Amanda didn’t sleep.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hand.
The scar.
It shouldn’t matter.
It was small. Faint. Easy to ignore.
And yet—
It was the only thing that hadn’t changed.
The only thing that proved something had been there.
“I know this came from somewhere,” she whispered.
Kofi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her like he was waiting for something to break.
“Or someone,” he said.
Amanda swallowed.
The word "someone" made her chest ache again.
A hollow, echoing feeling—like grief without a memory.
“I almost remembered them,” she said quietly.
Kofi didn’t respond.
Because it almost didn’t matter in Duase.
Amanda stood suddenly.
“No. I’m not doing this again.”
Kofi raised an eyebrow. “Doing what?”
“Waiting for things to disappear.” Her voice sharpened. “We keep reacting like we’re already losing.”
“And we are,” Kofi said calmly.
“Then we change that.”
He studied her more carefully now.
“…How?”
Amanda grabbed one of her notebooks and flipped to a blank page.
“If memory isn’t enough… and records aren’t enough…” she muttered, thinking out loud, “then we need something stronger.”
She pressed the pen hard against the paper.
Something that fights back.
She wrote:
THE MANGO TREE EXISTS.
The words sat there.
Still.
Unmoving.
Amanda held her breath.
Nothing happened.
Her eyes flicked to Kofi. “Do you see it?”
Kofi stepped closer, glancing at the page.
“…I see it.”
Relief flooded her chest.
“It’s not fading,” she said.
Not yet.
Kofi didn’t look convinced. “Give it time.”
Amanda shook her head. “No—this is different. Before, it disappeared when I focused on it. But now…”
She stared directly at the sentence.
Hard.
Forcing her mind to hold it.
THE MANGO TREE EXISTS.
The ink trembled—
Just slightly.
Amanda’s breath hitched.
“No. No, stay.”
The letters flickered.
Like they were unsure.
Like they were deciding.
Kofi’s voice dropped. “Amanda…”
“I can keep it,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I just need to—”
The word "TREE" vanished.
Gone.
The rest followed quickly after.
EXISTS broke apart.
Then MANGO.
Then THE.
Until the page was empty again.
Amanda froze.
Her hand tightened around the pen.
“…Okay,” she said slowly.
“That didn’t work.”
Kofi exhaled. “You’re trying to pin something down that doesn’t want to exist.”
“No,” Amanda said.
Her voice had changed.
It wasn’t panicked anymore.
It was focused.
“There’s a pattern.”
Kofi tilted his head. “What pattern?”
Amanda turned to him.
“It disappears faster when I focus on it alone.”
He frowned. “What?”
“That sentence—when I held it in my mind by myself, it started breaking,” she said. “But when you were reading it too…”
Kofi’s expression shifted slightly.
Understanding.
“…It lasted longer.”
Amanda nodded.
“It’s not just memory,” she said. “It’s shared memory.”
The room went quiet.
Because that changed everything.
“If more than one person remembers something…” Kofi said slowly, “…it becomes harder to erase.”
Amanda’s pulse quickened.
“Exactly.”
Hope flickered.
Small.
Dangerous.
“But that means—” Kofi started.
“It means we can fight this,” Amanda finished.
Kofi didn’t smile.
“If that’s true… then why didn’t it work for the others?” he asked.
Amanda hesitated.
“The others?”
“The people you forgot,” he said. “You weren’t the only one who knew them.”
The words landed heavily.
Amanda’s confidence wavered.
“…Then maybe,” she said slowly, “it’s not just about how many people remember.”
Kofi’s gaze sharpened. “Then what is it about?”
Amanda looked down at her hand again.
The scar.
Still there.
Still real.
“…Maybe it’s about how strongly they’re remembered.”
Silence.
Then—
Kofi spoke, quieter now.
“…Or how strongly they’re being erased.”
Amanda looked up.
That hadn’t occurred to her.
Erased.
Not fading.
Not naturally disappearing.
Something… doing it.
A cold feeling slid down her spine.
“You think this is intentional?” she asked.
Kofi didn’t answer right away.
Then
“Yes.”
The word settled into the room like something alive.
Amanda’s thoughts raced.
If it was intentional
Then this wasn’t just a phenomenon.
It was a force.
A will.
A choice.
“Then we’re not just trying to remember,” she said.
“We’re resisting something.”
Kofi nodded once.
“Something that’s already ahead of us.”
A sudden noise cut through the room.
Sharp.
Close.
Amanda turned toward the window.
“What was that?”
Kofi moved instantly, pulling the curtain aside.
Outside—
The street was wrong.
Not empty.
Not quiet.
Wrong.
The houses across the road looked… thinner.
Faded at the edges.
Like they were losing shape.
Amanda stepped closer.
“That wasn’t like that before.”
“No,” Kofi said.
And for the first time—
There was real tension in his voice.
Amanda’s chest tightened.
“It’s speeding up.”
As if hearing her
One of the houses flickered.
Just slightly.
Like a skipped frame in reality.
Amanda grabbed Kofi’s arm.
“We need more people,” she said.
Kofi looked at her sharply. “For what?”
“To remember,” she said. “If shared memory slows it down, then we need as many people as possible holding onto the same things.”
Kofi’s expression darkened.
“You’re assuming the others still remember anything.”
Amanda froze.
That…
was a problem.
A huge one.
Because if everyone else was already forgetting—
Then she and Kofi might be the only ones left holding the town together.
And that wouldn’t be enough.
Another flicker outside.
Longer this time.
Amanda’s breath shortened.
“…Then we start small,” she said.
Kofi raised an eyebrow.
“With what?”
Amanda turned back to the notebook.
Her hand hovered over the page.
Then she wrote again.
Slowly.
Carefully.
AMANDA EXISTS.
She stared at it.
Unblinking.
Kofi stepped beside her.
“…I see it,” he said.
Amanda nodded.
“Good,” she whispered.
Because something told her
This time
Losing it
Would be worse than anything else.