"Kabir," I said immediately, "what are you talking about?"
His breathing on the other side of the call sounded uneven, like he had either been running or panicking.
"I'm coming over," he said quickly. "Don't sleep yet."
"Kabir—"
But the call ended before I could stop him.
I stared at the screen for several seconds before lowering the phone slowly.
The apartment suddenly felt colder than before.
Outside, rainwater slid down the glass windows in crooked lines while distant traffic hummed somewhere below the building. The notebook still lay open on the counter beside me, its pages filled with fragments of a version of myself I couldn't remember.
Her favorite color is yellow.
Don't let her leave alone that night.
Ask her why she disappeared.
None of it made sense.
And yet, every sentence felt painfully real.
I sat down on the couch and opened the notebook again, more carefully this time.
Most pages looked ordinary at first glance—random reminders, unfinished lists, scribbled thoughts written at odd hours. But the deeper I looked, the stranger the entries became.
Some pages contained dates without explanation.
July 14 — Don't trust memory when panic starts.
August 2 — She said rain helps me remember.
September 9 — If I forget again, ask about the station.
Again.
That word kept appearing everywhere.
As if forgetting things had happened more than once.
A strange uneasiness crawled through me.
I reached the middle section of the notebook and noticed something odd. Several pages had been torn out carefully.
Not ripped in anger.
Removed intentionally.
Only small uneven edges remained near the binding.
Who tore them out?
Me?
Or someone else?
Before I could think further, the doorbell rang.
I got up immediately and opened the door.
Kabir stood outside, soaked from the rain.
"You look terrible," I said automatically.
"You sound disappointed."
He stepped inside without waiting for permission and ran a hand through his wet hair. Usually, Kabir carried energy into every room he entered. Tonight, he looked distracted.
Nervous.
I closed the door behind him.
"You said you remembered something."
Kabir didn't answer right away. His eyes landed on the notebook still resting on the table.
"What's that?"
"I found it after talking to Meera."
At the mention of her name, something unreadable crossed his face.
That tiny reaction didn't escape me.
"You know something," I said quietly.
Kabir exhaled slowly and sat down on the couch.
"I don't know everything," he admitted. "That's the problem."
The rain outside grew heavier again.
I waited.
After a few seconds, he rubbed his face tiredly and spoke.
"After your accident three years ago… you changed."
I leaned against the table silently.
"At first, everyone thought it was normal," he continued. "You had memory gaps. Mood swings. Panic attacks sometimes. Doctors said trauma affects people differently."
"I don't remember panic attacks."
"That's because you barely remember that entire year."
The sentence settled heavily inside the room.
Kabir looked away briefly before continuing.
"There were days when you acted completely fine. And then suddenly you'd disappear for hours."
"Disappear?"
"You'd leave class, stop answering calls, and wander around the city alone."
A faint discomfort stirred inside my chest.
"One night," Kabir said carefully, "I found you sitting outside the railway station in the rain."
My fingers tightened unconsciously.
"You looked… destroyed."
The word hit harder than expected.
"What happened?"
"You kept asking me the same question."
"What question?"
Kabir looked directly at me now.
'Did I leave someone behind that night?'"
Silence filled the apartment.
The sound of rain suddenly felt distant again.
A strange pressure built slowly behind my eyes.
"Do you remember anything else?" I asked quietly.
"Fragments." Kabir frowned slightly, trying to recall. "There was definitely a girl connected to the accident somehow. I remember seeing a yellow scarf in your hospital room once."
My heartbeat slowed.
Yellow again.
"But every time I asked about her," he continued, "you'd either shut down completely… or claim you didn't know who I was talking about."
I sat down slowly.
The exhaustion inside me suddenly felt heavier than physical tiredness.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Kabir gave a humorless laugh.
"Because eventually you stopped mentioning it too." He paused. "And honestly? You looked happier forgetting."
The words stayed with me longer than they should have.
Happier forgetting.
Was that true?
Or had I only become emptier?
Kabir's attention shifted toward the notebook again. "Can I see it?"
I handed it over quietly.
He flipped through several pages before suddenly stopping.
"What?"
Kabir frowned.
"There's something stuck here."
He carefully slid two fingers between the pages near the back cover and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
My pulse quickened instantly.
The paper looked old and slightly damaged by water.
Kabir unfolded it slowly.
Inside was a train ticket.
Three years old.
Departure Station: Lakemont Junction.
My chest tightened immediately.
The lake from my dreams.
At the bottom corner of the ticket, faint handwriting appeared in blue ink.
Don't disappear this time.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
Then Kabir looked at me carefully.
"Do you remember going there?"
I shook my head slowly.
"No."
But even as I said it, another image flashed briefly inside my mind.
A lake at sunset.
Someone laughing beside me.
Wind moving through long dark hair.
The memory vanished before I could hold onto it properly.
I pressed my fingers against my temple.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I lied.
Kabir didn't believe me, but he let it go.
Around midnight, he finally stood up to leave.
Before opening the door, he turned back toward me.
"Just… be careful, okay?"
"With Meera?"
"With your memories."
After he left, the apartment felt quieter than ever.
I cleaned the cold noodles I never ate, switched off the kitchen light, and sat near the window with the notebook still in my lap.
The city outside shimmered beneath rain-covered streetlights.
I should have been terrified.
Instead, beneath all the confusion, something else existed too.
Hope.
For the first time in years, pieces of my life felt connected to something real.
My phone buzzed softly.
A message from Meera.
Did Kabir reach safely?
I stared at the screen.
Then typed back.
How do you know he was here?
The typing bubble appeared immediately.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Finally:
Lucky guess.
I smiled despite myself.
Then another message came.
Did you sleep at all?
Not yet.
You should try.
You say that like you know I get nightmares.
Several seconds passed before she replied.
Maybe I do.
I leaned my head back against the couch slowly.
Even through text messages, she somehow managed to sound close.
Dangerously close.
Before I could overthink it, another message arrived.
Do you still listen to old train announcements when you can't sleep?
My body went completely still.
A cold sensation spread down my spine.
Because I had never told anyone that.
Not even kabir.
Ever since the accident, there had been nights when I randomly searched train station ambience online just to calm my mind. I never understood why.
How could she possibly know that?
My fingers hovered above the screen uncertainly.
Then slowly, I typed:
Meera… who are you really?
This time, her reply took longer.
Much longer.
When it finally appeared, my chest tightened instantly.
I think… I'm someone you promised not to forget.