Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 142: The Choice to Remember

Dr. Harris leaned back slightly, folding his hands together as he observed Billy — not clinically, but attentively. There was a calm to him. A steadiness that didn’t push, didn’t prod.

"So," he began, voice level, "I’ve gone over the results from your scan."

Billy sat quietly, hands folded in his lap. He nodded for the doctor to continue.

"There’s some swelling near the hippocampus and upper temporal lobe — the areas responsible for memory processing and recall. Given the trauma you experienced... it’s consistent."

Billy’s throat worked as he swallowed, but his gaze remained steady.

"Is it something that gets better on its own?" he asked softly.

Dr. Harris shook his head gently.

"In some cases, yes. But in yours, the swelling has calcified slightly — meaning it’s stable, but in the wrong way. It’s not getting worse, but it’s not improving either. Which is why you haven’t recovered your memory despite how much time has passed."

A quiet moment passed between them. Then Dr. Harris leaned forward slightly.

"There is a surgical option."

Billy nodded slowly.

"You mentioned that before. What exactly would it do?"

"It’s a non-invasive neuroendoscopic procedure. Think of it as gently easing pressure and inflammation in a very specific region. It won’t force memories back — that part is never guaranteed — but it could open the path."

Billy glanced down for a moment, then looked up again.

"And the risks?"

Dr. Harris’s expression remained careful but honest.

"As with any brain-related procedure... there are always risks. Headaches. Disorientation. In rare cases, a temporary loss of speech or spatial awareness. But we’re not cutting through brain matter. We’re working between folds, clearing blockages."

"And the chance of remembering?"

"About 60 to 70 percent. Sometimes all at once. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes... never."

Billy let that sit. Let it echo.

Then his voice, quiet but certain:

"I still want to do it."

Dr. Harris studied him a moment longer, then gave a small nod of approval.

"We can schedule it within the next two days. I’ll speak with your father later today — I know he’s eager to finalize things. But I’ll also make sure you’re the one calling the shots."

Billy gave a faint smile.

"Thank you."

"One more thing," Dr. Harris said, rising to grab a file, then placing it gently before Billy. "I’d like you to fill out these consent forms today.

Billy reached for the folder.

"I’ll read everything. Properly."

"Take your time," the doctor said, standing. "And Leon... whatever comes back to you, or doesn’t—memory isn’t everything. Who you are now... that still matters."

Billy looked up, meeting his eyes.

"I hope so."

Dr. Harris gave a kind smile, then quietly stepped out to give him privacy.

Billy was still holding the folder when Dr. Harris stepped back inside. His expression softened when he saw the form already signed.

"That was fast," he remarked gently.

Billy gave a small nod.

"I knew the answer before I walked in."

Dr. Harris accepted the file with a respectful nod.

"Thank you for your trust, Leon. We’ll take it from here."

He set the folder aside and sat back down.

"We’ll admit you today for observation. Nothing invasive — just baseline monitoring, a few neurological tests, vitals, rest. This allows us to better prepare and keep things safe."

Billy nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of it.

"How long before...?"

"The procedure will be scheduled for two days from now. I’ll have the surgical team ready. Between now and then, you’ll be under our care — and you’ll have full freedom within the ward, but we’ll monitor everything."

He paused.

"I’ll also speak with your sister. We’ll arrange for her to bring anything you need from home."

Billy gave a soft breath, as though the air felt heavier — not in fear, but because it was all becoming real now.

The room was private, clean, too white. A small table with fresh water. A spare blanket folded on the chair. His bag sat quietly in the corner.

He hadn’t unpacked it. He hadn’t touched anything.

Billy sat near the window, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped — as if holding the weight of something unseen.

Outside, the sky had turned pale blue — cloudless, unbothered.

A soft knock came at the door.

Camila peeked in with a faint smile.

"Hey."

Billy turned to her.

She walked in, holding a small tote bag.

"Brought your charger, some clothes... and your headphones. You always forget those."

Billy stood, reached for the bag, their hands brushing.

He didn’t say much. He just held her gaze and nodded.

"You’re okay?" she asked gently.

"Yeah I will be," he said.

"Do you want me to stay awhile?"

He looked around the room — then back at her.

"No. I think... I just want a bit of quiet."

She gave a small nod, her eyes flickering with understanding.

"Okay. But I’m just a call away."

She stepped closer, hugged him lightly, and whispered:

"You’re doing the hard thing, Leon. That’s the brave part."

Then she turned and left.

The door closed with a gentle click.

Billy turned back to the window. He slid onto the bed, leaned back slowly, one hand resting across his chest — over the sketchbook still tucked inside the side pocket of his bag.

He didn’t close his eyes.

Not yet.

The light in the room had softened to amber, casting warm hues across the sterile walls. Outside the window, the city moved on, distant and unbothered. Inside, everything felt... still.

Billy sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, his phone resting on his palm like a quiet weight.

He stared at the screen. At the number he’d dialed once before. Mark.

A long moment passed.

Then he pressed call.

The line rang once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?" Mark’s voice came through, familiar and calm — the kind of voice that settled something in Billy’s chest.

Billy let out a quiet breath.

"Hey. It’s... it’s me."

A pause. Then softer from the other end:

"Billy."

Just his name — nothing else needed.

"I hope it’s okay," Billy said. "Calling you like this."

"Of course it is," Mark replied gently. "You alright?"

Billy let his gaze fall to the floor.

"Yeah... I mean... I’m at the hospital."

A slight shift in Mark’s breath. But no panic. Just waiting.

"They admitted me today. I’m having the surgery. In two days."

Mark didn’t answer immediately. Then, quietly:

"Okay... I’m glad you told me."

Billy’s fingers toyed with the hem of the blanket.

"I’m not scared of the surgery," he said. "Not exactly. I just... "I’m scared I’ll wake up with nothing. Or worse — I’ll remember who I was... and forget who I’ve become here."

Mark’s voice softened further.

"You won’t forget this."

Billy closed his eyes.

"Can I ask something? Just in case I don’t... if I forget it all — the village, Dand, ... Artur..." "Could you remind me? Later? Even if it hurts. Even if I’m different."

A pause — quiet but full.

Then Mark answered, no hesitation in his voice.

"I’ll remind you of everything. The first time you helped Dand carry firewood. The night you caught a cold and still refused to stop working. The way Artur used to look at you when you weren’t watching."

Billy’s throat tightened.

"Thank you."

Mark’s voice dropped into a soft smile.

"You’re not alone, Billy. Even if you forget... we’ll still be here."

Billy pressed the phone closer to his ear, like holding on to warmth.

"Tell him I said hi."

"You sure you don’t want to talk to him yourself?"

Billy hesitated.

"No... not yet. I don’t think I can hear his voice without falling apart."

"I understand."

Another silence. But this one was peaceful.

"Thanks, Mark."

"Always. And Billy..."

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens — we’ll be waiting."

Billy didn’t hang up right away. He let the line stay open a little longer, even after the goodbye.

Just to hold onto that voice. That world.

Then slowly, he placed the phone down beside him.

And exhaled.

The sky outside faded from gold to deep blue, and the city’s distant lights shimmered like restless stars. Inside, the room was dim now, only the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting a warm circle of light around Billy.

He hadn’t moved much.

The sketchbook rested unopened beside his pillow. His bag untouched. The water on the table still full.

He lay on his side now, facing the window, one arm tucked beneath his head.

His fingers found the small charm still stitched to his bag strap — the one Artur gave him. He didn’t grip it. Just... knew it was there.

He blinked slowly.

Not tired. Not wide awake.

Just... there.

Thoughts drifted across his mind in soft fragments. Camila’s chatter. His mother’s quiet worry. Mark’s voice on the phone — steady, grounding.

And Artur.

Always, Artur.

The sound of his laugh. The way his hands moved when he explained something. How he always tilted his head when he was confused. How his silence was never empty — just waiting.

Billy closed his eyes.

"I’m doing this for me..." "But I’m doing it for you too."

He said it barely above a whisper — like a secret he didn’t want the walls to overhear.

Then slowly... his breathing evened out. His fingers relaxed. His face softened.

He didn’t dream, not yet. But the quiet held him like a lullaby.

And for the first time in weeks... He didn’t feel lost.

Meanwhile in the village the night had settled like a thick blanket over the fields. Crickets chirped lazily in the grass, and the wind moved through the trees in low, whispering sighs.

Mark stood on the back porch of the house, his phone still in hand, the glow from the screen slowly fading as the call ended.

He didn’t move at first — just stared out into the dark, where the fields stretched beyond sight, lit only by the moon.

His expression was unreadable.

A heaviness sat in his chest. Not sadness. Not fear.

Just the ache of caring too much from too far away.

Behind him, the creak of the old wooden floorboards gave him away.

Mr. Dand stood in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame, his eyes sharp despite the dim light behind him.

"That was Billy," he said gently — not a question.

Mark turned his head slightly, surprised, but not enough to speak.

Mr. Dand stepped outside, joining him on the porch.

"How is he?" he asked softly.

Mark hesitated.

"He’s... being brave."

Mr. Dand nodded, his gaze fixed somewhere out in the night — maybe the woods, maybe the sky, maybe just the memory of a boy who used to hum while chopping herbs in the kitchen.

"He’s having the surgery," Mark added after a moment.

The words hung between them like something sacred.

Mr. Dand’s jaw tightened subtly. But he didn’t speak right away.

He just nodded again. Slower this time.

"That boy’s carrying a mountain on his back," he murmured. "But even mountains need someone to hold the rain off now and then."

Mark glanced at him.

"I wanted to tell Artur," he admitted, "but... I don’t know if I should. Not yet."

"Let him breathe. Tonight’s hard enough without feeling like he’s let someone down."

A quiet settled again — the good kind, not heavy.

They stood there, side by side, two men who loved the same quiet soul in different ways.

"Will he come back?" Mr. Dand asked suddenly, but not really expecting an answer.

Mark let out a breath.

"I think part of him never left."

Mr. Dand gave a small, sad smile.

"Then we wait. And we hope."

A breeze moved through the porch, rustling the leaves and the silence.

Inside the house, Artur still hadn’t come downstairs. His light was off. His room was quiet.

But not empty.

Not really.

The moon hung low now, casting silver across the open fields. The wood beneath their feet creaked gently as the breeze cooled.

Mark rubbed his hands together once, not from cold — from thought.

"I’ll be leaving soon," he said finally. "End of the week, maybe earlier."

Mr. Dand didn’t react right away. He simply nodded, as though he’d known it would come.

"Back to the city?"

"Yeah."

Mark shifted his weight, then added:

"I’ve stayed longer than I thought I would. But... it felt right being here."

"It did," Mr. Dand replied, his voice low. "You’ve been good company. Especially for him."

He didn’t say Artur’s name — didn’t need to. The name lived in the quiet between them.

Mark gave a short laugh, not bitter, but something close.

"He won’t say it, but I know he’s not okay. Not really."

Mr. Dand sighed deeply, as if that truth lived in his bones too.

"He’s been trying to fill the space Billy left. With work. With silence."

Mark looked up at the stars now.

"I don’t want to leave him like this. But I think... maybe he needs to sit with it alone."

A beat.

"Or maybe I’m just making excuses because I’m scared to stay."

Mr. Dand turned to him, his eyes firm but kind.

"You’re not scared. You’re respectful. And that counts for more than people realize."

Mark offered a small smile. The kind that barely lifts the face, but softens the chest.

"I’ll visit again. Or call. I don’t know what I am to him exactly, but I do care."

Mr. Dand nodded again, slower this time.

"That boy needs people who care. Even from a distance."

They stood in silence again, the air between them no longer heavy — just real.

"Will you tell him?" Mark asked after a while, voice quieter. "When it’s time?"

Mr. Dand turned back to the dark field, his eyes thoughtful.

"When he’s ready to hear it, I will."

Mark gave one final nod.

"Alright then."

He looked out across the village one last time before stepping back toward the door.

"Goodnight, pop."

"Goodnight, son."

As Mark disappeared into the house, Mr. Dand remained.

One hand in his pocket. The other rubbing absently at the ring on his finger.

The night kept breathing.

And Somewhere upstairs, Artur stirred — as if the silence in his chest had remembered a name.