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Emma’s POV: Some long-forgotten poet once wrote that touch has a memory. It delves beneath our skin and bone and tissues, to a place where it is more profoundly felt than it ever could be in the physical sense. Touch has the power to suspend a moment in time— transforming it from something transient and fleeting to a timeless feeling. And this touch has a memory. This careful caress and slow stroke, this soothing skim of slim fingers that brush back and bunch the curls stuck to my face— it reminds me of something. I want to lean into it. I want to open my eyes and see it for myself, but my brain can’t seem to give my eyes the command. Instead, my body continues to sag heavily against a soft surface. A pillow supports my head, but I can’t remember getting into bed. I’m able to do n