Something About You

Shame on You

The white walls of the hospital room glowed dimly under the soft hues of the afternoon sun, filtering through the thin curtains in muted shades of gold and amber. The light bathed the room in a warm, hazy glow, casting long, sleepy shadows across the floor. Aaron squinted as his eyes adjusted to the gentle radiance, a dull ache spreading through his body. He slowly blinked awake, and before he could even attempt to sit up, a familiar figure was already at his side.

"Easy, Aaron. Slow down," Alaia warned, pressing a gentle hand on his shoulder to steady him. She slipped an arm behind his back to help him sit up. "Seriously, you need to stop acting like you’re invincible."

Aaron let out a soft exhale, leaning heavily against the pillows. His head throbbed, but it wasn’t unbearable. Just… annoying. "I’m fine," he murmured.

"Fine?" Alaia shot him a sharp look, her brown eyes glinting with frustration. "Aaron, you fainted yesterday. Fainted. Do you even understand how reckless that was?"

Aaron rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing as he tried to shake off the heaviness lingering in his limbs. "It’s not that bad," he muttered.

"Not that bad?" Alaia repeated, her voice climbing an octave. She stood beside the bed, arms crossed tightly. "You were pale as a ghost. If I hadn’t found you slumped in the locker room, God knows what would’ve happened. What if you’d collapsed in the middle of the match? On the pitch, in front of everyone? What if—"

"Alright, alright," Aaron cut her off, his voice low and steady. He reached out and ruffled her hair, as if to soothe the storm brewing in her head. "I’m fine, Alaia. Really. Stop worrying so much."

Alaia swatted his hand away, but not before he caught the faintest glimpse of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I swear, you’re impossible."

"Yeah, but you still stick around," Aaron teased, giving her a lopsided grin. But it was half-hearted, and Alaia saw right through it.

She sighed, her arms dropping to her sides. "You’re lucky they scratched your name from the lineup today. You seriously need to rest, Aaron. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this."

Aaron leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes for a moment. "They really benched me, huh?"

"Yeah." Alaia softened a little. "Good thing, too. I can’t even imagine what would’ve happened if you blacked out mid-game. You need to take better care of yourself."

Aaron opened his eyes and looked at her, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a small, reassuring smile. "I’ll be alright, Alaia."

Alaia shook her head, her frustration slowly melting into fond exasperation. "I hope so," she muttered. Then, more quietly, she added, "You scared me, Aaron."

He reached out again, this time brushing his hand over her head in a familiar, comforting gesture. "I’m sorry. But I promise, I’m okay."

Alaia let out a soft huff, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue any further. "Just… don’t do anything stupid, alright?"

Aaron chuckled, though the sound was tired. "No promises."

She gave him one last, exasperated look before grabbing a bottle of water from the nightstand and handing it to him. "Drink this. And rest. You need it."

Aaron took the bottle, but as Alaia started to walk away, he called after her, his voice softer now. "Thanks, Alaia. For everything."

She paused by the door, glancing back at him with a small, reluctant smile. "Yeah, yeah. Just try not to give me a heart attack next time, okay?"

Aaron gave a quiet laugh, but as soon as the door closed behind her, his smile faded, and his gaze drifted to the ceiling.

He was fine—or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. But the weight in his chest, the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin, made him wonder how much longer he could keep pretending everything was okay.

And worse, he wondered why the only face that kept flashing through his mind wasn’t Alaia’s. It was Layla’s.

Aaron shifted on the bed, feeling the soreness in his muscles as he reached for the water bottle. After taking a sip, he leaned back with a sigh. "So... how was the game?"

Alaia, still standing near the door, hesitated before answering. "It ended in a draw," she said quietly. "1-1."

Aaron let out a low hum, his jaw tightening slightly. He hated missing matches—especially ones that were close. "Figures," he muttered. "Should’ve been out there."

Alaia crossed her arms and gave him a warning look. "And collapsed in front of thousands of people? Yeah, great plan."

Aaron smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Did they play alright, at least?"

"Yeah," Alaia answered with a slight shrug. "It was fine. Just... you know, not the same without you."

Aaron glanced at her briefly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features, but he brushed it aside. "My phone—do you have it with you?"

Alaia reached into her bag and pulled out his phone. "Here," she said, handing it over. "Figured you’d want it."

Aaron pressed the power button, and the screen illuminated with notifications—missed messages, emails, and alerts from the club. But what caught Alaia’s eye wasn’t the messages. It was the wallpaper.

She blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise. "You... changed your wallpaper?"

Aaron glanced down at the phone, and a soft, almost imperceptible smile appeared on his face. "Yeah," he murmured. "That’s Layla’s favorite."

Alaia froze for a moment, her heart sinking. Layla's favorite. The words echoed in her mind, each syllable stinging more than the last. She stared at the wallpaper—a simple image, yet the significance behind it felt like a punch to the gut.

Aaron didn’t seem to notice the shift in her demeanor. He was too busy scrolling through his notifications, mindlessly catching up on what he’d missed.

And that was the problem.

Aaron noticed everything—his teammates’ moods, the smallest shifts on the pitch, even the slightest discomfort someone might feel. But when it came to her—when it came to the way he hurt her—he was utterly blind.

She stood there, silent, trying to mask the disappointment blooming inside her. It wasn’t new. She had felt it a hundred times before, in moments just like this, where Aaron’s kindness unintentionally cut deeper than any harsh word ever could.

Alaia cleared her throat softly and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "It’s... nice."

Aaron glanced up briefly, unaware of the turmoil hidden behind her calm expression. "Yeah. I thought she’d like it."

Alaia nodded slowly, the ache in her chest tightening. "Of course, she would," she thought bitterly. But instead, she just said, "It suits you."

Aaron gave her a distracted smile, his attention already back on the screen. "You think?"

Alaia swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "Yeah," she whispered. "It’s perfect."

She stood there for a moment longer, watching as Aaron scrolled through his messages, oblivious to the quiet sadness clinging to her like a shadow. And in that silence, Alaia knew—no matter how much Aaron cared about her as a friend, he would never truly see her the way she wished he would.

With a soft, shaky exhale, she turned toward the door. "I’ll let you rest," she said gently. "Call me if you need anything."

Aaron gave her a small, grateful nod. "Thanks, Alaia."

She forced another smile, even though it felt like it might crack under the weight of everything she wasn’t saying. "Yeah. Anytime."

And with that, she slipped out of the room, leaving Aaron alone with his phone—and the wallpaper that wasn’t for her.

Aaron leaned back against the hospital bed, letting his phone slip from his hand onto the blanket. A faint, almost amused chuckle escaped his lips as his mind wandered to her. Layla.

Meeting her again, there in the medical room—he could still see it so clearly. The same sharp eyes, the same way her lips pressed together nervously, and those innocent, familiar expressions. She hadn’t changed at all, even after all this time. Eight years, and somehow, she was still the same girl who used to steal glances at him from across the room, like the first met.

The corner of his mouth tugged upward in a lopsided grin. Except, no... Something was different now. The Layla he knew always wore her hair short, brushing just above her shoulders. But this time, her hair flowed down her back, almost reaching her waist, a sign it hadn’t been cut in years.

He found himself smiling again, unbidden memories rushing back in vivid detail.

After one of his matches, when he couldn’t resist walking straight up to her—Layla, standing there in the stadium tunnel, looking both startled and radiant in the dim stadium lights. "You have beautiful smile," he had blurted out, without thinking. "It reminds me of Bali."

Aaron exhaled deeply, his chest tightening with the weight of the memory. He could still feel the humid breeze against his skin, the sound of cicadas in the background, and the glimmering pool water reflecting the night sky. They had floated together in that warm, tranquil water, talking about the future, as if time had stopped just for them.

And then—that moment. The one where everything felt inevitable. Layla, looking at him with those soft, trusting eyes, her skin glowing under the moonlight. Without thinking, without hesitation, he had pulled her closer, tilting her chin up with his hand, and kissed her right there by the pool.

Aaron’s heart ached at the thought. It wasn’t just a kiss—it had felt like a promise, one they made without words. A promise of endless summer days, lazy mornings in Bali, and building a life together in that little slice of paradise.

He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the bittersweet pull of those memories.

What went wrong? He couldn’t stop himself from wondering. Everything had seemed so clear back then—until time and distance tore them apart, leaving them stranded in different worlds.

Now here they were again, thrown together by fate. But the timing was just as complicated as ever. And yet, seeing her, talking to her, even catching the briefest glimpse of her smile—it made everything he thought he'd moved past come crashing back.

A low laugh escaped his lips, more bitter than amused. "Layla..." he whispered to himself, her name tasting both familiar and foreign after all these years.

Aaron chuckled to himself again, the sound low and quiet in the sterile hospital room. He could still hear Layla’s voice ringing in his head—sharp, frustrated, and breaking ever so slightly as she let loose all the pent-up emotions she had been holding back. “What is your problem, Aaron? One minute you act like you care, the next minute you’re completely cold. You just show up, carry my stuff without even asking, call me things like 'B'—like it’s supposed to mean something—and then pretend nothing’s wrong. What am I supposed to do with that?”

He could almost see her standing in front of him, hands clenched into fists, her brows furrowed as she tried to keep it together. But she didn’t. By the end of it, she had started crying.

That memory made him smile—but not because he found her tears funny. No, he smiled because he knew exactly what had been driving her outburst: jealousy. She hadn’t said it outright, of course. But Aaron saw through it—through her anger, her exasperation, her confusion. It was jealousy, plain and simple.

And knowing that… it gave him this strange, selfish sense of satisfaction.

He could still remember the way Layla had looked at him yesterday, her eyes red from frustration, her breath shallow as she tried to wipe her tears without making it obvious. She had poured her heart out in that moment, and he had let her. He didn’t interrupt her once—just stood there quietly, absorbing every word, because he knew it was what she needed.

But as much as he had tried to keep his cool, seeing her that upset hurt. Especially because deep down, he understood the root of it all. She saw me with Alaia…

The smile faded from Aaron’s face, his chest tightening. He had caught the flicker of something in Layla’s eyes whenever she saw him with Alaia—a flicker she thought she had hidden well. But it wasn’t hidden from him.

Aaron let out a long, heavy sigh, his mind spinning with the memories he had tried so hard to suppress. Seeing Layla again after all these years—after six years—had stirred something deep inside him. There she was, standing just a few feet away from him, her face so close that he could almost feel the warmth of her breath. And for a moment, all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms, hold her tight, and kiss her with the kind of intensity that would force her to remember everything.

Everything—every touch, every whispered promise, every moment they had shared.

But she didn’t remember. She didn’t remember him.

Aaron clenched his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. His heart ached with the weight of it, a dull, constant throb that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he tried. He had to close his eyes for a moment, just to steady himself, to stop his mind from spinning out of control. Because the truth was too much to handle sometimes.

The car accident. The f*****g accident that had erased him from her memory like he had never existed.

"Shame on you..." he muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with frustration. "Shame on you, the f*****g amnesia."