After a fortnight, which I strangely remembered, the questions grew too loud in my head. I had to voice them before they consumed me.
“What am I to you?” I demanded the moment he sat on the bench and placed his tray next to mine.
He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Finally couldn’t bear the mystery, eh?”
I scowled at him.
“I was wondering how long it would take you. Normally, you would have been questioning me blue by now.” His eyes softened. “They have changed you.”
My gut did a strange flip before tying itself in a knot. “How?”
“Your hair.” He reached out as though to touch me, but dropped his hand at the last moment, flexing his fingers like before. He retreated a step. “You’re thinner, weaker, more worn, and subdued.” His eyes compared me to a woman I doubted ever existed.
I adjusted my shoulders. “Superficial stuff.”
“True,” he admitted. “But it goes deeper. What can you remember?”
I recoiled. That was one area I refused to share, especially with him, a disconcerting stranger. He represented just the sort I didn’t want to expose myself to. One who would point out the insanity of not remembering anything before his appearance.