The Ring He Never Gave

Synopsis

The air conditioner in the consultation room hissed out cold air. I sat across from him, my lab coat cold against my skin. He was talking about the Ferris wheel again, about the sunset clouds in the evening, about all those details I thought had long been ground to dust by time. His voice was gentle, carrying a kind of determined, unsettling sweetness. This was already the third follow-up. I pushed up the gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of my nose, my gaze behind the lenses falling on his slightly confused but still handsome face. He was my ex, Lucas Carter. A car accident had robbed him of most of his memories, but had strangely reinforced the absurd assumption that "we're still in love." "Mr. Carter," my voice was deliberately flat. "We broke up a long time ago. Before your accident, we were already living our separate lives without contact. Your current memory state isn't uncommon in medicine." He froze for a moment, a flicker of childlike bewilderment crossing his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by stubbornness. "Impossible…" He shook his head, his fingers curling unconsciously. "I remember it very clearly. You promised me…" Just then, his gaze sharpened, as if he'd noticed something he couldn't comprehend, and he stared intently at my left hand. On my ring finger, the engagement diamond ring was refracting fine, cold glints of light under the cool white fluorescent lamp. His face went pale instantly, and his voice trembled slightly: "That ring… We agreed to pick it out together, didn't we? How could you just… on your own…" Before he could finish, the consultation room door clicked open. A familiar draft of air, tinged slightly with the scent of disinfectant, swept in. My fiancé, who was also the deputy director of Neurosurgery at this hospital, Derek Hayes, strode in. His lab coat billowed behind him in a crisp arc. His face was expressionless; his gaze first fell on me, confirming I was fine, and then, as if just noticing Lucas, slowly slanted a glance over at him. That look was filled with undisguised scrutiny and a kind of provocative coldness. Lucas, made uncomfortable by the stare, instinctively straightened his back. A silent tension filled the air. Derek then turned his face to me, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile that held little warmth, but his tone was as casual as if he were discussing what to have for dinner: "Doctor, I'd like to make an appointment." I raised an eyebrow and met his gaze. "You? What seems to be the problem?" He shoved his hands into his lab coat pockets, his shoulders relaxed, and said slowly, in a voice loud enough for the entire consultation room to hear: "Oh, nothing serious. It's just—" He paused, his gaze once again drifting lightly over the stiff-faced Lucas, before delivering the second half. "The moment I see him, my hands get a little itchy. I feel like hitting someone. Can that be cured?"