The night ended quietly, like it always did.

Eloise and I stepped out of the café just as the staff turned off half the lights behind us, leaving the inside dim and distant. The air outside was warmer than I expected, thick with the smell of pavement and the faint sweetness of roasted coffee that clung stubbornly to my clothes.

I pulled my sleeves down over my hands. It was a habit I never noticed until someone pointed it out.We walked side by side, our shoulders brushing occasionally, neither of us speaking for a while. The street wasn’t empty, but it wasn’t crowded either. Just enough people to remind me the world was still moving, even when I felt like I wasn’t.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Eloise said.

I glanced at her.

“I’m always quiet.”

She gave me a look. “No. This is different.”

I didn’t ask how she knew. Eloise had always known things about me I never said out loud.

We reached the intersection where we usually parted ways. The streetlamp above us flickered faintly, casting uneven light across the road. Beyond it, the road stretched farther into darkness—the direction of the old town.

My eyes lingered there longer than they should have.

Eloise noticed.

“You’re thinking about it again,” she said softly.

I didn’t answer.

Because I was.

The old town.

We hadn’t been there in years.

Not since—

I stopped the thought before it could finish itself.

“We could go on Friday” Eloise said suddenly.

I turned to her. “Friday?”

She shrugged, but her voice was gentle. “We’ve been talking about it forever.”

She wasn’t wrong.

It had started as a joke weeks ago. A passing comment. A memory we brushed against without meaning to. But lately, it didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

It felt inevitable. I looked back down the road.

Even from here, it felt distant. Untouched. Waiting.

“Okay,” I heard myself say.

Eloise blinked. “Okay?”

“We’ll go on Friday.”

The words left my mouth before I could take them back. Something inside me shifted the moment I said it.

Not relief. Not fear. Something else. Something I didn’t have a name for.

Eloise smiled, but it wasn’t the excited kind. It was careful. Like she was watching me, making sure I wouldn’t disappear.

“On Friday," she repeated.

On Friday.

Three more days.

The word stayed with me the entire walk home.

I didn’t sleep well that night.

I never did.

Sleep came in fragments, thin and fragile, breaking apart the moment my mind wandered somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go. I stared at the ceiling longer than I should have, listening to the quiet hum of the fan above me.

There was a time when nights didn’t feel like this. When they didn’t feel so heavy. When I didn’t wake up feeling like I had forgotten something important.

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing I knew, my phone was ringing. The sound cut sharply through the silence. My eyes opened slowly.

For a moment, I didn’t move.The screen lit up beside my bed, illuminating the darkness in soft blue light.

My heart began to beat faster. I didn’t know why. But I did.

I reached for the phone.

Unknown Number.

The words stared back at me. My chest tightened.

It could be anyone. A wrong number. A delivery.A mistake.

But my fingers hesitated over the screen. Because a small, quiet part of me already knew who I wanted it to be.

Him.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until my lungs started to ache.

The phone kept ringing.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I answered.

“…Hello?”

My voice sounded smaller than I expected.

There was nothing on the other end.

No voice.

No breathing.

Just silence.

I frowned. “Hello?”

Still nothing.

The call ended. I stared at the screen long after it went dark.

My reflection stared back at me—tired eyes, unmoving, uncertain.

I didn’t know why it mattered. But it did. It mattered more than it should have.

I stayed in bed longer than I should have. The phone rested in my hand, its screen dark now, lifeless. If I pressed it, it would wake again. It would show me the same thing. The same unknown number. The same unanswered question.

I didn’t call back. I told myself it was because it didn’t matter. But the truth was, I was afraid it might.

Eventually, the morning light crept through the thin gap between my curtains, stretching across the wall, across the floor, until it reached my bed. It touched my arm like a quiet reminder that time was moving whether I was ready or not.

I exhaled slowly and forced myself to sit up. My apartment was small. Just enough space for everything I needed and nothing more. The walls were plain, undecorated except for a single frame near the window. I didn’t look at it. I never did in the mornings. I moved through my routine mechanically. Shower. Clothes. Hair. Bag. Everything felt distant, like I was watching myself instead of living inside my own body.

The phone stayed on the table. Silent. I glanced at it more than once.

Nothing. No new calls. No messages. I told myself I didn’t care. I picked it up anyway and slipped it into my bag.

⊙

The streets were already alive when I stepped outside. Cars passed. People moved. Conversations overlapped and dissolved into meaningless noise. The sky was pale, undecided, suspended somewhere between clear and overcast. I walked the same route I always did.

Left at the corner. Across the narrow crosswalk. Past the convenience store with the broken sign that never got fixed. Everything was familiar.

Predictable.

Safe.

But something felt different.I couldn’t explain it. It was just a feeling.

The kind that sat quietly beneath everything else. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and kept walking.

And then I saw him.

He stood across the street.

Still.

Unmoving.

Everyone else moved around him, past him, through him, like he was just another stranger waiting for the light to change. But he wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

My steps slowed.

My heart reacted before my mind did.

There was nothing unusual about him.

Just a man.

Average height. Dark clothing. His face partially turned away. But something inside me recognized him. Not his face. Not clearly. Just the feeling.

My chest tightened.

It was him.

It had to be.

I didn’t realize I had stopped walking until someone brushed past my shoulder.

“Sorry,” they muttered.

I barely heard them. The man started moving again. Away from me.

Without thinking, I followed. I crossed the street, ignoring the faint sound of a car horn somewhere behind me. My eyes stayed fixed on his back, on the way he walked like he knew exactly where he was going. My pulse grew louder in my ears.

He turned the corner and I followed. Closer now. Closer than I had been in years. My hands felt cold.

I didn’t call out. I didn’t know what I would say if I did.

His steps slowed. My breath were caught.

He turned.

And everything inside me stopped.

It wasn’t him.

The realization came quietly. Gently. Like something being taken from me without resistance.

He was a stranger.

Completely.

His eyes passed over me without recognition, without hesitation. There was no pause. No reaction. Nothing.

Just emptiness.

He looked away and continued walking.

And I stood there.

Frozen.

My heart didn’t break.It didn’t shatter.

It just… sank.

Slowly.

Like it already knew this would happen. I don’t know how long I stood there.

Long enough for the moment to fade into something distant and unimportant.

Long enough for reality to settle back into place. I forced myself to move again.

To breathe again.

It was stupid. I didn’t even know what I was expecting. People looked like other people all the time. Memories played tricks like that.

I told myself that was all it was.

A mistake. Nothing more. But the feeling stayed.

Quiet.

Unfinished.

⊙

Work was the same as always.

Predictable.

Manageable.

Safe.

I stepped inside and was greeted by the familiar scent of paper and air conditioning.

“Morning, Cionnee,” Maris said from behind the front desk.

I nodded slightly. “Morning.”

“You look tired.”

“I slept late.”

It wasn’t a lie.

She studied me for a moment longer than necessary, like she wanted to ask something else, but didn’t.

I was grateful for that. I moved to my desk and sat down.

The chair creaked softly beneath me. Everything was exactly where I left it yesterday. Nothing had changed. And yet, everything felt different.

I reached into my bag and felt my phone.

Still there. Still silent.

I didn’t take it out. I didn’t want to see it.

Time passed the way it always did at work—quietly, unnoticed, slipping through my fingers without resistance.

Conversations happened around me.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

Voices.

I participated when I had to. Smiled when expected. Answered when spoken to. But part of me wasn’t there. Part of me was still standing on that street. Still watching a stranger walk away. Still wondering why it mattered.

By the time the day ended, the sky had changed.

I noticed it the moment I stepped outside. The air was heavier now.

Darker.

The clouds stretched across the sky in thick layers, swallowing what little light remained. People moved faster. Purposefully. Like they knew something was coming. I stood there for a moment longer than everyone else.

Looking up.

Waiting.

The first drop of rain fell against my skin. Cold.Gentle.

And with it came something else.

A memory. Not fully formed. Just a fragment.

A feeling.

Rain.

Laughter.

A voice—

I blinked.

And it was gone.

I didn’t chase it.

I never did.

The rain began to fall harder.

Steadier.

And I turned toward home. Not knowing that the night wasn’t finished with me yet.

The rain followed me the entire way home. It wasn’t heavy at first. Just a quiet drizzle that settled into my hair and clothes without urgency. The kind of rain most people ignored. But I didn’t ignore it. I never could. Rain had a way of pulling things out of me I didn’t ask for. Memories I didn’t want. Feelings I didn’t understand.

The streets blurred slightly as droplets gathered along my lashes. I didn’t wipe them away. I let them fall. Let them disappear before I could decide whether they mattered. People hurried past me, shielding themselves with bags or jackets. Some ran. Some laughed. Some complained.

I walked normally. Like the rain and I had an understanding.

By the time I reached my apartment building, the drizzle had grown into something steadier. The pavement reflected the dull glow of streetlights, turning everything into distorted mirrors.

I climbed the stairs slowly.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Each one echoing faintly in the empty stairwell. My hand rested lightly on the railing, cool and smooth beneath my fingers. And then—

It happened again.

A memory. Stronger this time. Rain. Just like this but warmer.

Louder.

Brighter.

“I told you it would rain.”

His voice.

Clear.

Close.

I stood beneath the covered walkway outside our high school building, watching the rain pour down in sheets. Students crowded around me, complaining, laughing, calling their parents. But I wasn’t listening to them.

I was listening to him.

“I didn’t believe you,” I said.

He laughed softly.

“You never do.”

I turned toward him.

I couldn’t see his face clearly. Not anymore. But I remembered how it felt to stand there beside him.

Easy. Natural. Like it was where I belonged.

“You’ll get sick,” he said.

I shrugged. “It’s just rain.”

He was quiet for a moment.

Then he stepped forward.

Closer.

Too close.

“You always say that,” he said.

My heart beat faster. I didn’t know why. Or maybe I did.

“I don’t mind,” I replied.

He didn’t answer.

He just looked at me.

And for a moment, everything else disappeared.The noise.

The people. The world. It was just him and me.

And the rain.

—

I blinked.

The memory dissolved instantly, like it had never existed.I was standing in front of my apartment door. My hand hovered near the handle.

My chest rose and fell unevenly. I didn’t remember climbing the rest of the stairs. I didn’t remember reaching the door.mBut I was here.

The present always returned eventually. No matter how far the past tried to pull me back. I unlocked the door and stepped inside. The apartment greeted me with silence. The familiar kind. The kind that wrapped around me without asking permission. I set my bag down on the small table near the entrance and slipped off my shoes. My clothes clung slightly to my skin, damp from the rain.

I should change. I knew that. But I didn’t move.

I just stood there. Listening to nothing or maybe to something I couldn’t name.

My phone was still in my bag, I could feel its presence without touching it.

Still silent.

Still waiting.

Just like this morning.

I walked toward the window. Rain traced thin lines down the glass, distorting the outside world into something softer. Less real. I rested my hand lightly against the cool surface. Why did it still feel like he was there?

Not physically.

Not truly.

But close.

Like something unfinished lingered between the spaces of my life.

I closed my eyes and for a moment— I almost heard his voice again.

A knock shattered the silence.

Sharp.

Clear.

Real.

My eyes opened instantly. My body froze.

The sound echoed through the apartment, louder than it should have been. I stared at the door. My heart began to pound.

No one ever visited me.

No one came unannounced.

Another knock.

My breath caught.

A thousand thoughts rushed through my mind all at once.

It could be anyone.

A neighbor.

A mistake.

A delivery.

Anyone.

But there was only one person I wanted it to be and the thought terrified me.

Slowly, I stepped toward the door. Each movement felt heavier than the last.

My hand trembled slightly as I reached it.

I stopped just inches away.

The silence on the other side felt alive.

Waiting.

Just like I was.

My heart beat louder.

Faster.

I didn’t know why I was afraid or why I was hoping. I swallowed.

My fingers hovered over the handle. And for the first time in a long time—

I didn’t know what would happen next. 

I opened the door slowly. Carefully.

Like whatever waited on the other side might disappear if I moved too fast.

The hallway light flickered faintly above, casting a dull yellow glow across the empty corridor.

There was no one there.

My eyes searched the space instinctively.

Left and right yet still nothing.

Just silence. Just the hum of the old overhead light and the distant sound of rain outside. My chest tightened.

It wasn’t him. Of course, it wasn’t. I didn’t know why I expected anything different. My hand remained on the doorframe, fingers curled lightly against the cold surface, as if holding onto it could stop the feeling spreading through me.

Disappointment was a quiet thing. It didn’t crash into you. It didn’t demand attention. It simply settled inside you, heavy and familiar.

I stepped forward slightly, leaning into the hallway. Still nothing.

No footsteps retreating.

No shadow disappearing.

No sign anyone had ever been there.

Maybe I imagined it. Maybe someone knocked on the wrong door.

Maybe—

I stopped myself. There was no point in creating explanations for something that had no answers. Slowly, I closed the door.

The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have. I stood there for a moment, staring at the wood, my reflection faintly visible in its polished surface.

“You’re being stupid,” I whispered to myself. The words didn’t help.

My phone rang.

The sudden sound startled me, sharp and intrusive against the silence. My heart jumped before I could stop it.

I reached for it quickly.

For a moment—

Just a moment—

I thought it might be the same unknown number. But it wasn’t.

Eloise.

I answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” her voice came through, warm and familiar. “Were you busy?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No,” I repeated softly.

She hummed faintly, like she didn’t fully believe me, but didn’t press it.

“I was just calling to ask,” she began, “are you free tommorow night?”

“tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Some of us are going out. There’s this bar near the old cinema. Nothing big. Just… hanging out.”

The old cinema.

My chest tightened slightly at the words, though I didn’t know why.

“I can go,” I said.

The answer came automatically. Too automatically.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.This one longer.

“You sound weird.”

I forced a small breath. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

She didn’t say it accusingly. She said it gently. Like she was reaching for something fragile. I leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly until I was sitting on the floor.

“I’m just tired,” I said.

“Cionnee.”

The way she said my name made my chest ache. She had always known when I was lying. Even when I barely knew it myself.

I stared at the floor. At nothing.

“At work today,” I said quietly, “I thought I saw him.”

The words felt strange leaving my mouth. Like they didn’t belong to me.

Eloise didn’t interrupt. She never did.

“I followed him,” I continued. “I really thought it was him.”

My throat tightened.

“But it wasn’t.”

Silence filled the space between us. Not empty. Not uncomfortable.

Just present.

“I also got a call this morning,” I added. “From an unknown number.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing.”

I swallowed.

“And someone knocked on my door just now.”

Her voice softened even more.

“And no one was there.”

It wasn’t a question. It was understanding.

I closed my eyes.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I whispered.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she replied immediately.

Her certainty made something inside me tremble.

“You’re remembering,” she said.

I didn’t answer. Because she was right.

“And remembering doesn’t mean you’re weak,” she continued. “It just means it mattered.”

My chest tightened.

“It still matters,” I admitted.

The words barely existed above a whisper.

She didn’t try to argue with me. She didn’t try to fix it. She just stayed.

“I’m here,” she said softly.

And somehow, those two words were enough to keep me from falling apart completely.

We stayed on the phone like that for a while. Neither of us speaking. Just breathing. Just existing. Before she spoke again.

“Did you take your meds today?”

The question came gently. Carefully. Like she was afraid of the answer.

I hesitated.

“…No.”

I heard her exhale. Not angry. Not disappointed.

Just concerned.

“Can you take them now?”

I stared at the ceiling.

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“…Promise.”

She paused.

“Tommorow,” she said again. “We’ll go together.”

“Okay.”

“You won’t be alone.”

I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that until she said it.

After we said goodbye, the silence returned. But it didn’t feel as heavy as before. I stood up slowly and walked toward the small cabinet near my bed.

Inside was the familiar orange bottle. I held it in my hand for a moment.

Then opened it and did what she asked.

Later that night, I sat on the floor beside my bed. I didn’t know why I was there.

Or what I was looking for. My fingers brushed against something beneath the bed frame. Something small. Something forgotten.

I reached for it.

An old phone.

My old phone.

I stared at it, my reflection faintly visible on its dark, lifeless screen.I hadn’t seen it in years. I didn’t remember keeping it. But I never threw it away either.

My thumb pressed the power button. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The screen flickered and turned on.

My breath caught.

The wallpaper appeared instantly.

It was us.

Him.

And me.

Standing side by side beneath soft pink cherry blossoms.

I froze.

I remembered that day. I remembered everything.

The air had smelled like spring.

Fresh.

Alive.

Cherry blossom petals drifted slowly around us, carried by the gentle wind. Some landed in his hair. Some on my shoulders.

He laughed when I tried to brush them away.

“Leave them,” he said.

“You look stupid,” I replied.

“You look nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

He smiled.

That quiet smile he only showed when it was just us. We walked slowly beneath the trees, our shoulders brushing occasionally. Neither of us pulling away.

Neither of us acknowledging it.

“I have a question,” he said suddenly.

I glanced at him. “What?”

He looked ahead, not at me.

“Do you ever think about the future?”

The question caught me off guard.

“The future?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

I thought about it. About everything ahead of us. Everything we didn’t know yet.

“Sometimes,” I admitted.

He was quiet for a moment. Cherry blossoms fell between us.

Soft.

Fragile.

“Do you think,” he said slowly, “we’ll still be together?”

My heart stopped. The world seemed to hold its breath.

I looked at him. Really looked at him and in that moment—

I wanted the answer to be yes. More than anything.

I blinked.

The memory dissolved. I was back in my room while still holding the old phone.

Morning came quietly.I didn’t remember falling asleep.

I only remembered the feeling of exhaustion, heavy and shapeless, pulling me down until everything disappeared.

123When I opened my eyes, the light was already there, soft and pale against the ceiling. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just stared upward, letting myself exist in that fragile space between dreaming and waking.

My chest felt tight. Not painful. Just heavy. Like something was sitting inside it that didn’t belong there. I sat up slowly and pressed my fingers against my temples. My head ached faintly, the kind of ache that didn’t demand attention but refused to leave.

I stood and walked to the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with someone who looked like me, but not entirely. My eyes looked more tired than I felt or maybe I was just used to hiding it. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water against my face. The shock helped, grounding me in the present.

I inhaled slowly.

Exhaled.

“Today will be fine,” I whispered.

I didn’t know if I believed it.

I stepped back into my room and walked toward the cabinet beside my bed. My fingers opened it automatically, reaching for the orange bottle inside.

Except—

It wasn’t there.

I blinked.

I moved things aside. Checked behind the small stack of papers.

Nothing.

A small knot formed in my chest. I crouched down and opened the drawer beneath it.

Empty.

I opened another drawer.

Still nothing.

I stared at the space where they should have been. I must have finished them. I just didn’t remember when.

I sighed softly and leaned back against the cabinet.

“It’s fine,” I murmured to myself. “I’ll buy more later.”

The words sounded simple.

Easy.

But something about it unsettled me. Like forgetting them meant something more than just forgetfulness. I stood and forced myself to continue getting ready. One step at a time. Just like always.

⊙

The city was already awake when I stepped outside. Cars moved endlessly, their engines blending into a constant hum. People filled the sidewalks. 

I raised my hand and flagged down a yellow cab. It pulled over beside me. I slipped inside and told the driver where to go.

As the cab began moving, I leaned my head lightly against the window.

The city passed by in fragments.Buildings. People. Stores.

Moments of lives that didn’t belong to me. I watched them without really seeing them. Until—

We passed a shop.

My breath caught.

It happened suddenly. Without warning. The shop looked ordinary and small. Forgettable. But I recognized it.

My chest tightened painfully. I remembered standing there once.

Waiting.

Laughing.

He had stood beside me, holding something behind his back like it was a secret.

“You’ll like it,” he said.

“I haven’t even seen it yet.”

“That’s why you’ll like it.”

I laughed.

He always sounded so sure.

The memory faded as quickly as it came.

The cab continued moving yet the feeling stayed.

Sharp.

Persistent.

I looked away.

I didn’t want to remember the rest.

⊙

Work was worse than usual.

The moment I stepped inside, I could feel it. The tension. The urgency.

“Cionnee, we need those reports finalized.”

“Cionnee, did you see the email?”

“Cionnee, the client called again.”

Voices overlapped, one after another. Problems. Requests. Expectations.

I tried to keep up, I really did. But everything felt louder than it should have been. My head throbbed faintly and patience thinned faster than usual.

“Cionnee?”

I looked up.

Maris stood beside my desk.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly.

Too quickly.

She hesitated.

“You seem stressed.”

“I’m just tired.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look convinced.

I turned back to my work.

Numbers blurred together.

Words lost meaning.

Even the smallest mistakes frustrated me more than they should have. I exhaled sharply and leaned back in my chair.

Why was everything so hard today?

Why did everything feel heavier?

Time moved slowly. Painfully.

Until finally—It was over.

The ride home felt longer.

Quieter.

My thoughts wouldn’t stop. They moved between the present and the past without permission. Work problems. His voice. The unknown call. The empty hallway. Memories overlapped with reality until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. By the time I reached my apartment, exhaustion had settled deep into my bones.

I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Silence greeted me again. I dropped my bag on the table and froze. My chest tightened suddenly.

The medicine.

I forgot. I forgot to buy it.

I closed my eyes as frustration rose quickly. Sharp and immediate.

“Why do I keep forgetting?” I whispered.

My hands trembled slightly.

Everything felt overwhelming all at once.

Work.

Memories.

Him.

Myself.

I walked to my bed and sat down heavily. Then laid back. The ceiling stared down at me, blank and indifferent.

“I’ll buy it tomorrow,” I murmured.

I didn’t know how many times I’d said that.

My eyes grew heavier.

My thoughts slower.

And before I realized it—

I fell asleep.

He was there. Like he had never left. We walked side by side just like before.

No distance. No silence. No emptiness.

“You’re late,” he teased gently.

“I’m not late.”

“You are.”

I smiled.

“I missed you.”

The words came out without hesitation.

He didn’t answer right away. He just looked at me like he used to. Like I was something he didn’t want to lose.

“I’m here now,” he said.

His voice felt real. Too real.

We talked about everything. The lost time. The things we didn’t say. The things we would do.

“We’ll make up for it,” he promised.

I believed him. I always believed him.

“Where are you?” I asked suddenly.

The question slipped out before I could stop it.

His expression shifted.

Softer.

Sad.

“I’m—”

A sound interrupted him.

Sharp.

Loud.

Ringing.

The world began to break apart.

“No,” I whispered.

I reached for him but he was already fading.

The ringing grew louder.

Closer.

Closer.

My eyes opened.

My phone was ringing. My heart pounded violently in my chest.

I stared at the ceiling, disoriented. The dream still clung to me.

His voice.

His face.

His presence.

My phone continued ringing beside me.

I turned my head slowly.

Eloise.

I stared at the screen for a moment before answering.