She kissed him goodbye, knowing he wouldn't remember it tomorrow.


For she was a witch — one who had loved him in secret for longer than the stars had burned above their village. Since the first night she saw him beneath the lantern lights, laughter on his lips and warmth in his eyes, she had known he was the one her heart had chosen — the one her heart beat for.


And yet the fates had never written her name beside his.


For moons she watched him from afar — fixing broken wagons, helping people in the village, always lending a hand when someone was in need. He had the kind of kindness that didn’t have to be seen, and yet every time he smiled, something inside her ached — something no spell or potion could quiet.


One night, when the moon was thin and the wind smelled of rain, she gave in.

She lit a single white candle, carved from beeswax and longing. Around it, she drew a circle of silver salt, whispering words older than language. The spell was simple and dangerous: Let me see what it would be like if he loved me back, just once.


The flame shimmered, laughing at the night air. Then she knew the spell had been true — and the world tilted.


When morning came, she found him waiting outside her cottage door, flowers in hand and wonder in his eyes.


“I don’t know why,” he said, “but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”


She smiled. “Neither can I.”


And just like that, the day began.


He handed her the flowers, and she placed them in a vase of water, setting them on the table before fixing him breakfast. They talked and laughed. After breakfast, they went for a walk — hand in hand — through the forest until they stumbled upon a field of flowers.


They lay on that bed of blooms, just the two of them, her head on his chest. They talked. They laughed. They smiled. He kissed the top of her head, and she snuggled in closer.


“Where have you been all my life?” he asked.


“Right here,” she whispered, “waiting for you to find me.”


“Well,” he said softly, “I’ve found you now — and I’m never letting go.”


She knew he would, maybe not by choice, but he would.


He told her stories of his childhood, of dreams half-forgotten. They talked of the future — their future. As the sun began to set, he said, “I have loved before, but not like this. This is different. This is true. I’ve never felt such a feeling.”


“I know,” she said. “I love you, too.”


She leaned up and kissed him. He kissed her back. They spent the day as if they had always belonged together. He held her like she was something precious.


She had never been held like that. For the first time, she felt like she mattered — like somebody cared about her.


As the sky turned violet, they sat beside the river. He leaned close, brushing a lock of her hair from her face.


“It feels like I’ve known you forever,” he whispered.


“You have, my love,” she replied.


He kissed her again.


Later, under the first shimmer of stars, they danced barefoot in the grass. The night air was warm and sweet. When he kissed her, she felt the spell tremble — reality fraying at the edges, time sighing as dawn crept closer.


Magic was mercy — and cruelty too. It gives just enough to make losing it unbearable.


When he finally fell asleep in her arms, she watched the horizon pale. The candle she had burned at midnight still flickered on the table, melting toward itself. Every drop of wax that fell was a second slipping away.


She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm.

“I would give up every minute I have left,” she whispered, “for one more day like this.”


But the world doesn’t bargain with love.


When the first light broke across the horizon, she felt the spell unravel. His breathing changed — steady, distant — as though the rhythm of her name had been erased from his soul.


She kissed him one last time, knowing he would not remember it. She knew what would happen when he woke. He would not know her. The flowers would wither. The memory of their laughter would dissolve like mist.


So she kissed him goodbye — soft and trembling — tasting salt and sunrise.


He stirred, murmured something that almost sounded like her name, but then it was gone.


She stood, brushed the tears from her face, and stepped into the dawn. The world seemed brighter — cruelly so. The magic was done.


Behind her, he would wake in a field of flowers, not remembering how he got there — or the memory of the woman he had loved.


She walked into the forest, its silence swallowing her soul, crying and sobbing as she went. In her heart, she carried the only memory that would never fade: what love felt like when it was finally returned.


And though he would never remember her, she would remember for them both — forever.

What it felt like to be loved.

To be cared for.

To be happy.