What We Don't Say
The moment dinner ended, Lex cornered her in the hallway—far from Eleanor's polite laughter and Sky's oblivious charm.
"Muri," he said, low and sharp. "We need to talk. Now."
She turned, arms folded. "What's the matter, Lex? Not used to being left out?"
His jaw clenched. "You're with Sky? Since when?"
"Since a few weeks ago," she replied coolly. "It's not a crime to move on."
"You disappeared," he snapped. "No word. No explanation. And now you walk back into my life, acting like I'm a stranger and dating my brother?"
She stepped forward, eyes suddenly stormy. "What behavior is this, Lex? You think you can question me like I owe you something?"
He didn't back down. "I think something happened. Before you left. And now you're acting like it meant nothing."
Muri's expression faltered—just for a second.
Then she looked away.
"What happened a month ago…" she said quietly, "I can't remember."
Lex blinked. "What do you mean?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she straightened, voice controlled. "I had an accident. I don't know the details. I don't want to talk about it. But whatever you think we had—if it mattered so much, why didn't you come after me?"
He swallowed hard. "Because you told me not to."
"And I meant it." Her voice was softer now, tinged with something almost like sorrow. "But now I'm here. And I'm not the same. So stop trying to make me fit back into a memory I don't have."
Lex stared at her, stunned. For the first time, he saw it—something behind her mask. Confusion. Pain. Maybe even fear.
But before he could speak, Muri turned and walked away—back toward the warmth of Sky's smile.
Lex stood alone in the hallway, heart racing with a single, brutal truth:
She didn't remember.
But he did.