Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I stayed in bed longer than usual the next morning.

Not because I was tired.

But because I didn’t want to face the day.

I hugged my pillow to my chest, staring at the cracks on my ceiling.

It was funny.

Before, the cracks had always annoyed me.

Now, they were something familiar.

Something real.

Unlike my memories.

Unlike Alex.

I sighed and pushed the blanket off me, swinging my legs off the bed.

The floor was cold against my feet, but I didn’t care.

I picked up the notebook from my nightstand — the one I had been writing in.

Flipping through the pages, I stared at my messy handwriting.

Words.

Memories.

Flashes.

They were all there.

But seeing them written down didn’t make them feel any less crazy.

Was I losing my mind?

Or had someone taken my mind from me?

I closed the notebook slowly and pressed it to my chest.

I didn’t have the answers.

Not yet.

But I knew one thing.

I wasn’t ready to give up.

---

The house was unusually quiet when I walked downstairs.

Mom had left a note on the fridge:

“Work emergency. Will be home late. Left lasagna in the oven. Love you.”

I smiled faintly and grabbed a glass of water.

Chris was probably out with his friends.

It was Saturday after all.

I sat at the kitchen table, staring at nothing, sipping water slowly.

The silence was heavy.

Too heavy.

I thought about calling Lena.

But what would I say?

Hey, I think I’m going crazy because I’m dreaming about a boy who doesn’t know I exist?

Oh, and by the way, I think Rick might be stalking me?

Yeah.

That would go well.

I traced the rim of my glass with my finger.

Maybe I needed a distraction.

Maybe I needed something normal.

Anything.

---

I decided to clean my room.

Not because it needed it.

But because I needed to keep my hands busy.

I grabbed the broom and started with the corners, sweeping out little dust bunnies that had made themselves at home.

I dusted my bookshelf, straightened my textbooks, threw out old pens that didn’t work.

It felt good.

Simple.

Real.

When I got to the closet, I hesitated.

There was a box tucked way at the back.

I didn’t recognize it at first.

It was covered in dust and had my name scribbled on the side in my mom’s handwriting.

Curious, I pulled it out and sat cross-legged on the floor.

I opened the box carefully.

Inside were old notebooks, random papers, a few worn-out photo albums.

I smiled faintly.

Memories of when we had first moved to London.

New school.

New friends.

New everything.

I pulled out one of the notebooks.

It was small, with a purple cover.

My name was written inside, in big, messy letters.

I flipped through the pages.

Doodles.

Class schedules.

Random notes about places I wanted to visit.

Nothing unusual.

Until a small photo slipped out.

It fluttered to the ground.

I picked it up.

My heart stopped.

It was a picture of a boy.

Blurry.

Like it had been taken without him knowing.

He was sitting at an outdoor café, a coffee cup in front of him.

Messy brown hair.

Sharp jawline.

Green eyes looking off into the distance.

I knew that face.

I would know it anywhere.

Alex.

I pressed the photo to my chest, my hands shaking.

This wasn’t a dream.

This wasn’t in my head.

This was real.

But how?

Why didn’t I remember taking this?

I stared at the photo again, as if it would give me answers.

It didn’t.

Only more questions.

---

A knock on my door made me jump.

I shoved the photo into my notebook quickly and stood up.

“Come in.”

Lena peeked her head inside.

“Hey. You weren’t answering your phone. Thought I’d check if you were alive.”

I gave her a weak smile.

“Barely.”

She walked in, tossing her bag onto my bed.

“You okay?” she asked, plopping down beside it.

I nodded, sitting beside her.

“Just tired.”

She studied me carefully.

I knew she could tell something was off.

But she didn’t push.

Instead, she pulled out a bag of chips from her backpack.

“Want some?”

I laughed a little.

“Since when do you carry snacks around like a mom?”

She shrugged, opening the bag with a loud crinkle.

“Figured you might need it.”

We munched on chips in silence for a while.

It was nice.

Simple.

Normal.

Until Lena spoke again.

“Hey... you trust Rick, right?”

I stiffened.

“Why?”

She shrugged casually.

“No reason. He just texted me this morning, asking if you were okay.”

I frowned.

“He asked you?”

“Yeah. Said he hadn’t heard from you since you met at the park.”

I stared at the floor.

My mind raced.

Rick was getting too close.

Too interested.

And now he was reaching out to Lena?

Something wasn’t right.

I forced a smile.

“Yeah, he’s just being nice.”

Lena nodded slowly, but I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

Neither was I.

---

After Lena left, I pulled out the photo again.

I stared at it for a long time.

Alex.

Here.

In London.

Before I ever “dreamed” about him.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Someone had erased my memories.

I was sure of it now.

The dreams weren’t dreams.

They were real.

Pieces of a life I had lost.

And whoever had taken them away...

They hadn’t finished yet.

---

I tucked the photo back into my notebook and hid it under my pillow.

Then I grabbed my phone.

I needed to be careful.

I needed to be smart.

I texted Rick:

"Hey, sorry for not replying. Been really tired. Maybe we can catch up later?"

His reply came almost instantly:

"Of course! Take your time. I’m just glad you’re okay."

Too eager.

Too fast.

I locked my phone and lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling again.

This time, the cracks didn’t comfort me.

They reminded me that everything could break.

And some things already had.

---

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Alex.

His face.

His smile.

The way he looked at me like I was his whole world.

And then...

The way he looked through me at the hospital.

Like I didn’t even exist.

My chest ached.

Not just from sadness.

But from something deeper.

Something missing.

I curled up into a ball and hugged my pillow tight.

I would find out the truth.

No matter what.

Even if it destroyed me.