Every morning at exactly 6:30 AM, Anaya Sen woke up with a headache and a notebook beside her pillow.
On the first page, written in bold red ink:
READ THIS BEFORE YOU PANIC.
Below it:
Your name is Anaya Sen.
You are 23 years old.
You have a rare memory condition.
And you are in love with the boy who will knock on your door at 8:00 AM.
Anaya stared at the words, heart racing.
“Great,” she muttered. “Future me is dramatic.”
At 8:00 sharp, the knock came.
Three knocks. Pause. Two knocks.
When she opened the door, a boy stood there holding two cups of coffee and smiling like he’d done this a thousand times.
“Good morning, Sunshine,” he said gently.
“I’m Kabir. And before you slam the door—yes, you know me.”
She didn’t slam the door.
She stared.
“Why do I know you?”
Kabir’s smile softened.
“Because you forget me every night.”
Anaya suffered from anterograde amnesia after a road accident two years ago.
Her memory reset every time she slept.
No new memories stayed.
Friends drifted away.
Jobs became impossible.
Life shrank to routines.
Except Kabir.
Kabir—who met her after the accident.
Kabir—who fell in love knowing she would never remember the day before.
“You don’t have to stay,” Anaya said after reading her notebook.
“I won’t even remember if you leave.”
Kabir shrugged.
“But I’ll remember.”
And that was the problem.
And the love.
Kabir never told her everything at once.
He let her discover him daily.
• That he hated coriander
• That he played guitar badly
• That he talked to stray dogs
• That he always gave her the window seat
Every day, Anaya chose him again.
Not because of memory.
But because of feeling.
“You know what’s funny?” she said one evening.
“I don’t remember you… but my heart gets excited before you knock.”
Kabir looked away, eyes wet.
One night, Anaya added a new page to her notebook.
If you’re reading this, it means you’re thinking of leaving him.
Don’t.
Love isn’t memory.
It’s choice.
But the fear stayed.
“What if one day I wake up and feel nothing?” she whispered.
Kabir cupped her face.
“Then I’ll make you fall in love again. Slowly. Patiently. Forever, if needed.”
Doctors had said recovery was unlikely.
But the brain is strange.
Healing doesn’t always announce itself.
One morning, Anaya woke up.
No headache.
No notebook panic.
Just one clear thought:
Kabir likes his coffee without sugar.
She froze.
Hands shaking, she turned the pages.
Tears fell.
At 8:00 AM, the knock came.
She opened the door and smiled—recognizing him.
Kabir knew instantly.
“You remember,” he whispered.
She nodded, crying, laughing, breaking all at once.
“I remember loving you.”
Recovery wasn’t instant.
Some memories returned slowly.
Some never did.
But love stayed.
Kabir proposed not with a ring—but with the notebook.
“Even if you forget again someday,” he said,
“will you still choose me?”
Anaya took the pen.
On the last page, she wrote:
Yes.
Even without memory.
Even without proof.
I choose you.
They married in a small ceremony.
No grand vows.
Just one promise they repeated together:
“Today, I choose you.”
Years later, Anaya kept the notebook—not out of fear, but gratitude.
Because it reminded her of one truth:
Some loves are so powerful,
they don’t need memory to survive.
They just need choice.
Every day.
Hope you guys like my story.
