Memories

Elin hadn't finished her sentence, and there was no one showing approval or disapproval yet, when Shelley raised her hand.

"I'll go first," she said.

"Oh, who would have thought that the most senior member would be the first one on stage," Elin replied with a teasing tone. "Don't put too much effort into it, Shelley. We need a good start, but you shouldn't steal the spotlight."

Shelley finished her drink and walked over to Elin. During this short journey, she kicked the leg of a table, causing the bottles on the table to wobble, and the people standing nearby reached out to steady them.

"Uh," Elin approached her, speaking in a low voice near her ear, "you seem a bit tipsy."

"And what about it?"

"It's just a game, take it easy," Elin's voice became even softer, "if you say something too outrageous, the person who'll get in trouble with Jorgen is me."

"Come on, Elin," someone said, "don't disrupt Mrs. Langston. Start, please."

"All right, all right," before leaving Shelley, Elin added, "Relax a bit, Shelley. Even if it's for the sake of my career."

"Over ten years ago, when I was still in Menethil," Shelley began, "Jorgen was my first boyfriend—"

The room buzzed with noise. David Langston, behind the counter, shook his head with a smile. Elin placed his right index and middle fingers on his temple, the palm of his hand shielding the side of his face, as if to prevent Jorgen from imagining him looking at him with anger in his eyes. But Jorgen didn't even notice Elin. He involuntarily turned to look at Dalia. Dalia smiled back at him, not a smile that conveyed happiness or sadness but rather one of understanding, like the kind of smile that unexpectedly emerges when someone encounters their memories. Then, Jorgen turned his gaze to Shelley.

"Why such a big reaction? I thought you all knew," Shelley continued. "Once, a magician set up a stage by the river, and Jorgen took me to see it. It wasn't an easy thing to do, and we even managed to get front-row seats. The magician called me onto the stage to assist with a... you know, one of those tricks where it looks like they cut off your finger. After the performance, when I got off the stage, Jorgen pinched my finger and said, 'Are you really not hurt?' Now, after all these years, Jorgen, I can tell you, I wasn't hurt at all. It was you who pinched my finger."

"I think we can't blame Jorgen for that. If I were your first boyfriend, you wouldn't have said such an unimpressive thing. Ah, he's still not very knowledgeable about the entertainment industry to this day." Elin led the applause. "You've set a great start, Shelley. So..."

"Wait, I'm not finished yet," Shelley said. "When the magician saw him do that, he said, 'Sir, you seem to care about her. Are you two lovers? Because we happen to be looking for a couple in love to perform the grand finale on stage.' You want to know what Jorgen did at that moment? Right in front of hundreds of people, he said, 'No.' I got so angry that I didn't talk to him the entire night, and I even went home by myself. I've said my piece, thank you." She returned to David's side, planting a kiss on his cheek, and he kissed her back while holding her hand.

Applause, foot stomping, and whistles erupted simultaneously. Elin seemed to make a comment, but no one heard it. Jorgen remembered it well; it was his first time watching a magic show. When the magician and the audience looked at him, he didn't even know why he said, "No." He remembered that Shelley's face immediately darkened, and she stopped looking at him, biting her lower lip. For more than ten years, he had never recalled this event, but now, it felt like it was happening at this very moment – he could almost hear the sound of the Menethil River gently brushing against the cobblestones. The initial awkwardness this topic had stirred in his mind had now completely disappeared. The value of different memories was always equal because no one could truly revisit them, making it senseless to be embarrassed by them.

The second person on stage was the young subordinate. He used a few rather formal examples to illustrate how Jorgen was dedicated to his work. It didn't get much of a reaction, but for him personally, it took quite some courage to say it. The subsequent stories were mixed in quality, and Elin was the sixth to go on stage. He had a sense of urgency, fearing that if he didn't say something soon, his role as the event organizer might be forgotten.

His first action was to count on his fingers. As he counted, he simultaneously recited the names of women that nobody in the room recognized. Because this behavior was difficult to understand, the room gradually fell silent, waiting for further explanation.

When he reached fifteen names, Elin stopped and said, "I give up. Jorgen has broken too many women's hearts in his life, and I could only count fifteen." He scanned the room but was met with silence. No one understood.

"I haven't heard of any of these names," Jorgen remarked.

"You wouldn't know, which is why you broke their hearts," Elin clarified. "Let me explain more clearly, everyone. For work, Jorgen and I often stayed in taverns all over, and for those who merely extended friendly gestures, he dismissed them with indifference. The fifteen names I just recounted are only a small part of those I remembered."

"But how do you remember their names?" someone asked.

"Well, to be honest, some of those names I made up, just to illustrate the point better. It's similar to how we encounter a stranger and might wonder what their name is or what they've been through. Among all these chance encounters, Jorgen broke many hearts. Of course, I learned some of the names later..."

"So, you're saying that the women Jorgen rejected, you used it as an opportunity to get close to them?" someone said.

"You're shameless, Elin," Shelley remarked.

"No, that's missing the point... What I'm trying to say is..."

"I think the point is that your story is quite boring," Shelley stated. "You'd better get off the stage."

Her suggestion received a response from almost everyone, and Elin had to step aside. "You all treat event organizers like this; it's just too heartwarming," he said.

The celebration had come to an end. The Langstons would need to get up before five in the morning to make preparations, and the members of the MI7 had their own duties to attend to. They had already extended this special night as much as they could. Dalia didn't bring any attendants with her, and Jorgen planned to have one of the young subordinates escort her back. Before this, the young man who had been active all evening even offered to help clean up the hall for the Langstons. So, Dalia waited outside the inn. Though it wasn't yet midnight, the street, which wasn't particularly busy, had been quiet for a while.

"Another ten minutes, and he'll be done," Jorgen said. "He's quick."

"You're not leaving with us?" she asked.

"I have some business to discuss with Elin."

"Where is he?"

"He seems to be packing up the leftover cake."

"Did you have a good time?"

"Most of the time. I definitely wasn't happy when I walked in with a knife."

"Good thing you didn't agree to let me inside this morning. I was afraid I'd slip up. I used to be quite the deceiver, but it seems I've deteriorated."

Dalia seemed to accidentally touch on a sensitive topic, and her smile appeared somewhat forced in that moment. Jorgen quickly added, "Well, at least you vetoed Elin's two ideas."

"What ideas?"

"He suggested having the event in the countryside or in an abandoned house."

"Oh, yes. I guess that would have been going too far if we did that. Speaking of which, I never realized you and Shelley had such an interesting history."

"It wasn't as exciting as it sounds. I must have disappointed her greatly."

"I remember, at that time... you asked me to arrange a meeting once for you. Could it be..."

Dalia looked at Jorgen with a curious and amused expression. At first, Jorgen remained silent, and after a brief moment of inner struggle, he nodded and said, "That's right. I used that one paycheck to take her to see a magic show. She still doesn't know, and you shouldn't tell her."

"Who would have thought Chief Detective Jorgen from the MI7 did something like that?"

Dalia didn't seem entirely comfortable with the idea of joking about the topic of a detective. She cleared her throat and continued, "Why didn't I go up and tell a story? Actually, I was considering it. What would I say, though?"

"Give me an example."

"It's not worth it, and there's no audience now. But I can tell you what I'd like to say right now."

"Tell me."

"You've been laughing a lot tonight," Dalia said, "which is rare—"

Jorgen leaned down and kissed her. His left hand gently caressed her face. After a moment, she layered her hand on top of his. They pulled apart, but she continued to hold his hand. There was something captivating in her eyes, like the echo of a water drop in a dark cave or the enigmatic beauty of a flower just before it withered, and it was impossible to ignore.

"You're slow," she said.

"What?"

"In Nightside Town, I already wanted you to do this."

"I hope it's not too late now."

She shook her head slightly. "It's not."

They continued to kiss. Long before their lips met, Jorgen was incredibly familiar with them. He knew how they inhaled, how they articulated sounds, how they pursed in joy and slightly parted in astonishment. This knowledge was rooted in how well he knew her as a whole. Dalia interlaced her fingers with his, and he already knew how that felt. He embraced her waist, and he knew what that sensation would be like. He wasn't searching for something new; he was simply confirming a memory.