Once upon a time, in a quiet town where the sun typically rose with warmth, a young man named Ethan was immersed in the bliss of love. Just the day before, everything felt right—the laughter of his beloved Clara echoed through their shared moments, and they cherished every second together. But then, the unthinkable happened. The devil, in the guise of misfortune, stole away Clara’s memory, leaving Ethan with a heavy heart.

Days turned into a blur as he watched her struggle, trapped in her own mind. Would she remember their endless conversations late into the night? The way they would entwine under the stars, sharing whispers and dreams? The doctors told Ethan that Clara was in pain, but he knew that even the strongest medication couldn’t heal the void left by lost memories. She lay in a hospital bed, a figure of fragile beauty who was still very much alive, yet, in many ways, she was gone.

Standing by her side, Ethan held her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin and the chill of impending sorrow. "If you fell to your death today," he whispered, "I hope that heaven is your resting place." Tears filled his eyes as he reminisced about the joyous moments—each glance exchanged, every laughter shared, the passion that fueled their love. Yet, despite the agony of watching her slip away, he remembered the wise words of his father, which echoed in his mind: “It’s not his fault he doesn’t know your face. You’re not the only one that suffers.”

With a heavy heart, he recalled his grandma's tender advice as well: “Darling, hold me in your arms the way you did last night.” Those words were a gentle reminder of the love that still existed, the hug that still held power. "I could look into your eyes until the sun comes up," he thought, yearning for the moments they would lie wrapped in each other’s embrace, filled with warmth, light, and love. They had always been meant to be together, their hearts beating as one.

But now the shadows loomed larger as Clara’s breath grew shallow. The world outside continued without them, raindrops drizzled against the glass of the hospital window, a gloomy reminder of his loneliness. And then, with no more warning, her breath left her entirely, leaving Ethan standing in a black suit, a heavy tie, lost in a storm of grief.

At her funeral, he found himself surrounded by friends and family, each person carrying their own sorrow. For a moment, they were all strangers stitched together by the same loss, a patchwork of shared memories and heartache. Wrapped up in their presence, Ethan suddenly remembered his childhood. He had been just six years old when his father called him close to impart wisdom. The memories rushed back, and he felt a wave of collective support surge around him.

As words of remembrance filled the air, Ethan stood tall. His father and family rose in unison, singing hallelujah, a tribute to Clara's enduring spirit. While the pain of losing her weighed heavily on his heart, he realized in that moment that love transcended loss. It was a force that could join their hearts to hers and to one another.

In the midst of their sorrow, Ethan understood the meaning behind his grandma's words anew. Love was about more than shared breaths; it was about carrying the memories and the light of those who had left them. He found strength, not just in his pain, but in the connection of his family, rising together like a chorus of hope.

And though Clara would no longer be by his side in this life, Ethan chose to carry her love forward. To love deeply, to honor her memory in the way they had always discussed. For in the celebration of love, in the warmth of gathered hearts, she would continue to live on. And with a hopeful heart, he repeated the mantra that bound them: “To the love we love to love we love.”