Alina's Pov
"You mean nothing to me!"
I jolted awake, gasping and clutching my chest. Even though it's a dream, every single time, it still feels like it was real. With sweat streaming down my face like a bucket of water was dumped over my head.
The voice always comes just before the sunrise, accompanied by a bone-chilling scream. My hands grabbed the sheets as though my life depended on it. My heart hammered rapidly, sending waves of chill down my spine.
As time passed by, the dream began to fade, but the voice remained. It always stayed.
They say having no memory feels like living someone's life and being in their skin.
That's a lie.
It feels like drowning on your own.
It's like talking when you don't know what language or voice you use, when you look in the mirror and don't recognize the eyes that stare back at you, or blink when you flinch.
Every second of your life is always pressed against your head like a ticking time bomb ready to explode at any time. Knowing fully well that something is deeply wrong, broken, and missing and you can't do anything about it.
That's how I've lived for two years.
Like a door without a lock and key, an open book that anyone can easily flip through the pages and read.
My name is Alina apparently, but everyone calls me Lina for short. Mrs Rosa said she gave me that name when they dragged me out of the river two years ago unconscious, with a locket dangling around my neck and a gold wedding ring on my finger that I couldn't explain.
It looked rare and expensive like the type that girls gush and fling on anyone's face who cares to notice it.
No ID, no phone, nothing!
But Aunt Rosa took me in and gave me a roof over my head.
Trying to remember who you are can be a chore, accompanied by the deafening everyday chaos of the seaside. So what better way than to stop? Because whatever life my previous life was, it didn't want me back.
To start all over again has never been easy, but I had to in this quiet town.
Santa Monica became my new beginning.
Working in Rosa's seaside cafe. Making the best pancakes like what I've done all my life. But how?
I don't know who I used to be, but I knew something huge had happened.
The past never forgets you.
Even when you do.
My gaze dropped to my hand, clasped tightly in my hands, especially on my ring. Closing my eyes, with my head pulled backward, a deep sigh left my lips.
"Why do I always feel like I've lost everything when I can't even remember what I had?"
The cafe opens at about 8:30 AM every day except Sundays. The rush hour starts around 10 AM when workers are out and about. Some get it for themselves before stepping into their workplace lobby, while others get it for their bosses as a duty.
Today will feel like every other day, slow and long. Even as the time to get ready always feels rushed to me, it's the best. Don't get me wrong, the apartment is perfect for me. The size, subtle, simple, and organized feel gives me this calm all the time. But deep down I still feel empty and alone.
The crashing sound of ocean waves flooded my ears. For the mere fact that it was where I was rescued, which is supposed to be a nightmare each time the sight reaches my eyes, I feel the opposite.
The calming effect it has on my body each time I stare and listen to it. The goosebumps that spread rapidly on my skin, plus the children with their innocent laughter each time they pass by going to school. It's soothing.
As a ritual, I stand in the backyard relishing in the feel every day before going into the cafe to start my day. Brewing a hot cup of coffee, tying my apron around my waist, and with the "Open" sign flipped over, the fresh new day has started on a full scale.
Some say that my pancakes are like pure heaven, melting into their mouths like candy, while others praise my coffee. Calling my hand, "The tool of perfection."
Every woman's greatest beauty tool is the mirror, but I find myself cringing at it in the past two years. Maybe because I can't recognize who is staring back at me. There's a huge one in the corridor leading to the front desk in the cafe which is avoided each time.
The rush hour hasn't started yet. Good!
Rosa approached me, a beaming smile stretched across her face. Her wrinkled brown eyes were shining with admiration and something else.
Appreciation.
Love.
Gratitude.
Or simple happiness.
"Business has been booming since you stepped into this cafe two years ago, you can't even imagine." she praised, her hands gripping my shoulder softly.
She isn't the only one who looks at me in a manner, the men here are a bit bold so to speak.
When you get hit on almost every day but a handsome man, certain things tend to bore you. How do you give men a courting chance when you don't know the history behind the ring on your finger?
My eyes involuntarily snapped to the locket on my neck once more, hoping to finally remember something, trying to feel anything at least. And she caught the action I guess.
"One day someone is going to walk through that door and knock that sadness out of your bones." Her sweet loving voice snapped my attention back to reality.
"Let's hope they pay for their coffee first." We both burst out laughing.
"Alright Honey, let's check the food on the cooker." She utters, leaving me to wallow in my thoughts once more.
Even though my past isn't clear to me, I have this nagging feeling that I was once married, but to whom?
Why didn't he find me?
Are we divorced?
He is dead?
All these questions were fighting for a space to settle and relax in my head like it owned me, but none won.
The batter in my hand continued to work smoothly with the flour. Trying my best to mix it so it wouldn't have seeds. Some chef makes the mistake of using a little
Water, which makes the whole process come out uneven. But that's not me.
When the public is served with anything that goes into the mouth, putting in your best efforts becomes your superpower
Power. This is what distinguishes you from others who are on the same dish.
The sound of the whistle echoes loudly in the kitchen indicating that the water has come to a boil. I was mixing the coffee in the dispenser when I felt a chill run down my body and the ceramic cup in my hand dropped to the floor.
It flashes again, the one that comes once in a while even though I'm not dreaming. A car light flashing into my eyes making me lose balance of my car steering wheel, the sound of crashing off the bridge, and that voice again."You mean nothing to me!"
Rosa came rushing towards the front desk, her eyes telling me what her mouth hadn't said.
"Im fine Rosa, just a bit tired," I responded, before bending down to pick up the cup. She was gone the next minute. "Great, just great Lina. Get a grip on yourself."
The first customer walked in. Mr Sean, a man in his early thirties. One of my admirers. From the very first day he set his eyes on me, he has tried several times for me to see him, but that chance never came. The good thing about it is that he respects my decision and our real since that last time has been nothing but blissful.
"Tried morning?" I asked, handing him his usual. A black cup of coffee and lots of milk.
With his hands stretched towards the order. "You can't imagine."
"I can relate perfectly, but it gets better, doesn't it?"
"True, I will see you soon. Late for work"
"Alright, Mr Sean." The response to my reply was an eye roll, and then he walked out the door. He has pleaded with severally to stop addressing him as that, just Sean. I simply couldn't. Not that I can't, but it will give room for what I've been dodging all this time.
The doorbell chimes as the door flung open, cold wind rushes in and hits me square in the face warranting me to raise my head from the coffee mixer and my breath is chilled.
Eyes wide, heart shuddering in my chest, my blood feeling like it's frozen. The most handsome man I had ever seen in my life walked in.
"What the hell!" A whisper left my lips as his eyes locked on mine.
The tea bag in my hands begins to slacken off, threatening to fall. "I had never seen him before, so why did my heart stop the moment he walked in?"