The Boy With My Name on His Collarbone

I lost my memory. I remembered everyone else, but I completely forgot about him. Looking at Oliver's dark expression, I asked tentatively, "Are you my... boyfriend?" His fingers paused over his laptop keyboard, and his voice grew even colder. "I'm your brother. Your biological brother." I stared at his incredibly handsome face, which looked absolutely nothing like my parents, and fell into deep thought. Before I could figure it out, Oliver leaned in to feed me my medicine. The collar of his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo resting just below his collarbone. —Mia. What kind of "biological brother" tattoos his sister's name on his chest? 1 Our family has a secret. A secret that my parents and I all know, but Oliver doesn't. Oliver isn't my parents' biological son. When he was ten years old, both of his parents died in a tragic car accident. He was so devastated that he developed a dangerously high fever that wouldn't break. When he finally woke up, his memories of the first ten years of his life were completely wiped clean. His uncle's family eagerly took over the house his parents left behind, but they completely neglected him. During the entire time he was unconscious in the hospital, they never visited him once. Oliver's father and my father had been best friends. So, my dad decided to take him in and raise him until he became an adult. My mom fully supported the idea. "It's fine. It's just one more child. Our family can afford to raise him." I, on the other hand, was very confused. I tugged on my dad's shirt and asked, "If Oliver becomes my brother, does that mean I can't marry him when I grow up?" My question made both my parents burst out laughing. My dad ruffled my hair and said, "You can still marry him. Oliver isn't legally adopted; he's not on our family register. He's just going to live with us." Even though I didn't fully understand the legalities, I felt a lot better. As long as I could still marry him, who cared if he lived in our house or if he was a little slow? None of that mattered! I was overjoyed. I grabbed my favorite stuffed bunny and was about to run into his room to play, but my mom stopped me. She frowned slightly. "Mia, Oliver lost his parents and his memory. To keep him from being overwhelmed with grief, we're going to treat him exactly like he's your real brother. We're going to give him a warm, loving home. You have to promise Mommy and Daddy that you'll help us keep this secret, okay?" Back then, I nodded clumsily, agreeing to my parents' well-intentioned lie. And we kept that secret for ten whole years. 2 Ten years later. Oliver was twenty, and I was seventeen. We had both reached an age where we understood how the world worked. And this secret... it felt too cruel to just drop on him. Neither my parents nor I could bring ourselves to tell him the truth. My mom looked at me, a little conflicted. "Mia, you're all grown up now. Do you... still want to marry Oliver?" I shook my head, silently refusing. For one thing, I couldn't bear to shatter his reality just to satisfy my own desires. For another, over the past decade, Oliver had treated me exactly like a blood sister. He didn't show a single ounce of romantic interest in me. Why should I force it? But even though I said that, deep down, I still hadn't really let him go. One weekend. I was scrolling through TikTok and came across a video about step-sibling romance tropes. Out of habit, I opened the comment section. The top comment was: [Like this comment so it gets recommended to my brother and scares the crap out of him.] I thought about it for a second and hit 'like'. I figured Oliver would never see it on his feed anyway. I was so wrong. That very night. He actually took a leave of absence from his college dorm and came home. When he appeared in my bedroom with a face as dark as thunder, I still didn't grasp the severity of the situation. Until he confiscated my phone. His tone was deadly serious: "Mia, your final exams are in three months." I brushed it off. "I was just relaxing on the weekend..." Oliver took a deep breath. "Then shouldn't you be watching something educational, or genuinely relaxing? Instead of liking that messed-up, inappropriate garbage?" Oh. So he did see it. Maybe it was the moonlight filtering into the room that made me reckless. Without thinking, I reached past Oliver, locked my bedroom door, and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind. "But Oliver, I really, really like you." Oliver's entire body went completely rigid. It felt like tension, or maybe even fear. Before he could pull away, I let go of him voluntarily. "I'm kidding! It's just a novel trope, don't take it so seriously." In the dead-silent bedroom, I clearly heard Oliver let out a massive sigh of relief. That night was the only sleepless night I had when I was seventeen. 3 When I was twenty. I wasn't getting along with my college roommates, so Oliver picked me up to stay at his apartment for the weekend. He was a perfect gentleman and let me take the master bedroom. But of course, a massive thunderstorm rolled in that night. The apartment was huge, and I was terrified of being alone in that room. So, just like when we were kids, I sneaked into Oliver's bed. I knew it was wrong, but subconsciously, I always felt like he belonged to me. Besides, he was twenty-three and had never had a girlfriend. That meant I still had a chance. I pressed my freezing hands against his warm, broad back. Oliver jerked awake, as if startled from a deep sleep, and quickly flipped on the bedside lamp. The sudden, bright light made me squint. Oliver's voice was rough, sounding almost like a warning: "Mia, we aren't kids anymore." In that instant, it felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over my head. I shakily started to get up, intending to crawl back to the master bedroom. But as I moved, I accidentally caught sight of the tattoo just below his collarbone. I immediately threw myself back into his arms, tracing the tattoo with my fingers. I smiled brightly. "Oliver, do you have a secret crush on me?" Oliver's jaw clenched. He didn't answer. He just coldly slapped my hand away. I felt like I had uncovered the world's biggest secret, so I kept teasing him. "But Oliver, I'm your sister. Your biological sister." Suddenly, a crack of thunder rattled the windows. The temperature in the room dropped, and I shivered. Oliver grabbed the edge of the duvet and wrapped me tightly in it, terrified I would catch a cold. I took advantage of the situation, snuggling deep into his chest, and reached out to poke his abs, acting as intimately as a real girlfriend. Before I could even enjoy the moment, Oliver caught my wandering hand. His voice was terrifyingly calm: "You aren't my biological sister." I froze, looking at him in utter disbelief. "What did you say?" He knew? Since when did he know? Faced with my shock, Oliver's eyes gradually cleared. He didn't say another word. He just scooped me up—blanket and all—carried me back to the master bedroom, and dumped me on the bed. He dropped a single sentence: "Whatever. Go to sleep." Then he turned to leave. In a panic, I grabbed his sleeve. "Oliver, what do you mean?" He tucked my hand back under the covers, his voice muffled and distant. "It's late. Go to sleep. We can talk about whatever it is in the morning." But... when I finally rolled out of bed the next morning after tossing and turning all night... Oliver was nowhere to be found. There was only a warm plate of breakfast on the dining table, along with a sticky note he left behind. [Eat your breakfast. Be good.] He was treating me like a toddler. Chewing on my sandwich, I finally realized that Oliver had also learned how to run away from his problems. 4 After returning to campus, I couldn't stop thinking about what Oliver had said. When my parents called, I even felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of panic. But they sounded completely normal, chatting with their usual parental concern, entirely oblivious to Oliver's weird behavior. So, right before hanging up, I cautiously asked, "Mom, Dad... has Oliver said anything to you guys lately?" My parents were totally confused and immediately asked if we had gotten into a fight. Feeling incredibly guilty, I made up an excuse and quickly hung up the phone. We hadn't technically gotten into a fight, but he was definitely, unilaterally avoiding me. It had been three days, and he hadn't replied to a single one of my texts. Monday. Me: [Are you hiding from me? I don't bite...] Tuesday. Me: [If you're a man, text me back. If you understand, type 'understood'!] Wednesday. Me: [If you don't reply, I'm going to ambush you at your office. I'm actually going.] ... Even a cornered dog will jump a fence, and a pushed rabbit will bite. If I didn't show him I meant business, he was going to treat me like a total pushover! Staring at the screen full of unanswered green text bubbles, my anger boiled over. I decided to call an Uber and head straight to his corporate building. But I never expected that my Uber would get into a massive car crash on the way there. And that I would take a nasty hit to the head. 5 When I finally woke up, I was staring groggily at a sterile white hospital ceiling. My brain was still booting up. It wasn't until I heard my parents sobbing that my hearing finally kicked in. My throat was incredibly dry. "Mom, Dad... what are you crying about?" Through their broken, tearful explanations, I managed to piece together what had happened. I forced a weak smile. "Hey, it's fine! Surviving a disaster means good luck is coming, right?" Seeing how optimistic I was, my parents finally stopped crying. I went right back to joking around with them like nothing had happened. Amidst the laughter, a tall, unbelievably handsome man walked into the room. His deep, intense eyes locked onto me, making my heart skip a literal beat. This was, without a doubt, the most handsome man I had ever seen in real life. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long, elegant fingers. Every single feature was flawlessly tailored to my exact type. I was so mesmerized that I accidentally blurted out, "Man, the messy fringe haircut really is superior to the curly mop." Hearing this, the handsome guy smirked slightly and asked, "Did that car crash knock all the sense out of your head?" I suddenly realized my behavior was a bit rude. I straightened the collar of my hospital gown and asked in my sweetest, most polite voice, "Excuse me, handsome, but who are you?" I was in a private VIP hospital room. He was either in the wrong room, or he was here to visit me. But I absolutely did not know a guy this hot. The second the words left my mouth, my mom's hand, which had been peeling an apple, stopped dead. My dad was the first to react. "Mia, you don't recognize him?" I shook my head. "Should I?" Was he some distant relative? Like a cousin or something? But there was no way my brain would let me forget a guy this gorgeous. I scanned him from head to toe one more time, but still drew a complete blank. When I tried to force myself to remember, a sharp, dull ache pulsed through my nerves. My condition made the handsome guy's brow furrow deeply. He immediately rushed out to get my attending doctor. After a thorough examination, the doctor explained that I was suffering from temporary selective amnesia and told them not to panic. Hearing the doctor's reassurance, my parents let out a massive sigh of relief. The handsome guy's face, however, grew darker by the second. I figured he must be someone incredibly close to me. Otherwise, he wouldn't be this furious. I looked at him cautiously. "So... what exactly is our relationship?" He didn't say a word. He just walked over to the table by the window, sat down, pulled out a laptop, and started aggressively typing. It looked like he was working, but it felt much more like he was throwing a silent tantrum. Sensing the toxic atmosphere, my parents quickly made up an excuse and slipped out of the room. The tension in the air was suffocating. I ran through eight hundred different relationship scenarios in my head before finally settling on the most logical one. Looking at Oliver's dark expression, I asked tentatively, "Are you my... boyfriend?" His fingers paused over his laptop keyboard, and his voice grew even colder. "I'm your brother. Your biological brother." I stared at his incredibly handsome face, which looked absolutely nothing like my parents, and fell into deep thought. Before I could figure it out, Oliver leaned in to feed me my medicine. The collar of his shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and I caught a glimpse of a tattoo resting just below his collarbone. —Mia. What kind of "biological brother" tattoos his sister's name on his chest?

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