Lucas walks into the bedroom already pulling open the first drawer.
Short breaths.
Movements too fast to feel planned.
He yanks the wood hard and the sharp crack splits the silence of the apartment.
Papers slide.
Old cables tangle around his fingers.
Nothing.
He opens the second drawer before closing the first.
Then the third.
Forgotten objects scrape across the wood as they shift.
Nothing.
His heart speeds up before his mind catches the reason.
There has to be proof.
He opens another drawer.
Then another.
Then another.
The rhythm starts to lose structure.
His hands stop searching and start digging.
Nothing.
The feeling grows too fast.
What if they erased everything?
He pulls the next drawer harder.
The wood slams against the stop.
What if there's nothing left?
Old objects scatter beneath his hands.
Yellowed receipts.
Old cards.
Papers folded for no clear reason.
Things kept because they once felt too important to throw away.
Nothing.
He shoves an entire stack of papers aside.
Something white appears between the aged sheets.
An edge.
Still. Waiting.
His movement slows on its own.
He pulls it out carefully.
The photograph slides into view.
His breath catches.
His hands tremble.
His heart pounds so loud it fills the room.
One word rises inside him.
Proof.
Lucas recognizes himself immediately.
No doubt.
No delay.
No effort.
That moment existed.
That day happened.
That smile happened.
Beside him is a woman.
Very close.
Too close to be coincidence.
Her arm rests against his with easy familiarity.
No tension.
No stiffness.
No introduction.
Like the gesture has been repeated so many times it stopped being a gesture.
Lucas holds his breath.
He doesn't recognize the woman.
The emptiness is absolute.
Clean.
Undeniable.
How have I never seen this woman?
He lifts the photo closer to his face.
Searches for anything that might force a reaction.
A striking feature.
A familiar expression.
An impossible detail to ignore.
Nothing happens.
No flash.
No almost-recognition.
Not even the feeling he's seen her before.
The emptiness stays intact.
His chest tightens slowly, like his mind failed at something too basic to fail.
The photo is still there.
The closeness is still there.
Only the memory is missing.
How can someone be this close to me… and not exist in my memory?
His heart keeps racing.
He flips the photograph over.
The back is blank.
No date.
No name.
No message.
Frustration hits immediately.
Why isn't anything written here?
He turns it back over.
Why didn't anyone write anything?
No answer comes.
But a decision forms before the doubt can grow.
If she existed… she has to exist somewhere else.
He grabs his phone.
Opens the gallery before the thought finishes forming.
Images load too slowly.
Normal photos.
Normal days.
Familiar places.
Moments that didn't feel special enough to capture.
He scrolls too fast.
She appears.
In the background of a photo.
Sitting beside him.
Laughing at something outside the frame.
Lucas freezes.
His finger hovers over the screen.
He doesn't recognize the face.
He scrolls.
She appears again.
In another image.
Reflected in glass.
Again.
Always there.
Always close.
Always nonexistent inside him.
His finger slows without him noticing.
Her presence stops feeling like coincidence.
Starts feeling like routine.
His stomach tightens.
Why don't I remember her?
He scrolls again.
More photos.
More moments.
More closeness.
The absence remains untouched.
His breathing gets shorter.
Why do I still not remember her?
The silence in the room grows.
Why don't I remember her?
His finger stops midair.
His breath catches.
One word appears on its own.
Wait.
He goes back to the image.
She's not there anymore.
Lucas blinks.
Opens another photo where she appeared.
Closes it. Opens it again.
She's gone.
His heart slams against his ribs.
He scrolls faster.
Faster.
Faster.
His grip tightens on the phone.
Breathing shallow.
One photo changes.
He blinks.
Goes back.
The image doesn't return to what it was.
His stomach drops.
Is this happening right now?
Another photo changes.
Another disappears.
He reopens the image immediately.
Nothing changes.
He opens another where she was still there.
Closes it. Opens it again.
She's gone.
His heart races.
The idea arrives before it makes sense.
Are they erasing her while I watch?
He scrolls through the entire gallery.
Some images still show the woman.
Others don't.
No order.
No pattern.
No warning.
Panic grows quietly.
He opens a photo where she's still there.
Stares too long.
Closes it. Opens it again.
Now it's just him.
No blur.
No glitch.
No sign of editing.
She simply isn't there anymore.
Lucas lowers the phone slowly.
The physical photograph is still in his other hand.
He looks at it.
She's still there.
Untouched.
Still.
Resisting.
The thought forms slowly.
His eyes move between the phone and the photo in his hand.
The screen changes.
The photo doesn't.
The screen changes again.
The photo stays the same.
The difference finally settles in.
Digital changes.
Physical still resists.
His chest tightens.
For how long?
The weight of the conclusion crashes down at once.
This isn't memory failing.
His heart beats again.
It's removal.
The silence of the apartment changes shape.
Heavier.
Closer.
Active.
Lucas holds the photograph too carefully.
Like he can protect it with his hands.
The question slips out before he can stop it.
Who is this woman?
A short pause.
And why are they erasing her?
The air feels colder.
The final thought forms completely.
Before they erase everything.