “Love isn’t loud. It is kind. Like knowing you don't have to say anything when you sit next to someone." I thought that. I trusted her.

The Glimmering Light: >

Our three years together flew by like a dream. The pauses came next. She began forgetting small things.

To begin, where she kept her keys. The location where she parked her car next. The birthday of her mother was then missed. And eventually, She didn't know my name. She said with a nervous laugh, "I know I know you... but again, what's your name?" I grinned. “I’m the guy who brings coffee every Sunday.”

That night, she wept. I acted like I didn't notice. The diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's disease came quickly. Age: 29.

Cruel.

Life was like that. severing her mind in small pieces. But I stayed.

each and every day. I wasn't forced to. However, because I once promised her: "I'll never forget you, even if you forget me."

The Waiting Phase Has Begun: > I continued to bring coffee. remained seated on the same bench. She stopped regularly coming. She was sometimes escorted by her sister. She would look confused at me. Ask me,

“Do I know you?”

I’d nod.

"Once, you knew me more than anyone could have ever imagined." She once inquired, "Why do you continue to wait here?" I said, glancing over at the empty seat next to me. "Because this is where I found everything I ever needed... and I continue to believe she will return." She turned her head. But her hands were shaking. She shed a tear or two. In the depths of the earth, Her soul was aware of it. even though her brain didn't. ---

The Final Farewell: > Her sister called a month later. Aira had been transferred to a center for special care. Overly far. Too fragile. I was not permitted entry. Her condition had deteriorated. I nonetheless went to the park. each Sunday. same moment. The same bench I brought her favorite coffee.

It was beside me. Talked to the wind.

At times, people stared at me. Sometimes they smiled.

They looked down on me most of the time. But I didn’t care.

Because I wasn't sitting alone.

In my mind's eye, She was smiling, laughing, and drinking coffee all the time. Love does not always require being present. Sometimes all that is required is memory. ---

Final Thoughts: > It has been seven years. She doesn’t know me anymore.

Does not recall the coffee, the park, the bench, or the boy who loved her. But I recall. And perhaps... that’s enough.

I wait.

not because she is returning. But because some promises don’t die—

even when memories do.