Page 29 of The Love Operation

I know mine.

And I can’t trust myself with that man right now.

I power walk inside, straight to safety behind Delenn’s door.

Delenn’s eyebrows scrunch. “Did you just run a 5K?”

I collapse into the chair across from her, still catching my breath. Then, with a slow grin, I say, “I can still do it.”

Her pen stills. “Do what, exactly?”

“Enter my memories.”

I watch her mind shift gears in real time—the way her thoughts rise, circle, and organize like soldiers lining up for orders.

Then she drops her pen completely. “Wait. Memories? Plural? You’re saying you remembered—and entered—more than just the Chiari procedure?”

“I was there, Delenn. In all kinds of memories. I could hear, smell, feel everything.” I shift in my seat, still thrumming with the buzz of it. “I even went back to med school conversations. Family stuff. Friends. It was incredible.”

Her face drains of color. Her gaze darts across the room like she’s searching for something solid to hold on to. Then, with her hands over her face, she mutters, “That’s . . . impossible.”

I don’t answer. Because that’s exactly what I thought. And yet.

I let her sit with it.

Finally, she exhales and rubs her temples. “I want to test your Chiari recall again. Do you have time?”

“Now?” I glance at the clock. I hesitate, then nod. “Sure.”

I recite the procedure.

She stares down at the text in front of her. “Word for word. Your best yet. But you didn’t go back into the memory?”

“No,” I say. “I didn’t need to. But I think I can. Want me to?”

“Please.”

I close my eyes, breathe deep, and call it forward.

Then I’m there, in the chair, electrodes on my scalp, screen glowing in front of me.

When I open my eyes again, Delenn is watching me.

“You were unresponsive again,” she says. But there’s no panic now—just calculation. “I was talking to you. Did you hear me?”

This is the only fly in the ointment. “No.”

She lets out a slow breath, disappointment flickering behind her eyes. “That’s what I feared. Can you do it again, but try talking while you’re inside it?”

That gives me pause. I’ve never tried to split the moment. I’ve always disappeared into it, fully, without concern that I didn’t know what was happening in the real world. For the first time, I let myself feel a little of Delenn’s worry.

I glance at the clock. The morning’s already slipping through my fingers. “I really want to keep testing this, but I’ve got to get to clinic.”

Her mouth tightens—like she wants to argue—but she nods. “Okay. Keep me posted. Can you come back after clinic?”

“Of course,” I say. “And yes, I can do that.”

I stand, but the air feels heavier than it did a few seconds ago.