I woke up to a strange note written in bold, capital letters pinned to a folder:

READ EVERY DAY.

It contained a bunch of reports of my diagnosis signed by a Dr. Farthing, a Dr. Smith, a Dr. Glassman, a Dr. Adams, a Dr. Melendez, and a Dr. Archibong, and underneath each separate report was a signature that I recognized as my own. I read every single one of them with my hand over my mouth. Six years ago I had a brain aneurysm caused by an infection that affected my cerebral arteries. The infection weakened the walls of blood vessels in my brain and caused a bulging aneurysm to form. As a result, I forgot the day's events every time I went to sleep and was unable to make new memories.

The reports revealed that I had undergone several treatments and observations with just as many neurologists but nothing had worked.

There was a camera containing video clips of what I assumed were important moments of the past six years of my life. There was one documenting my best friend's wedding, Marie Thompson. She was now Mrs. Moon and has been for two years. I felt completely disconnected as I watched the video. It was the happiest day of my closest friend yet everything was so unfamiliar even though I saw clips of myself making a toast and dancing to music. It felt... wrong. Like my soul had left my body and was looking down at it, confused. I shut the camera and pushed it aside.

There were several reminders in yellow and pink sticky notes glued to my dressing mirror;

Your best friend is now Mrs. Moon.

Yeah, I got that bit.

You work at the Friendly Corner library fifteen minutes from your home with Paul, your boss. Begins at 9:30am.

Made sense that I worked for him. Paul was my deceased parents' closest friend. I knew him from my childhood memories and I could vaguely remember the library. Familiar setting, probably set up to ensure I wasn't too confused. Or that I might remember something. But if the reports were anything to go by, that last bit was futile.

Period in eight days.

I groaned.

Medications should be taken twice a day.

Mr Phil is your 65 year old neighbor. You do not owe him 50 dollars.

Okay, that bit was actually very helpful. I mentally praised myself for having the presence of mind to write it down.

Remember, a lot can happen in a day. Keep hoping.

A couple of pictures were added to the display on my mirror—me, my best friend and her husband whom I really couldn't recall, my deceased parents and their friend, Paul.

I wanted to be a book editor, polishing and making better the fine art of writers and wannabe authors. That dream was gone.

Exhaling a shaky breath, I headed for my bathroom to take a shower and brush my teeth. It was easy to find as the house was small and easily navigated. I wore a pair of ripped jeans, a baggy yellow shirt, and brown sandals, briefly wondering if I had worn this outfit many times before because I had sort of fished it out instinctively. Then I decided it didn't matter. To everyone it may be my signature dressing, but to me it was brand new. And it felt right. It felt like me. I may not know who that was anymore but 22 years of my life were still safely secured in my brain so I must know quite a lot. Actually, I knew everything since the last six years couldn't be accounted for. I was still the same person I was when I was 22 because I had no new memories to shape my life, my mind or my thoughts since then.

As I shut my door and headed down the stairs of the apartment building, a rugged looking man dressed in nothing but grey shorts and matching robes promptly opened the door of his room and greeted me cheekily. "Mornin' Fontaine."

It felt as though he had been waiting for me to leave my apartment, but I stopped walking and smiled politely anyway. "Hi."

"Still don't got my 50 dollars?"

"Wha—oh." This must be Phil, my treacherous 65 year old neighbor.

I resumed my steps towards the descending stairs and called back to him. "I don't owe you any money, Phil. And it's a sin to take advantage of disadvantaged people."

He grumbled something intangible but I was already out of the apartment building. As promised, the library was fifteen minutes away from my house. It was a lot like I remembered it. Small, cozy and brown. I walked in cautiously and spotted a familiar face almost immediately.

"Fon!" Paul's smile was so memorable and his head was still bald but he looked nothing like his picture. He'd gained a few pounds. At least twenty. Why hadn't anyone given me an updated picture? Would've helped me mask my shock. I paused. How many times had I thought of this same sentence in my head?

"Right on time as usual," he added, handing me a coffee mug that was warm to the touch. I smiled almost sadly. I had become predictable. I never used to be predictable. It was one of the things that drove my mom crazy.

"Salut, Paul. Merci beaucoup. Tu vas bien?"

He notably paused as I took the coffee mug from his grasp, an interesting blink of a shadow crossing his features. Ha! Did not predict that one, did you?

"Er... très bien, et toi?"

"Ça va bien, merci."

I strode confidently to my spot at the exact center of the library which I was only able to recognize as mine because my name was written in large letters on a card with the word "spot" on the desk. At the back were a list of my duties. After skimming through them, I discarded the card under my desk. A quick glance at Paul told me he was still surprised by our conversation. Had I really abandoned my mother's language all these years? I needed to make a mental note of speaking it more often. Scratch that—I needed to write it down so that I would remember, even though this was America and I was not particularly surrounded by French speaking people. I opened my notepad and scribbled my goal down then drank some coffee. It was just how I remembered liking it—plenty of cream and sugar. I sent an appreciative glance to Paul which he subtly dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Half a minute later, the library came alive with all sorts of customers. Some looking to buy a book, some looking to borrow. Some of whom I recognized and some of whom I didn't. I had a feeling they felt pity for me. I wish I could tell them it wasn't necessary. I was luckier than most. I was on a constant reset button and although it came with its curses, it also came with its blessings. I didn't have to relive an embarrassing moment. Or harbor grudges. I got to watch movies and read books I loved for the first time plenty of times. I'd been given a clean slate every day.

Just don't fall in love, Fontaine. That would be tragical.

I was jolted from my thoughts by a loud commotion as a hunky white man in tailored beige trousers and a black work shirt walked into the library trailed by a bevy of females who were almost tripping on themselves to achieve a closer proximity to him. I could see why. The man was magnificent. All six inches of him. Dark haired, white teeth, very ripped, and oh my gosh was that a British accent I heard? He looked like he just walked out of a magazine. No... a regency romance novel based in Birmingham.

He headed for the farthest book shelf possible and I didn't blame him. The ladies in this town were relentless. Paul was having a hard time getting them to back off. With a chuckle, I opened the book marked "Due Today", deciding I needed to keep myself occupied with something other than my thoughts or Paul would have to drag me out too. I accounted for the books that had been returned during the last hour. They were very few. At least 28 books were yet to be returned. But the day was young. I took another sip of my coffee when my vision was immediately engulfed by a giant of a man. The attractive stranger from just moments earlier.

It took all of my strength not to flinch and I wasn't even sure I succeeded. Compared to my tiny frame, this man was a mountain. I glanced over at Paul but he was still fending off the women who had actually tripled in numbers. Crap. I would've much preferred I not deal with this stranger all by myself.

I quickly put away my coffee mug and slammed the book shut, reminding myself that by tomorrow none of this would've ever happened so it didn't really matter what a blubbering idiot I may make of myself during our conversation.

"Hi, how can I help you?"

He smiled quizzically at me. "What sort of book do you get a nine year old who doesn't like to read?"

Definitely British. And I couldn't help but smile back. There were different sorts of customers that came in today but I think my favorite were those that came for advice. There was nothing more I loved doing than talking about books. It was the one thing that came so naturally to me and made me feel less... lost. And it helped that he had such an easy smile—which revealed a very attractive set of canine looking teeth. And full lips. British dudes rarely had those.

"A boy or a girl?"

"Does it matter?"

"I guess not. What's this child's interests, then? It'll make my search easier."

I had moved from my desk and was walking toward the children's books section with him trailing softly behind me. His shoes made echoing sounds in the hall that were actually quite comforting.

"He likes Captain America."

"Who's that?"

When he didn't immediately answer, I stopped walking and faced him. He looked downright amused. "What?" I asked.

"You don't know Captain America?"

"Should I?"

"The Avengers, the Marvel Cinematic Universe.... nothing?"

When I continued to stare at him, his smile grew. It really was a great smile. Inviting, warm, genuine. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't know about the Avengers."

I tsked and continued walking. "Well, there's a first time for everything."

"Indeed," I heard him mumble. His thick British accent was doing him many favors. I wasn't going to lie. Under normal circumstances, I probably would've been annoyed. We passed the third shelf and there were a couple of teenagers staring at us with their jaws practically hanging open while somehow managing to film us at the same time. I was amused.

"You never did answer my question," I said as we crossed the fourth shelf. "Who's Captain America?"

"Oh, just some old guy in blue and red tight pants, an equally tight helmet, and a shield with a huge star."

I frowned. "Sounds ridiculous."

"Feels even worse."

Something about the way he said it made me laugh. "Really? Am I to believe you walk around with red and blue leggings too?" We had almost reached the children's books section and I slowed down a little. I could hear loud whispers emanating from every nook and cranny of the library. People were really flustered by this new guy.

"And a cape."

"A cape?" I shook my head. "You sir, have the wildest imagination of any adult I know."

But he had stopped walking. "Wait."

I did as he asked and turned around. There was amusement in his eyes which I noticed were the most penetrating blue as he squinted at me.

"Do you not know who I am?"

My face fell and my heart immediately seized with guilt. Did he know me from before? What if something significant had occurred between him and I and I hadn't known because I couldn't remember?

"I'm so sorry. I'm not being rude. If we've met before, I genuinely do not remember you."

"No, no we've never met. It's just... you've really never heard of me?"

"What, are you some sort of celebrity?" I joked.

When he raised a very dark, very serious eyebrow, I knew the truth. Suddenly, the loud commotion, the filming and whispering as we walked by every shelf, and the bevy of women who abandoned all sense of decorum made sense. And here I thought it was just because he was so breathtaking.

"Oh."

He smiled halfheartedly. "You really had no idea."

"Don't take it to heart. I have short-term memory loss and can't remember anything from the last six years of my life."

He titled his head. "I'm sorry. That sounds...lonely."

"I get by." With that, I propelled forward faster and turned a corner. We had to get to the very edge of the library. Unfortunately, it was closer to the windows so we'd most likely encounter distorted faces plastered against window panes. And there were still those inside the library we had to worry about. Already, I could hear multiple footsteps shamelessly following us.

I chanced a glance at the stranger. He seemed unaware of what was going on. Comfortable, even. Or was I confusing adaptiveness for indifference? No doubt he was used to all of this by now.

"So... what are you?"

"An actor."

"Who do you play that got you so much fame?"

"Superman."

"Oh my God," I breathed, staring at him in a whole different light. "You were actually serious about the cape."

I remembered Superman. I loved Superman. I'd seen all the movies. It was by far my favorite superhero movie trilogy. From the theme song to the world-building, to the fascinating enigma that was Superman himself. There must've been a newer Superman movie I was yet to watch. Or maybe I had seen it but forgotten I did. That sucked 'cause this stranger looked like he'd make the most impressive Clark Kent I ever saw and would never wish to forget.

We had finally reached the children's section and I couldn't help but crane my neck to listen for the halting of footsteps. Sure enough, our followers didn't disappoint. There was a rustling and a few whisperings and even a couple of heads came into view. I turned my gaze towards the stranger and watched him as he creased his eyebrows together. It was so fascinatingly familiar I couldn't look away. He leaned against the shelf and I half thought it would topple over under his weight.

"It's not as ridiculous as you think it is."

For a second, I had no idea what he was talking about. But then I remembered. The cape. "Yeah, it is," I teased, forcing my gaze away from his perfect eyebrows and pulling a book out of the shelf labeled Diary of a wimpy kid. "This is it. This is your boy's salvation. It's a classic. If he doesn't like this book, I'm afraid there's no hope for him."

He laughed. "I'll keep my fingers crossed. And he's my nephew, not my boy."

I acknowledged his correction with the barest of nods and smelt the pages of the book—something I never got tired of doing—before handing it over to him. He took the book from my grasp and our fingers lightly grazed each other. I was taken aback by the electrifying sensation that coursed through my flesh and something about how he was looking at me told me he felt it too. We stared at each other for more than three Mississippis, me using the close proximity to quietly examine his face, noting things I didn't before like how his left eye had a tinge of brown, and how his nose wasn't quite right, like it had been broken before and never really healed properly, and he... Well, I didn't know what he was doing but I didn't mind.

"It's nice being around you," he confessed suddenly. "You treat me like a normal, regular human being. Haven't felt that way in a while."

Was he kidding? I'd give an arm and a leg to have a different life than normal.

"Why would you ever wanna feel normal? Normal is boring. Normal is overrated."

"Not to me."

That gave me pause. I guessed he was right. He led a very different life from mine. Our current situation was proof. Strangers felt they were entitled to be privy to his every move. Going to Starbucks for a coffee must be a thing of the past. Doing mundane everyday tasks was probably a dangerous game of hide and seek with the paparazzis. Being famous came with its own curses too.

"I'm sorry. That was insensitive."

"Think nothing of it."

I smiled, suddenly feeling enlightened. "You know, your life may not be someone's standard of normal but it's your standard of normal. Because what's anyone's normal anyway besides their own perspective of what a normal life should look like based on their lifestyle and resources. People's idea of normal changes together with their way of living. It's entirely subjective. So you're just as normal as I am."

He pinned me with a complex look and folded his arms, his bulging biceps a new source of distraction to me. I saw the glimmer in his eyes and heard the way his breath hitched when he leaned towards my ear as if to whisper some secret. There was a moment's, torturous pause as his warm breath fanned all the tender spots in my ear and I felt I would sink to the floor right there and then. "Would you care to go out with me later today?"

I blinked, telling myself I had misheard him. But he wasn't done.

"I just arrived here. I could use some help with sightseeing and getting used to the place."

Not a date. He simply wanted me to be his tour guide. I lowered my voice like he did. "I'm honored that you'd ask me but I'm the absolute worst person to ask for a tour. I have short-term memory loss, remember? My memory of this place hasn't been updated in over six years and counting because every morning, all my memories of the previous day are wiped away."

"Everything?"

"Everything. I wouldn't remember ever meeting you. Or having this conversation with you. This moment would be gone. It'll be like you never existed."

He leaned away from me and was quiet for a long time while I released a sigh I didn't realize I'd been holding. His eyebrow creased in thought—I was beginning to realize he did this very often—and he looked so crestfallen I could barely stand it. I busied myself with restocking the books I had disarranged when I picked out the book for his nephew, which was hardly a task since I hadn't disrupted much of anything.

"You should still let me take you out." He'd said it with a smile. I could hear it in his voice. He sounded so sure, so expectant. "Please."

I faced him. "I thought you only wanted a tour."

His lips finally parted with the most charming smile I had ever seen and I could swear my heart did a leap. "Woman, I'm trying to date you and you know it."

I tried to hide my blush but I failed dismally. Hot, famous, charming stranger was trying to date me! Me!

"I-I won't remember any of this tomorrow. You must see that. All I'll ever have is today. What's the point?"

"On the other hand, you won't remember any of this tomorrow, all you'll ever have is today, so why not?"

He had a solid point, for God's sake. This was the annoying thing about trying to outsmart smart men.

"Be that as it may—"

"Be that as it is."

I blew raspberries. He wasn't only smart, he was determined. And damn it, I wanted what he wanted. "Okay."

"Okay. See you at 6pm."

By 5, I knew almost everything there was to know about the charming stranger in the library, thanks to Google. He did play a role as Superman in a movie called Man of Steel that came out within the last six years so it made sense that I hadn't known who he was. He was right about the costume, it wasn't as ridiculous as I'd thought. But maybe that was because it was on him. He could wear rags and he'd still look hot. His name was William Channing. He had a dog named after the role that made him famous—Kal el, although he dropped the el. He was one of four brothers, all of whom he surpassed in looks and success. He was 36 and tended to date younger women (above 18, I should add). He loved animals, that was a huge plus for him. Another plus was, he was currently single. The article had called him an "eligible bachelor."

I refused to think about the fact that I would forget all about him tomorrow. I just needed to live in the moment. And I did.

When he showed up at my door at exactly 6pm (points for punctuality), in a freaking tux, he looked like a god among men. I had a sudden and very embarrassing urge to jump him right there and then. But there was something else lurking beneath it all...pride. Pride that this charming man would want to date me tonight. It was probably shallow of me but don't go blaming a girl with a brain aneurysm for wanting memorable moments.

I had worn a short red dress with little gold stars that exposed my chest area. Cute, but seductive. I noticed he approved. He leaned in and kissed my cheeks. Both of them. He smelt of soap and aftershave and I breathed him in a little longer, trying to commit his scent to memory knowing it was futile.

"You're so beautiful."

I tried not to think about how many girls he had said that to, whether in real life or for work. They didn't matter. Only this moment did. So I pressed my lips together and smiled, giving him an appraising look. I really, really loved his regal outfit. "You're beautiful, too. And you smell amazing."

"Thank you."

I didn't know how or why but something was suddenly very different. It was as if the air shifted and the whole world went quiet. I felt a strange pull to him that wasn't based on his good looks. It was more... inborne. And it was spreading quickly. His hand travelled to the small of my back and he held me to him, his forehead touching mine as our breaths mingled. He sighed a very satisfying sort of sigh.

"You feel amazing," he murmured, and I shut my eyes, enjoying the feel of his large frame against my skin.

"So do you." And none of us spoke for a long while, comforted in each other's arms. How was this possible? We had just met literally a couple of hours ago. Yet I felt absolutely enamored by him and him with me.

"You're gonna get me in trouble, Fontaine." It was the barest of whispers but it felt so loud in my head. I looked up at him.

"You know my name?"

"I asked around." He leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth and I was loathed to make a move that would stop him from doing what he was doing to me with his warm lips but I couldn't help myself.

"I did some digging of my own, too."

He sighed, but didn't stop his kisses. In fact, he migrated to my neck and sensually trailed his lips down my jugular. "Don't trust everything you read on Google."

God, it was heavenly. My legs almost gave out
from under me but he held me steady and continued nuzzling my neck. "Did you plan to actually take me out on a date or was your plan solely to ravish me on my doorstep?"

He giggled and the warmth of his breath on my neck nearly sent me spiraling. This was embarrassing. We hadn't even kissed yet and my body responded to him so easily.

He finally stopped his sweet assaults and still, my traitorous body begged for more. Piercing blue eyes met mine and I suddenly felt exposed. Like he was reading into my very soul.

"Fontaine."

"William."

"Have you read Jane Eyre?"

I blinked. That was unexpected. "Yes."

"I feel like Mr Rochester did when he told Jane he felt like there was a string that connected them both to each other and that if she were to leave him the cord would snap and he'd take to bleeding inwardly."

I couldn't help it, I gasped.

"Too much?" he asked, his gaze penetrating but light at the same time.

"For our first date? Er, yes."

"Except this isn't our first date."

This time, the world did stop. My initial response was to sputter a disbelieving what but I somehow knew in my very being that his statement rang through. I felt the way I felt so intensely because it was familiar.

"You lied to me earlier, didn't you? We have met."

He nodded.

"And we've gone on... dates?"

He nodded again.

"How many?"

"This would be our fifth."

I sucked in a breath. I'd been on four dates with him? And every time he pretended we'd never met?

"Did we meet at the library?"

"Yes. I asked you the same question I did today. But somehow the conversation never goes the same way it did the previous day." He shook his head and brought his fingers to his lips. "Even with your condition, Fontaine, you're... surprising."

I shook my head but for an entirely different reason. I couldn't shake off the feeling that bad news was coming. "This is the first time you're telling me we've met before, isn't it?"

He nodded.

"Why?"

"Because... I'm leaving tomorrow. Going back to L.A.

I felt my eyes begin to well up. "How come I haven't written about you? So many notes on my dressing mirror and nothing about you."

"You did write about me. I just... Fontaine, I threw them away. I'm sorry. I couldn't—"

"Why would you do that?" I bit my lips and for the first time today, I let myself feel the full extent of the pain of my condition. Tears fell like water from a dam and there was no stopping it. I cried because somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, I knew why he'd discarded my notes. I cried because my condition was unfair. I cried because it was hurting someone who so clearly cared about me. I cried because I couldn't do anything about it.

I didn't know how long I cried for but he held me to himself while I soaked his tux with tears. After what seemed like an eternity, I sniffed and wiped my tears away. I was not going to let my condition win. Let it take away the little glimpse of happiness I had come to feel.

"William, I'm going to write about you. All the details that I can remember. Tell me everything you can remember from our previous meetings. I am not letting myself forget you again. And don't you dare try to stop me."

I didn't wait for his reply and all but dragged him into my room. I fished into my drawer for a notepad and a pen and started scribbling while he stared at me.

"Fontaine, listen to me. This isn't a good idea. Nothing but pain will come out of it."

"I don't care." I kept scribbling everything I could remember from when I first met him today. That smile, his nose, his eyebrows creasing, his hugeness, his laugh. I didn't want to forget! Lord, please. Please don't make me lose this. Let me have this one thing. Please!

"Fontaine."

I ignored him and kept scribbling. Even the way he said my name felt right. From his lips, it sounded like a happy memory. Many of which I had been cheated out of. Suddenly, I was enraged. I didn't deserve any of this!

"Fontaine." William reached over and touched my hand, stopping my frantic pen movement. And for the first time, I noticed that this wasn't easy for him too. I saw it in the way he held himself, in the shadows that chased away the brightness of his blue eyes. He looked so sullen, so beaten. And just like that, my anger fickled out and died.

"Think about this for a moment, please. I'll be gone soon. I don't know when I'll be back here. You'd have nothing of me except words recounting events that you don't remember. You won't remember how my kiss felt. Or how it felt to be in each other's arms. Or how my breath caught when I first saw you on your doorstep in this very dress. You won't remember any of it. All you'd have are words you can never relate to. Videos and pictures of me on the net that are unfamiliar. Knowledge that something went on between us but no memories of any of it. It'll be like living a different kind of hell. I can't imagine you living a life like that. I'd rather be a complete stranger to you than a stranger you met at the library whom you had a thing with but feel utterly disconnected from. I don't want you pondering over someone you can't remember when you can live a life—any life you choose every day instead of chasing a ghost." His hand softly caressed my cheek and I leaned into it. "I want you to be happy, my beautiful and brilliant love. I want you to be unburdened."

The bottom of my lips trembled and the air became so thick I could barely breathe. I understood what he meant because I had felt the exact thing this morning when I watched Marie's wedding documentary. Detached, confused, lost.

I flung my arms around him and buried my face in his neck. He cradled me, kissing the side of my face and my hair as I swung both legs around his waist.

"William, I'm so sorry."

"Shh," he lightly rubbed my back. "It's not your fault. I'm gonna miss you, Fontaine. Every day. I doubt you could ever understand how much."

I stared at him, his blue eyes were moist with tears and I could feel my heart breaking into a million pieces. He took my notepad from it's abandoned spot on my bed and one by one, tore each page I had written notes on right in front of me. I pressed my lips against his. He tasted of salt from both our tears and I deepened the kiss to taste the pure and true essence of him. It was magical. It was painful. It was real. Our lips moved together with hunger and passion and a touch of innocence. When I broke the kiss, my lips were swollen. I loved how it felt. I loved kissing him. I loved a lot of things about him.

"I wish I could freeze this moment," I whispered as he gently trailed his fingers through my braids. We fell silent, listening to each other's heartbeats. Knowing it would be our final moment together. I pretended to fall asleep shortly after and he laid me down on my bed, lying next to me. When I heard him snoring, I quietly left the bed and grabbed my notepad and pen then tiptoed to the bathroom. Then I wrote:

You met a guy yesterday. His name is William. He's famous for playing Superman. His eyes are mostly blue and he's the most selfless, most beautiful man you've ever met. You've been on five dates with him and you're in love with him.

a/n: if you hadn't already noticed, this is my love letter to Henry Cavill. been a fan since Man of Steel came out. "William" is his middle name and "Channing" is not a name related to him in any way. For some reason, using his actual name didn't sit right with me and would've made this story feel too real. And that felt painful, lemao.
Anyway, vote if you love Henry!