The Lies we share

The first time I saw him, he was standing beside a dead rose.

It was raining that night.

Not the soft kind of rain people write poems about. It was heavy, cold, and loud enough to drown out every thought in my head.

I should've kept walking.

Instead, I stopped.

He stood across the empty street, dressed entirely in black. Rainwater ran through his dark hair and down the side of his face.

But he didn't seem bothered by the cold.

He was staring at me.

Like he'd been waiting.

I tightened my grip around my umbrella.

“Can I help you?”

He didn't answer.

His eyes moved over my face, almost carefully, as if he was searching for something.

Then he smiled.

It wasn't a friendly smile.

It was the kind of smile that made you wonder whether you should run.

“You shouldn't be here,” he said.

I frowned. “Neither should you.”

His smile disappeared.

For a moment, there was only the sound of rain between us.

Then he took a step forward.

I stayed where I was.

Another step.

My heart started beating faster.

“Do I know you?”

He stopped.

His eyes darkened.

“You don't remember me?”

“No.”

He looked away, almost disappointed.

“That’s probably for the best.”

He turned around.

“Wait.”

He stopped.

I don't know why I called after him.

Maybe it was curiosity.

Maybe it was the strange feeling in my chest that told me I'd seen him before.

Or maybe some part of me already knew exactly who he was.

“What’s your name?”

He glanced over his shoulder.

“Adrian.”

Just one word.

But the moment he said it, something inside my head cracked.

A flash.

A hallway.

Someone laughing.

A boy holding my hand.

Then—

Nothing.

I blinked.

The memory disappeared.

Adrian started walking away.

“Adrian!”

He didn't turn around.

I looked down.

The dead rose he'd been holding was lying on the pavement in front of me.

I stepped closer.

A small piece of folded paper was tied around its stem.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up.

I opened it.

Three words were written inside.

You forgot me.

My stomach dropped.

I looked up.

Adrian was gone.

I barely slept that night.

The note sat on my desk.

I had read it so many times that the words were practically burned into my mind.

You forgot me.

Who was he?

Why did he know me?

And why couldn't I remember him?

At around two in the morning, I finally convinced myself it had all been some strange coincidence.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

I stared at the screen.

A message appeared.

Unknown: You really don't remember?

My fingers went cold.

I typed back.

Me: Who is this?

The typing bubble appeared immediately.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

Finally, another message arrived.

Unknown: Look under your bed.

I froze.

I stared at the darkness beneath my bed.

“Nope.”

I put my phone face down.

I wasn't doing this.

Another vibration.

Unknown: You used to be braver.

I slowly looked toward the floor.

My heart was pounding.

I got out of bed and turned on the light.

Nothing.

I crouched down.

There was an old cardboard box underneath my bed.

I didn't recognize it.

I pulled it out.

Dust covered the top.

My hands shook as I opened it.

Inside were photographs.

Dozens of them.

Pictures of places I recognized.

My old school.

The park near my childhood home.

The lake outside town.

Then I found one that made my breath disappear.

It was a picture of me.

I looked younger.

Maybe three years younger.

And standing beside me was Adrian.

We were smiling.

His arm was around my shoulder.

I stared at the photograph.

I couldn't remember taking it.

I couldn't remember him.

But there was something written on the back.

I turned it over.

Four words.

Promise you won't leave.

My phone buzzed again.

I nearly dropped the photograph.

Another message.

Unknown: Now you remember.

I stared at the screen.

Then another message appeared.

Unknown: Tomorrow. Same place.

Underneath it was an address.

The lake.

The same place from the photograph.

I looked at the picture again.

At Adrian's face.

And for the first time that night, I remembered something.

Not everything.

Just one sentence.

His voice.

Three years ago.

Whispering in my ear.

“If you ever forget me, I'll make you remember.”

I dropped the photograph.

And suddenly—

I was terrified of the boy I couldn't remember.

Because deep down, I already knew one thing.

I hadn't forgotten Adrian.

Someone had made me forget him.