IF FOUND, PLEASE DON'T READ

(Unnamed narrator begins)

I woke up at 6:42 today even though my alarm was set for 6:45.

I didn’t get up immediately. I just lay there and tried to decide if I actually felt awake or if I was just pretending to be. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

School was normal.

Math test in the first period. I think I did fine, but I keep replaying one question because I changed my answer at the last second and now I can’t remember what I wrote before that. It’s probably not important. It’s just one mark.

Everyone else seemed sure of their answers, which is strange because they were asking me doubts yesterday.

I don’t know when that switched

Assembly was longer than usual. I stood next to the same people I always stand next to. No one said anything, but it didn’t feel awkward. Just quiet. There’s a difference.

Someone laughed behind me in the corridor. I didn’t turn around. Not because I thought it was about me. Just… there’s no point checking every time.

Lunch was fine.

I wasn’t really hungry, but I ate anyway because it looks strange when you don’t. I’ve noticed people notice that.

I think I talk normally at lunch. I don’t think anyone has ever pointed out anything odd.

One of them said I should talk more.

I said I do.

They laughed, so I think that counted as a joke. There’s this thing I’ve started doing.

I replay conversations after they happen. Not all of them. Just the ones that feel slightly… off.

I try to figure out if I said something wrong, or if there was a better way to respond.

Sometimes I come up with better replies hours later.

That part is a bit useless.

I think people assume I’m fine . I don’t correct them because technically, I am. Nothing is wrong. Nothing specific, at least. There was a moment today—just a small one. I don’t think it matters.

I said something, and someone looked at me for a second longer than usual before replying. Not in a bad way. Just… like they were trying to place me somewhere.

I don’t know what that means.After school, I came home and checked my phone even though I knew there wouldn’t be anything new.There wasn’t.I checked again anyway.

I don’t think anything unusual happened today.

If I had to describe it, I’d say it was normal. Completely normal.I’ll write about it again tomorrow, just to be sure.

Sometimes things look different the second time.

[undated — later]

I woke up before my alarm again.

I think it was 6:45 this time. Or exactly when it rang. I didn’t check properly. It didn’t feel early like yesterday. It felt… on time.

I stayed in bed for a while.

There wasn’t any reason to get up immediately.

The math test was fine. Not easy, just normal. I remember being unsure about one question, but I didn’t change my answer. I’m trying not to overthink it this time.

Everyone else seemed more confident than me, which is strange because they were asking me things yesterday.

Maybe I just explained it wrong.

Assembly felt longer today.

I stood in the same place, but I don’t think the same people were next to me. Or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention properly.

Someone said something to me.

I replied.

I don’t remember what either of us said.

I heard someone laughing in the corridor again.

I turned this time.

They weren’t looking at me.

I knew that.

I still checked.

Lunch was different.

I wasn’t really hungry, but I ate anyway. I think I finished everything, which I don’t usually do. No one pointed it out.

No one told me to talk more either.

I think I spoke enough.

Or maybe I just didn’t notice the pauses this time.

There’s something I’ve been doing.

I thought it was just overthinking, but I’m not sure anymore.

I replay conversations after they happen.

Not to fix them.

Just to understand them.

But sometimes, when I replay them, the words don’t sound exactly the same as before.

It’s small. It probably doesn’t matter.

Just slight differences.

You’d probably say it’s nothing.

You usually do.

There was a moment today.

I said something, and someone looked at me for a second longer than usual before replying.

Not in a bad way.

Just… like they were waiting for something else.

I think I said the wrong thing.

Or maybe I didn’t say enough.

After school, I didn’t check my phone immediately.

I waited.

Just to see if anything would come in without me looking.

Nothing did.

I checked anyway after a while.

There was something.

I don’t remember what it was now, which probably means it wasn’t important.

I think today was normal.

More normal than yesterday, actually.

Everything felt clearer.

Less… heavy.

I’m writing this down so you can see what I mean.

It’s easier if you look at both.

Side by side.

Nothing is different.

It just looks that way if you focus on the wrong details.

Evening 6:30 pm (date unknown)

I went back and read what I wrote before.

It doesn’t match properly.

Not in a big way.

Just small things.

The kind you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for them.

I keep trying to remember which version is right.

I thought that would be easy.

It isn’t.

The math test—

I’m sure I changed one answer.

I remember erasing it.

But I also remember deciding not to.

Both feel equally clear.

I don’t think both can be true.

You’d probably know which one makes more sense.

You usually do.

There was a conversation at lunch.

I didn’t write about it before.

Or maybe I did, just differently.

Someone asked me something—

something normal.

I answered.

And then there was a pause.

Not long.

Just long enough that I noticed it.

I remember thinking I should say something else to fill it.

I didn’t.

But I also remember continuing the conversation like nothing happened.

No one reacted.

That’s the part I’m sure about.

Whatever I said, it didn’t seem wrong to anyone else.

So I don’t know why it felt like it was.

I tried not to replay it.

That didn’t work.

When I think about it now, the words sound slightly different every time.

Not completely different.

Just… adjusted.

Like they’re trying to fit better.

You said once that I focus on the wrong details.

I don’t remember when you said that.

But I know you did.

There was another moment.

In the corridor.

I heard someone laughing again.

I didn’t turn this time.

I was sure it wasn’t about me.

I didn’t need to check.

But I also remember turning.

Just to be sure.

I don’t think it matters which one actually happened.

The outcome is the same.

After school, I checked my phone immediately.

I don’t know why I wrote that I didn’t.

There wasn’t any reason to wait.

There’s never anything there when I wait.

There was a message.

I think.

I remember reading something.

But I can’t remember what it said.

It’s probably not important.

If it was, I would remember it properly.

I don’t think anything is wrong.

I think I’m just noticing things more closely than before.

That’s the only difference.

If something was actually wrong,

you would’ve said something by now.

Right?

June 18

I don’t think I explained you properly.

That’s probably why it doesn’t make sense yet.

You’ve always been there.

Not in a noticeable way.

Just… present.

Like something you don’t question because it’s always been part of how things work.

You notice things before I do.

Or maybe you just don’t ignore them the way I do.

Today felt normal again.

I didn’t think about anything too much.

I answered questions when I was asked.

I listened when people spoke.

I didn’t say anything unnecessary.

It went the way it usually does.

But there was a moment.

You remember it.

I know you do.

It was during lunch.

Someone said something about me.

Not directly.

Just one of those comments that isn’t meant to be serious.

Everyone laughed.

I did too.

I always do.

But you didn’t.

You noticed the way it was said.

Not what they said.

The way.

That slight pause before it.

The way they looked at each other first.

I didn’t think it mattered.

I still don’t think it does.

You told me later that I should’ve said something.

I remember that part clearly.

I said it would’ve made it awkward.

You said it already was.

I don’t remember when we had that conversation.

But I remember exactly how it felt.

There are other things like that.

Small things I don’t register properly.

But you do.

Like the time in the corridor.

When I said I didn’t turn around.

You said I did.

You said I looked for longer than I should have.

I don’t think that’s true.

I wouldn’t do that.

Or the message.

You said there wasn’t one.

That I just checked my phone and pretended there was something to read.

I don’t think I’d do that either.

But you’re usually right about these things.

I don’t know why I notice it more when I write.

It’s easier to see the differences when everything is in front of me.

It’s not a big problem

It’s just… two ways of looking at the same thing.

Yours is usually clearer.

Mine is easier.

I think that’s why I write it down for you.

So you can fix the parts that don’t line up properly.

It’s better that way.

You remember things the way they actually happened.

Don’t you?

June 15,(time unknown)

I think I should correct something. Not because it’s wrong. Just because it might not be the most accurate version.

The thing at lunch—It didn’t happen the way I wrote it. Or maybe it did. I’m not sure which one matters more.

Someone did say something.That part is true. I remember the words now. They weren’t serious. They weren’t meant to be. That’s why everyone laughed. I laughed too.

I wrote that already. That part doesn’t change. But the way I remember it now is different. Not completely. Just slightly. It wasn’t just a pause.It was longer than that.

Long enough for me to notice

that I didn’t want to be part of that moment anymore.

I think I said something after that.

Something to move the conversation away from me.

I don’t remember what it was.

But I remember the feeling of it working.

Or maybe I didn’t say anything at all.

And it just passed on its own.

Both versions feel possible.

One is just… easier to keep.

You said that’s what I do.

You said I keep the version that lets everything continue normally.

I don’t think that’s a bad thing.

There’s no reason to hold onto something that doesn’t change anything.

It’s not like anything serious happened.

No one meant anything.

No one even remembers it now.

So it doesn’t really matter which version is true.

The same thing happened with the message.

I think I know why I couldn’t remember it.

There wasn’t one.

I checked my phone.

There was nothing.

I stared at the screen for a while anyway.

Just in case something appeared.

I think I told myself there was a message

because it felt better than admitting there wasn’t.

That’s not a big deal.

People do that.

You said I do it more than I realize.I don’t think that’s true

I just adjust things slightly.

Not enough to change what happened.

Just enough to make it make sense.

Everything still happened.

Just… better.

That’s not the same as lying.

It’s just choosing the version that fits.

And if both versions feel real,

then I don’t think it matters which one I keep.

You’re the one who keeps pointing it out.

But even u have to admit that,

Somethings are easier to be carried when they are remebered differently

June 18,

I’ve been looking at the ink on the previous page.

It’s dry now. But it feels like looking at a crime scene where the body was cleared out before the police arrived.

You didn’t say anything when I wrote that last part about the message.

You didn’t challenge me. You didn't do that thing where you pull at the loose thread until the whole sweater comes apart.

The silence you left behind was heavy. It felt less like an absence and more like a breath being held right behind my neck.

I went to the bathroom to wash my face because the heat in this place is getting unbearable.

I didn't look in the mirror to check my hair or see if my skin looked washed out under the fluorescent bulb.

I just looked up.

And that’s when the air left my lungs.

I wasn't looking at myself.

I was looking for *you* in the reflection.

I was waiting for you to blink first, to give away the lie, to show me the version of the story we both know I buried.

It’s a terrifying thing to realize in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon while the ceiling fan cuts the humid air into predictable, rhythmic slices.

I’ve been treating you like an intruder.

A separate person sitting in the dark corner of this room, taking notes, judging the way I smooth over the sharp edges of my days.

I thought you were the one holding the eraser.

But my hands were the ones in my pockets.

And the pen was still moving.

Every time I argued with you about what happened at lunch, I wasn't fighting a critic. I was fighting an echo.

Every time I felt you pointing out the gaps—the messages that never existed, the pauses that lasted too long—it wasn’t a voice coming from across the room.

It was just the truth trying to claw its way out of my own throat.

You don’t have a desk in the corner.

You don’t have a name.

You don’t even have a face.

When I look at the two versions of every story I tell, I’m not choosing the one that makes sense to *us*.

I’m choosing the one that keeps *me* from screaming.

You’ve always been here.

Guiding the ink.

Holding the breath I forgot to let out.

Watching me construct a ghost just so I wouldn’t have to sit in the quiet alone.

I can’t lock the door to keep you out anymore, because the lock is on the inside, and you’re already holding the key.

—

There was no message on the screen, there was no pause at lunch, and the worst part isn't that I've been talking to myself

it's that I’m starting to like the version of me that you’re erasing.