Amanda didn’t open the door.
She couldn’t.
Her hand hovered inches from the handle, trembling—not from fear of what was outside, but from something far worse.
Recognition without memory.
“I know that voice,” she whispered.
Kofi didn’t move. “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t open it.”
Another knock.
Slower this time.
Weaker.
“Amanda…” the voice said, barely holding itself together. “Please.”
Something inside her twisted painfully.
Not fear.
Not danger.
Loss.
“I think… I think I care about them,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I just don’t know why.”
Kofi’s jaw tightened. “That’s how it works.”
Amanda turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“They don’t disappear all at once,” he said. “First, you lose the details. Then the memories. Then the name. And finally…”
He looked at the door.
“You forget they ever mattered.”
Amanda’s chest tightened.
“No,” she said. “No, that’s not happening. Not to someone I—”
Her words stopped.
Because she didn’t know what came after that.
Loved?
Knew?
Needed?
Nothing fit.
The voice outside let out a soft, shaky breath.
“I don’t have much time,” it said.
Amanda flinched.
Time?
“What does that mean?” she called out.
Silence.
Then—
“You’re the last one who still… almost remembers me.”
The words hit like ice.
Amanda’s thoughts raced.
“If I forget them completely…” she said slowly, turning to Kofi, “…what happens?”
Kofi didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
She already knew.
The knocking stopped.
That was worse.
Amanda stepped closer to the door instinctively.
Kofi grabbed her wrist. “Don’t.”
“What if they disappear?” she said. “What if I’m the only thing keeping them here?”
“And what if opening that door makes you forget faster?” Kofi shot back.
Amanda hesitated.
That thought hadn’t crossed her mind.
But now it clung to her.
Heavy.
Possible.
Outside, the voice came again—but it sounded… thinner.
Like it was being pulled away.
“Amanda… I tried to leave something for you…”
Her breath caught. “What?”
“A sign… something you wouldn’t forget…”
Her eyes widened.
The notebooks.
The photos.
They all failed.
“What kind of sign?” she asked urgently.
A pause.
Then—
“The scar on your hand.”
Amanda froze.
Slowly, she looked down.
Her right hand.
There it was.
A faint, thin scar across her palm.
She had never questioned it.
Never wondered where it came from.
Until now.
Her pulse began to race.
“How do I have this?” she whispered.
Kofi stepped closer, his voice low. “Amanda… don’t let it in.”
But it was too late.
Because now she had something the town hadn’t erased.
Physical.
Permanent.
Real.
“Tell me who you are,” she said, her voice shaking.
Silence.
Then—
“…I can’t.”
Amanda’s heart dropped. “Why not?”
“Because if I say it… you won’t recognize it.”
The air in the room felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like reality itself was pressing in.
Amanda stepped closer to the door.
Kofi’s grip tightened. “You’re making a mistake.”
“Or I’m making the only choice I have,” she said.
The voice outside was fading now.
“Amanda… I’m running out of—”
She turned the handle.
The door creaked open.
And for a moment—
She saw someone.
A shape.
A presence.
Familiar in a way that hurt.
Then—
It flickered.
Like a signal breaking apart.
Amanda reached out instinctively.
“Wait—!”
Their fingers almost touched.
Almost—
And then
They were gone.
Not vanished.
Not disappeared.
Just…
never there.
Amanda stood frozen in the doorway.
Her hand was still outstretched.
Her mind completely blank.
Kofi spoke carefully. “What did you see?”
Amanda didn’t answer.
Because she couldn’t.
Not because she forgot.
But because there was nothing left to remember.
Slowly, she lowered her hand.
“…No one,” she said.
But her voice cracked.
And on her palm
The scar
burned.mind was