Chapter 10 My Lighthouse #2
There’s a sharp inhale behind me—Elodie or Daisy or Willow, or maybe all three—but I don’t turn around. I actually can’t. His intense gaze on me, the gravity of it, feels like the safest thing I’ve touched since waking up in this strange, hollow version of my life.
He nods again.
“Not at all?” I press—not out of insensitivity, but I have an intense urge to know more about him.
He shrugs before giving me another half nod.
“So we always… talked through the phone?”
His gaze sharpens as he gives me a firm, certain nod.
My pulse skitters. “And we are”—I swallow—“family?”
I wait for him to type… husband or partner or fiancé.
Please, please don’t let the word be friend. Right now, I need something solid to hold on to.
He lifts his hand toward me, palm open. For a second, I don’t understand, until I realize he’s asking for his phone. I place it back in his hand, our fingers brushing for the briefest moment.
He looks at me as if measuring that invisible thread of feelings that lies suspended between us before he starts to type. His thumbs move slowly, and when he hands the phone back, I stare at the screen.
We are soulmates. With 99.9% surety. :-)
Soulmates.
The word blooms inside me, too big, too bright, and suddenly my eyes sting.
“Soulmates?” I whisper. “I… I don’t understand.” I lower my voice, afraid that if I speak too loudly, the safety he’s brought with him will crack and disappear.
“Violet.” Elodie steps forward. “Let me explain how you and Rowan—”
“Or maybe,” Daisy cuts in softly, “we let Rowan and Violet talk in private, El.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Elodie replies, tension threading her words.
“Elodie, I’d like to talk to Rowan,” I say carefully, tasting his name again, “in private.”
I glance at Willow, standing off to the side, watching us with a confused expression, as if she can’t decide which side she’s on.
There are definitely sides here, lines drawn I don’t understand yet.
Elodie on one side. Rowan on the other. Daisy hovering somewhere in the middle, which somehow reassures me that I can trust this guardian angel.
“Maybe Daisy’s right,” Willow finally says, and her choosing Rowan over Elodie makes me feel better. “We’ll be right outside if you need us, Vi.” She smiles gently at me.
When the door closes behind them, the room feels quieter and heavier.
“Elodie doesn’t like you much.” I tilt my head to the side.
He types quickly this time and holds the phone out.
She likes you more.
A small, surprised smile slips out of me. “Thank you for staying outside all this time. I saw you from here, and I know it probably sounds strange, but your presence comforted me. A lot.”
He nods again and I realize each of his nods are a little different. This time he gives it with a shrug, as if that silent movement is saying, it’s nothing, even though it doesn’t feel like nothing to me.
“Will you tell me more… about us?”
His next nod is slower, guarded. The way someone nods when they’re afraid of breaking something already cracked.
“Are we… married?” I ask quietly. “Engaged?” He did say we are soulmates.
He shakes his head immediately.
We never made it that far. We signed up for an online dating website. It claimed to find your soulmate with 99.9% surety.
Dating website.
I understand the concept, but I can’t remember the feelings attached to them. Everything emotional feels so out of reach right now.
“We were… paired?” I ask.
He nods.
“So we didn’t know each other before that?”
He hesitates.
It’s complicated.
I realize I like the pauses that occur in our communication when he types. They give me space to absorb, to feel, to steady myself in this unfamiliar version of my life.
Daisy is my cousin Charles’s wife. Willow is engaged to my other cousin, Raymond. You and I share a circle, but we were never close.
He once again looks at me with intensity, like he’s reaching somewhere deep inside me. Then his fingers work slowly as he types.
Actually, I’ve never been close to anyone outside of my family. Except you, in the last few months, Purple.
My heart stumbles. “Purple?”
He nods, a tiny smile finally touching his mouth.
ChaosInPurple. That’s your profile name on the app FYS—Find Your Soulmate. I’m SilenceInMidnight. That’s why you call me Night.
“Wow.” The word feels wildly inadequate.
He responds almost immediately.
That’s exactly how it feels most of the time. Unbelievable.
“Until it all fell apart,” I whisper, my gaze drifting around the sterile room—the machines, the IV, the cast on my arm.
He leans forward to type, and a dark lock of hair slips loose over his forehead. I can’t look away from it. That small rebellion of hair is such a contrast to his otherwise careful and restrained manner.
It doesn’t have to be falling apart. Maybe we’re just being rerouted, taking a longer way toward the same destination.
How I want to believe that so much, so desperately.
“When did we find out?” I ask. “That we were… who we are?”
His expression closes off again for a second. I realize even though he doesn’t speak, his face says so much. Like right now, I can clearly read the hesitation drifting off him.
Two days ago.
But that’s… the day of my accident.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper, suddenly afraid of what will come next.
Our communication on the FYS app was always over messages. Our first date was planned for two days back.
My throat tightens as the implication of what happened sets in. I’m hit by loss once again. This time, it’s the loss of something wonderful that I’d just started to have in my life, and now I’m robbed of it too.
“How can this lead to the same destination when I don’t remember you? When I don’t remember me?” My voice cracks. “What if my memory never comes back? What if the person I am now isn’t the one you liked?”
He finally sits on the chair beside me, close enough that I feel his presence like warmth.
I’ll remember for both of us, Purple.
I read on, blinking through tears.
There isn’t an old you or a new you.
You’ve always been kind, strong, and bright like a sunbeam, and you still are all those things. It’s just that some parts of you are hiding right now. But that doesn’t change who you are here.
He briefly brings his index finger up and points it toward his heart.
“You don’t mind,” I ask, my voice barely audible, “being with someone who feels broken inside?”
Do you mind being with someone who is broken inside and outside?
He lifts a hand and briefly touches his throat, and guilt and nerves crash into me all at once.
“You’re not broken.” My words tumble out before I can stop them. “You’re my lighthouse.”
His eyes widen briefly before his expression softens.
Then let me be there for you—for both of us—until you feel strong again.
I nod. This—this—is what I’ve been searching for since I woke up. My person.
“Did we have plans?” I ask carefully, not wanting to come off as needy, but I also can’t resist knowing him and us, as we were. “Beyond the date?”
I wanted everything with you. Everything FYS promised. Soulmates don’t come knocking every day, right?
He gives me a hesitant smile, which equal parts excite me and steals the breath out of me.
“Did I ever tell you what I wanted?” I ask.
I always felt you wanted the same things as I did. You showed me your grandmother’s engagement ring.
After I’ve read the message, he turns his phone to me once more. It’s not the notes app where he’s been typing but his lock screen, and the background image is of a woman’s hand. On the ring finger is a beautiful lavender gemstone surrounded by twisty vines and leaves.
Wow. He made me his lock screen. Something he would see several times per day.
This is the only picture I have of you. I mean, you as Purple. The ring was how I was supposed to recognize you. I was wearing a black suit and a purple tie. You were wearing the ring.
“Wow,” I whisper again. “So we really hadn’t seen each other?”
He shakes his head.
“What if I turned out to be ugly? You weren’t worried?”
He types without hesitation.
I knew you were beautiful. I didn’t need to see you to know that. Your words were enough to tell me that.
I ache in the best and worst way. “Maybe I can learn who I am again by reading our messages.”
He nods.
That’s a good place to start.