Miss Gordon?

Had his memories returned?

Waylen remained taciturn, enfolding her within his embrace. From his pocket, he withdrew a delicate object and tenderly placed it in Rena's hand.

“This is for you. Keep it."

Rena's head dipped, her gaze now resting on her open palm.

Nestled there was an emerald, its pieces interwoven.

It was a token once bestowed upon her by Harold.

This very trinket had been her lifeline in her darkest hour.

Her fingers traced the emerald’s contours, and she inquired with a hint of playfulness.

“When did you become so magnanimous, Mr. Fowler?"

Her use of "Mr. Fowler" indicated an awareness of their shared dream.

Waylen regarded her, a tender smile playing on his Lips.

"Tell me, when did I become anything but magnanimous?”

Rena returned the smile.

In her serene countenance, Waylen detected an inexplicable sentiment, stirring something within him.

His love for her remained steadfast, yet his newly regained memories introduced an unquantifiable shift.

In their shared moments, hidden from prying eyes and absent from his diary, lay a tapestry only they wove.

Leaning his chin on Rena's shoulder, he voiced his suggestion, his tone a gentle murmur.

“Shall we venture out for Christmas?"

Gently placing the emerald within its box, Rena inquired casually.

“Where do you intend to spend Christmas?"

“In the apartment."