Chapter 20

Talia's POV

Not only am I amazed at what he said, I'm befuddled. 

Firstly, I can't remember much. The painful glitches I've had only brought back the memories of a wedding I was in, most likely the bride, so it's safe to say I was married. But to whom? This stranger does not feel like my mate, Kara would have known. And from what Kara has been saying, I've been reborn. 

He doesn't say anything anymore. And I like it that way. It's way too humiliating to have him talk about other things while he is cleaning my body, naked. 

 "You really still do not like me?" He says after giving me ten minutes' space since asking me the very strange question. 

 "I…I" I'm unable to make simple sentences. I have said it over a million times in my head, but the moment I was to say it, it felt like an impassable lump had been hurled down my throat. 

 "It's absolutely fine if you do not want to talk to me." He actually does look pained, very pained. But the day is bright already, can't he tell he is mistaking me? Or do I have a twin no one ever told me about? 

He keeps doing what he is doing like a very dutiful slave. I feel better by the second, almost forgetting my pain with the worries on my mind. 

Finally, he wraps it up. Covering me with the beddings he got out of the way to prevent me from getting wet with the water dripping off my body. 

The dark is gone, but not the cold. It's still quite chilly and unfriendly, and the moment a hot-stranger-good-masseur takes his last finger off me, the realization of it dawns heavily on me. 

He was out of the room without another word. 

I am confused. And pained, really painful. 

I am pained that I am not the one he wants me to be. The person he yearns for and I may look alike , but I certainly do not remember him from any past life, not like I remember much. 

I'm still in my musings when I hear his footsteps. In a strange but good way, they always make me anticipate, setting the butterflies in my tummy in motion. 

He puts down a bowl with steam coming up out of it. 

I do not want to seem like a hungry unfed wolf, but that is how I really feel now. 

I want to wolf down the food so fast he would question his sight. 

 "Thank you." I said to him as soon as he set it down. 

 "Come on! You don't have to." He says, dismissing my gratitude. 

 "Why?" I ask him. The words seem to be coming now, baby steps. I really want to continue the conversation, just maybe I'll find a clue that would help piece these broken shards.

 "You kept being you, I see." He has a proud handsome smile creeping on his face. He unsuccessfully tried to fight it and ended up with a toothy smile. 

 "Whatever does that mean?" Our conversation is sounding more friendly, less of a quiz. 

 "It means you kept being the 'won't take it as it comes' Isla I've always known." Yes! That's the name I heard him call after in the bush. But I can't remember hearing that anywhere, not even in the faintest strain of memory. "The fierce girl I… "

 "I'm not…" I want to protest and tell him once and for all that I am not who he thinks I am. The sooner I get it off my chest, the easier it would be for me. 

 "Sorry." He cuts in. "I really just cannot help it." He heaves a heavy sigh and sits quietly, watching me eat. 

I feel weird and begin to get clumsy under his watchful gaze. 

He stares at me unashamedly, not darting his gaze, not even for just a second. 

His stare is blank and it looks like he has gone beyond looking at just me and my shaky fingers. 

 "Thank you." I'm done with the food and that's the only way I could signal to him. 

I can see how my words butt into his thought process. He looks at me as if to read what I had just said from my face. 

 "Thank you for the meal." I feel very much better than I ever have in forever. 

 "You don't have to." He says, same tone as before. Taking the plates where I placed them on the wooden stool

How do I ever get to tell him that I am a fraud?

He takes the plates and goes out again. 

I feel so bad, self condemnation is beginning to set it. 

Why can't I just form the words? Tell him that I'm no Isla, and that I have no memory of us. I don't even know his name! He does not look familiar in any kind of way. 

I really would love him to stop believing I am her. For his sake and hers. 

I'm just a passing intruder, one with no recent memories and no destination yet. 

He does not come back this time. 

I think I should go and meet him. 

I've put him through so much over the night. 

I get my worn and torn body off his bed and head out the room door. 

No sooner do I step out of the room, than a painful chill goes down my spine. 

As much as I try to contain it, I scream out in distress. 

My eyes are staring straight and I'm too weak to blink. My vision starts to get foggy, the last thing I see before seeing no more is the stranger's bed that I just left, no sight of him. 

I want to call for him, but I can't. 

It's yet another memory brought to me, clearly this time. 

I can see us all happy and joyful, with Vance, my mate, ex-mate now. My brother Landon and my best friend Nadia who are mates and get along as much as they quarrel and bicker. 

I see Vance holding my face up and kissing me. 

Where are all of them now? 

It really does look like I have so much love in my life. 

Was I reborn into something worse? 

Just my brain is working, 

The pain has reduced but I'm still not out of it. I still can't see anything. 

Then I remember the name my stranger host has been calling me. I can't see any Isla in this glimpse of my memory. I'm not her. 

I'm out of it. I can't now feel the raw unrefined quaking of my aching body, but my hot stranger host is cradling my head on his laps with worry etched in his face. 

I must not forget the names I just saw. If I want my life back, I have to find them.

Apparently, this is for some Islam, not me. I have my own destiny awaiting me. 

I'm left with a little adrenaline which I want to use to get up off his laps. 

My head falling back pathetically reminds me that I still have a long way from being healed. 

 "Quit running from me." He says to me, stroking my hair backwards. 

 "What is your name?" I ask him, finally. 

Some part of me hopes he's from my past, but that is not possible.