Amanda didn’t remember the streetlight.
That was the first thing that terrified her.
She stood there, staring into the darkness where it had disappeared, trying to recall what it looked like—how tall it was, how bright it shone, whether it flickered before it went out.
Nothing came.
Just… emptiness.
Her chest tightened.
“It was here,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.
Kofi didn’t respond.
He was watching her carefully, like he had seen this moment before.
“You don’t remember it,” he said quietly.
Amanda shook her head, panic rising. “No—I do. I just… I just need a second.”
She closed her eyes, forcing her mind to reach for something—anything.
Light.
Metal.
A pole.
A glow in the dark.
But every image slipped through her fingers like water.
Gone.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
The words felt like failure.
Like something inside her had just been taken.
“Then it’s already too late for that one,” Kofi said.
Amanda’s eyes snapped open. “What do you mean too late?”
“It means it’s fully gone,” he replied. “Not just from the town—from you.”
“That doesn’t make sense!” she snapped. “How can something exist and then just—”
“It doesn’t,” he cut in gently. “That’s the point.”
Amanda stared at him.
Her mind tried to fight it, to reject it—but reality wasn’t bending for her anymore.
If she couldn’t remember it…
Did it ever exist?
“No,” she said firmly, stepping back. “No, that’s not how this works. I know what I saw.”
“Do you?” Kofi asked.
The question hit harder than it should have.
Amanda opened her mouth—
and stopped.
Because certainty was becoming harder to hold onto.
And that scared her more than anything.
“We need proof,” she said suddenly.
Kofi raised an eyebrow. “Proof?”
“Yes. Something that doesn’t rely on memory.” Her thoughts were moving faster now, desperate but focused. “If Duase is disappearing because people forget, then we need something that can’t.
Kofi studied her.
“…Like what?”
Amanda turned and started walking.
“Come with me.”
They moved quickly through the quiet streets.
Amanda didn’t explain—not yet. She was afraid that if she stopped to think too much, the idea would slip away like everything else.
Finally, they reached her house.
She pushed the door open and went straight to her room, dropping to her knees beside her bed. Her hands moved urgently as she pulled out the shoebox filled with old notebooks.
“What is this?” Kofi asked from the doorway.
“My journals,” Amanda said. “I write everything down. Every day. If something disappears, it should still be in here.”
Kofi stepped closer, something like cautious interest in his eyes.
Amanda flipped open the first notebook.
Her handwriting filled the pages—dates, thoughts, small details of daily life.
Normal.
Steady.
Safe.
Her breathing slowed slightly.
“See?” she said. “This is real. This doesn’t just—”
She stopped.
Her finger had frozen on a line.
Kofi noticed immediately. “What is it?”
Amanda didn’t answer.
She was staring at the page.
At a sentence that didn’t make sense.
“Sat under the mango tree today. It felt different somehow.”
The words were there.
Clear.
Undeniable.
But as she read them
They began to fade.
Right in front of her eyes.
The ink didn’t smudge.
It didn’t blur.
It simply…
disappeared.
Letter by letter.
Until the line was gone.
Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
“No…” she whispered.
Kofi leaned in. “What’s happening?”
“It was here,” she said, her voice trembling. “I wrote about the tree—it was right here—”
He looked at the page.
There was nothing.
Just blank space.
Amanda flipped to another page.
Then another.
Then another.
Anywhere she thought she might have mentioned the tree.
Each time
the same thing.
The moment she focused on it
It vanished.
As if the act of remembering it…
triggered its erasure.
She dropped the notebook.
“This isn’t just memory,” she said, backing away slightly. “It’s rewriting everything.”
Kofi’s expression darkened.
“…Then it’s worse than I thought.”
Amanda looked at him sharply. “Worse how?”
“If it’s erasing records too,” he said, “then there’s no way to prove anything ever existed.”
Amanda’s mind reeled.
“No photos?” she asked.
“Check.”
Her hands shook as she grabbed her phone.
Gallery.
She scrolled.
Pictures of Duase filled the screen—streets, people, and small moments she had captured without thinking.
Relief flickered.
“See? It’s still here—”
She tapped a photo.
A familiar road.
She zoomed in.
Where the mango tree should have been—
There was nothing.
Just empty space.
Amanda’s stomach dropped.
“No…”
She opened another.
And another.
Each one
the same.
Anything that should have been there
was gone.
Not edited.
Not altered.
Just… never there.
Kofi exhaled slowly.
“It doesn’t just erase things,” he said.
“It makes it so they were never there at all.”
Amanda lowered the phone.
Her hands felt numb.
Her thoughts are slower.
Heavier.
“If that’s true…” she said quietly, “then how do we fight something like that?”
Kofi didn’t answer immediately.
For the first time since she met him
He looked uncertain.
Then, softly
“Maybe we don’t.”
Amanda looked up sharply. “What?”
“Maybe this isn’t something you stop,” he said. “Maybe it’s something you survive.”
“No,” Amanda said instantly.
The word surprised even her.
But it came from somewhere deeper than fear.
Stronger.
“I’m not just going to stand here and watch everything disappear,” she said. “This is my home.”
Kofi held her gaze.
“And what happens when Duase forgets you?”
The question hit like a blow.
Amanda’s breath faltered.
Because for the first time
She realized that was possible.
Silence filled the room.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Then—
a knock.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Both of them froze.
Amanda turned slowly toward the door.
Another knock.
More urgent this time.
Kofi’s voice dropped. “Were you expecting someone?”
Amanda shook her head.
“No…”
The knock came again.
Louder.
Insistent.
Amanda stepped toward the door, her pulse racing.
“Who is it?” she called.
A pause.
Then—
a voice.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
“Amanda… it’s me.”
Her heart stopped.
Because she knew that voice.
She knew it.
But no matter how hard she tried
She couldn’t remember who it belonged to.
Kofi’s expression shifted instantly.
“Don’t open it,” he said.
Amanda swallowed.
The voice came again.
Softer now.
Almost pleading.
“You forgot me… didn’t you?”
And somehow
That was worse than anything else.
Because deep down
Amanda knew it was true.