I step in, trying to lighten the mood. “It was funny the way Gabe tried Indian curry for the first time at the conference and choked on the spices. He was sweating for a whole hour after that.”

“Damn, my mouth was on fire and you laughed throughout it all,” Gabe complains.

Both Gabe and I are trying to stick as close to the truth as possible. I did meet Gabe at a conference. I attended an architecture and interior design conference with Damien a few months after I started working for him. We weren’t dating at that time, but we had become friends. Gabe attended that conference as well and that’s where we were introduced. I study Damien carefully to check if there’s a slight glimmer of anything coming back to him but there’s nothing. He’s simply watching the two of us.

I turn to Gabe. “Seriously, Gabe, how could you not have tried any Indian food ever before that? England is filled with so many Indians. And to think you love it now.”

Gabe snorts. “I don’t love Indian food. I only can manage eating it now.”

“Oh, is it? And that’s why you text me to cook you Chicken Biryani every time you’re boarding the flight from London to Mumbai?”

He lifts his hands up. “Fine. Guilty as charged. I love your Chicken Biryani.” He turns to Damien. “Her Biryani is out of this world.”

“Is that right?” Damien raises his brows.

“Maybe someday you’ll get to try it to know for yourself.”

He tilts his head to the side, studying me intently. “Perhaps, I will.”

Gabe asks him a question and the two of them launch into a discussion on the political affairs of Britain. Every few seconds, Damien’s gaze rests on me. We stare at each other until he looks away again. This repeats throughout his conversation with Gabe. What does he see when he looks at me? Why is he observing me so frequently? Does a little part of him remember me in some way and is that why he can’t look away? Or am I just a stranger to him and he’s only curious about me?

I love this man so much and it hurts my chest so hard to think that he considers me as a stranger, a friend’s friend. Once again, I ask myself if what we had was ever true. Because if he did love me then how could he forget me? This question has plagued me since the moment I found out about his amnesia. I sip my wine for fortitude. All my internal conflict is irrelevant because I have to bring him back. I have to make him remember.