The day I found my fiancé, he had lost his memory, and another girl was standing beside him.
I didn't tell him who I was. I said I was his younger sister.
He sold fish on a small island. I helped him clean the fish, pack them up, and greet customers. He and that girl were getting married at the end of the month, and I smiled and wished them happiness.
He asked, “Little sister, who gave you the ring on your hand?”
I said, “Someone who is gone.”
He didn't know that the person who was “gone” was him.
He didn't know I'd been looking for him for three years.
He didn't know I didn't have much time left.
I had only two months.
These twenty-seven days were the last stolen moments of my life, spent with him.
Dedicated to the memory of a farewell that could never be spoken aloud.
