Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The morning started out quiet.

Too quiet.

I sat by my window with a cup of tea in my hands, staring out at the grey sky.

The tea had gone cold, but I didn’t care.

I wasn’t really drinking it anyway.

I was thinking.

Thinking about the photo.

The receipt.

The boy I loved but didn’t know.

Alex.

His name echoed in my mind like a song I couldn’t forget.

I clutched the notebook tighter in my lap, the edges of the photo peeking out between the pages.

Today was the day.

Today I would find answers.

---

I grabbed my laptop and opened it slowly.

The screen flickered to life, the soft hum filling the empty room.

I hesitated for a moment, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

What if this led to nothing?

What if I was just chasing dreams?

I shook the doubt away and typed in the name from the receipt:

“Coffee Time Café.”

Dozens of results popped up, but most of them were for different places.

Different cities.

Different countries even.

I narrowed it down by location, setting it to places near London.

Finally, after a few clicks, I found it.

Coffee Time Café.

Located in a small, quiet neighborhood about an hour away by bus.

The website was old and barely working.

Most of the pictures didn’t load.

But there was a message at the top of the page:

"Closed permanently. Thank you for the memories."

My heart sank a little.

Closed.

But maybe... maybe there was still something there.

Something waiting for me.

I quickly jotted down the address on a sticky note and tucked it into my pocket.

---

I didn’t tell Mom where I was going.

She was working another long shift anyway.

Chris was busy with his video games.

It was better this way.

Less explaining.

Less lying.

I threw on a hoodie, some jeans, and my old sneakers.

I stuffed my notebook into my bag, along with my phone and some cash.

Standing at the front door, I hesitated.

Was I really doing this?

Alone?

I took a deep breath and stepped outside.

The air was cold and sharp, making me shiver.

But it felt good.

It felt real.

I walked down to the bus stop, pulling my hoodie tighter around me.

The streets were half-empty, people rushing past with umbrellas and shopping bags.

Everyone busy with their lives.

Everyone moving forward.

I felt like I was stuck in a different time.

Like I didn’t belong here.

Maybe I didn’t.

---

The bus ride was long and bumpy.

I sat near the back, staring out the window as buildings blurred past.

Every turn made me more nervous.

Every stop made my heart beat faster.

Was I doing the right thing?

Was I crazy?

Maybe both.

Maybe neither.

I clutched my bag tighter and leaned my forehead against the cold window.

I thought about Alex.

His smile.

His touch.

The way he had looked right through me at the hospital.

Like I was a ghost.

Or maybe he was.

---

When the bus finally stopped at my destination, I hesitated before getting off.

The neighborhood was quiet.

Almost too quiet.

Rows of old brick buildings lined the narrow street, their windows dusty and cracked.

Most of the shops looked abandoned.

The only signs of life were a few stray cats weaving between garbage bins.

I checked the address again.

Coffee Time Café should be just around the corner.

I pulled my hoodie tighter and started walking.

The farther I went, the more a strange feeling grew in my chest.

Not fear exactly.

Not excitement either.

Something heavier.

Like deja vu.

Like I had been here before.

Even though I knew I hadn’t.

---

When I turned the corner, I saw it.

Or what was left of it.

The sign was still there, hanging crookedly above the door:

"Coffee Time Café."

But the windows were boarded up.

The door was locked and covered in dust.

The paint was peeling off the walls.

It looked like it had been closed for a long, long time.

I stood there, staring at it.

The memory — or maybe the dream — hit me so hard I had to grab the nearest lamppost for support.

I could almost see myself sitting inside.

Laughing.

Talking.

Smiling across the table at someone.

At Alex.

I closed my eyes and tried to hold onto the feeling.

It slipped away like smoke between my fingers.

---

When I opened my eyes again, I noticed something stuck to the wall beside the door.

It was a faded, torn flyer.

Most of it had been ruined by rain and time.

But one part was still clear.

A name.

His name.

“Alex Carter — Live Performance — March 3rd, 7PM”

I stared at it, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Live performance?

Alex?

Was he a musician?

A singer?

I didn’t know.

I didn’t remember.

But the flyer was real.

The photo was real.

The receipt was real.

I wasn’t crazy.

Something had happened here.

Something important.

---

I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the flyer before it crumbled even more.

My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped my phone.

I took a step back and leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

I needed to think.

I needed to figure this out.

But my mind was spinning too fast.

I glanced around.

The street was still empty.

Too empty.

I had that feeling again.

The feeling of being watched.

I turned in a slow circle, scanning the street.

Nothing.

Nobody.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

If anything, it got stronger.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and started walking quickly back toward the bus stop.

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t want to see whoever — or whatever — might be following me.

---

The bus ride back felt even longer.

I sat with my head down, pretending to be asleep.

But inside, I was wide awake.

The flyer burned in my mind.

Alex Carter.

March 3rd.

Coffee Time Café.

It wasn’t just a dream.

It wasn’t just a fantasy.

It had happened.

And someone had erased it from my life.

But why?

And how?

I clutched my bag tighter, feeling the edges of my notebook pressing against my side.

It was my anchor now.

My proof.

My guide.

I wasn’t going to let anyone take it from me.

Not Rick.

Not the people in the lab coats.

Not anyone.

---

When I got home, the house was still empty.

I locked the door behind me and ran upstairs to my room.

I pulled out the notebook and added the new information carefully.

Flyer from Coffee Time Café.

Alex Carter — March 3rd, 7PM.

Proof that he was real.

Proof that we were real.

I sat back and stared at the words.

They looked small on the page.

Insignificant.

But to me, they were everything.

They were hope.

They were truth.

I closed the notebook gently and hid it under my pillow.

Then I curled up on my bed, hugging a spare pillow to my chest.

Outside, the wind howled against the window.

Inside, I felt stronger than I had in days.

I wasn’t crazy.

I wasn’t broken.

I was lost.

But I was finding my way back.

One memory at a time.