Betrayal After Retrieved Memories

In the deep autumn of Y Country, the streets carried the osmanthus fragrance, mingled with the scent of dust. Clutching the medicine I had just bought, I collided with that man at the alley's entrance. He wore a dark coat mottled with stains, a faint scrape on his temple, and his eyes were hollow—like a ship adrift, lost without an anchor. "Are you alright?" I instinctively stopped, my voice as soft as a leaf falling onto his shoulder. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed slightly, his tone empty with confusion: "I... who am I?" At that moment, pity flooded my heart like a tide breaking through a dam, and without much thought, I reached out my hand. "Come home with me first—we can't just stay here like this." He paused for a moment, but eventually yielded to my pull and followed quietly behind me. I gave her a temporary name—Jim. My small apartment wasn't large, yet it was enough to hold two lonely souls. He spoke little, yet silently helped me clear the table and handed me a warm cup of milk when I painted deep into the night. The days in Y Country moved slowly, slowly enough for us to count the tenderness in each other's eyes. He would accompany me to the market to choose paints, watching as I sprayed murals on the old alley walls. I taught him to recognize the plants of Y Country, holding his hand when he occasionally drifted away. I don't know when it began, but when we walk side by side down the street, our fingers instinctively intertwine. The first kiss happened beneath the starry sky of Y Country, carrying the sweet scent of osmanthus wine. He held me close, his voice earnest: "No matter who I am, I want to be with you." That moment together has lasted five years. In those five years, we filled our small apartment with the breath of life, walls covered with the portraits I painted of him. He would remember that I never eat cilantro, remember my fear of the dark, remember every small and scattered preference of mine. One snowy night, he knelt on one knee, holding a ring carved from the jade of Y Country. "Once we save enough money, we'll have a wedding." He said he would take me to see the sea, to the city of art I had always dreamed of. He promised I could paint in peace, never having to struggle for a living again. I believed him, my heart full of joy as I awaited the fulfillment of all his promises. Everything changed on the morning he received that unknown phone call. The voice on the other end was faint, yet his face immediately drained of color. "I think... I'm starting to remember something." He held the phone, his fingertips icy cold. He was going back to his homeland—the place he had forgotten for five years. On the day he left, he held me tight, repeating over and over, "Wait for me, I will definitely come back for you." I stood on the port of Y Country, watching the ship he boarded slowly sail away, my eyes full of hope. But what I was waiting for was not his return, but the news of his engagement. On the phone screen, he wore a bespoke suit, standing beside Linda Scott, the heiress of the Scott family, her smile polite yet distant. I bought a ticket overnight to return home and rushed to the door of his villa. He opened the door, but the warmth in his eyes was gone, replaced only by cold indifference. "Why are you here?" His tone was that of someone addressing a stranger. "Jim Shawn, please tell me, what on earth is going on?" My voice trembled as I grasped his sleeve, refusing to let go. He forcefully shook off my hand, his tone icy: "The past is nothing but a mistake after my amnesia." "A mistake?" I stared at him in disbelief, as if the five years of deep love had been turned into a cruel joke. From that day forward, his attitude toward me changed completely, often marked by cold and biting words. I remained in this city, clinging to the faintest traces of my illusions, unwilling to let go easily. But reality dealt me a harsh blow—I caught him intimately close with another woman. It was in an upscale restaurant, where he tenderly cut the steak for the woman, his gaze brimming with the intimacy that once belonged only to me. I hid in the corner, my heart pierced by countless needles, aching so painfully that I could hardly breathe. I confronted him, but he confessed without a trace of remorse, "I am now the Scott family's future son-in-law; I was just playing you before." What devastated me even more was that he had begun bringing his companions to the villa we once dreamed of sharing. One time, I arrived early to deliver something, and as I opened the door, I was confronted with a painful scene.