For someone who had been served all his life, serving someone as stubborn as me so meticulously must've been insulting to him, but he held on for the sake of living.
Just how great was his life that even without his memories, his ego wouldn't let him die?
And what if his memories never came back?
Would I when to keep dealing with this version of him? Ah, it was no different from living in a house all by myself but at least then, I did not worry about someone suddenly walking in the living room or silent noises coming from the kitchen.
It was really like living with a ghost.
Three days after returning from the hospital, I had yet to hear a proper sentence from Noah or hold a conversation with him.
The only things he said were, 'Good morning,' 'I'm ordering take out,' and 'Good night,'
It was as if he didn't want to care for me beyond these levels anymore. He was not trying to curry favor with me and was truly living like he was dead.
