The bell rang.
A soft, hollow sound that echoed through the shop like something lost.
I froze.
Not because someone entered.
But because… something felt wrong.
I slowly looked up.
A man stood at the door.
Still.
Watching.
There was nothing remarkable about him—dark coat, pale skin, sharp features—but my chest tightened the moment our eyes met.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Familiarity.
The kind you can't explain.
"Welcome," I said, my voice steady despite the unease creeping under my skin.
"Leave your item on the counter."
He didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even look around.
He just… stared at me.
"You don't recognize me?" he asked.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"I'm afraid not," I replied.
A small smile appeared on his lips.
Cold. Knowing.
"That's expected."
Something about the way he said that made my stomach twist.
He finally stepped forward.
The air shifted with him.
Like the room itself didn't want him here.
I forced myself to stay focused.
"Do you have something to archive?"
"Yes," he said.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a piece of fabric.
Small. Torn. Old.
He placed it gently on the counter.
I stared at it.
Waited.
Listened.
Nothing.
No whispers.
No memories.
No emotions.
Just silence.
My fingers hesitated above it.
That had never happened before.
Every item carried something.
Always.
"Is this a joke?" I asked, my voice lower now.
He tilted his head.
"Try."
I didn't like this.
But I reached out anyway.
The moment my skin touched the fabric—
Nothing.
Not emptiness.
Not darkness.
Just… nothing.
Like it didn't exist.
I pulled my hand back immediately.
"What is this?" I whispered.
His eyes didn't leave mine.
"That's my question."
A chill ran through me.
"I can't read it," I said.
"I know."
Silence stretched between us.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Impossible.
"That's not normal," I added.
"No," he agreed.
"It's not."
He leaned slightly closer.
"And yet… here we are."
My heart started beating faster.
"Who are you?"
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then—
"Someone you erased."
My breath caught.
"That's not possible."
"Isn't it?"
I shook my head.
"I don't erase people. I preserve what's left."
His expression changed.
For the first time… something like anger flickered.
"That's what you tell yourself?"
My fingers tightened on the edge of the counter.
"It's the truth."
"No," he said quietly.
"It's a lie you built."
Those words hit harder than they should have.
Built.
Why did that word feel… heavy?
"You don't belong here," I said.
Neither do you, a voice whispered inside me.
He smiled again.
This time… almost sad.
"You really don't remember anything, do you?"
"Remember what?"
He looked around the shop.
At the shelves.
At the clothes.
At the silence.
"This place," he said softly.
"You created it."
My chest tightened.
"No."
"Yes."
His voice didn't rise.
Didn't need to.
"It was your idea… to take memories out of people."
"That's not what I do."
"It is exactly what you do."
I stepped back.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Colder.
"You're lying."
"Then explain this."
He gestured to the fabric.
"If you preserve memories… why can't you read mine?"
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
No answer came.
Because there wasn't one.
I looked at him.
Really looked.
And realized something terrifying.
I couldn't feel anything from him.
No past.
No emotion.
No echo.
Like he was…
Erased.
Completely.
"I…"
My voice broke slightly.
"I don't understand."
"I know," he said.
And somehow… that made it worse.
He stepped back slowly.
"You will."
He turned toward the door.
But before leaving, he stopped.
Without looking at me, he added—
"When you remember…"
A pause.
Heavy.
Sharp.
"…you'll wish you didn't."
The bell rang again.
That same hollow sound.
And then—
He was gone.
I didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Didn't think.
My eyes stayed on the door long after it closed.
Then slowly…
I looked down.
The fabric was still there.
Silent.
Wrong.
I reached for it again.
My fingers trembling this time.
The moment I touched it—
Something flickered.
A shadow of a memory.
A voice.
Faint.
Broken.
"…you promised…"
I pulled my hand back, gasping.
My heart raced.
Promised what?
To who?
I stared at my hands.
And for the first time—
They didn't feel like mine.