Chapter 1: The Photograph
The last person I expected to see on my birthday was Adrian.
Not my friends. Not my coworkers. Not even the relatives I had spent years avoiding.
Him.
He stood beneath the flickering lights outside the hotel entrance, his dark coat damp from the rain, holding a bouquet of red roses so large it looked ridiculous against the cold, empty street.
For one second, my mind refused to accept what my eyes were seeing.
Because Adrian was impossible.
Adrian was a mistake I had already buried.
I stopped walking.
His face changed the moment he saw me. The nervousness in his eyes turned into relief, almost happiness.
Like he had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Vivian.””
The sound of my name from his mouth sent anger rushing through me faster than the rain falling around us.
“You again?””
His hopeful smile disappeared.
“Vivian, please—”
“Which part of never contacting me again didn’t you understand?””
The driver of the black car beside him looked away awkwardly. A few guests entering the hotel slowed down, sensing the tension.
I didn’t care.
Three months ago, Adrian had appeared in my life like a ghost from someone else’s nightmare.
He found me outside my office on a Tuesday afternoon.
He knew my name.
He knew where I worked.
He knew details about my childhood that I had never shared with strangers.
And then he told me something impossible.
That we had known each other twelve years ago.
That we had loved each other.
That I had disappeared.
I thought he was insane.
I told him he had the wrong person.
I told him I had never met him.
Then I told him to stay away from me.
But Adrian had never looked at me like a threat.
He looked at me like someone who had lost something precious.
That was the part I hated most.
Because a stranger could be ignored.
But someone who looked at you like they remembered a life you didn’t?
That was terrifying.
Now he stepped closer, carefully holding out the roses.
“Happy birthday, beautiful.””
My jaw tightened.
“Have you completely lost your mind?””
“Just listen to me.””
“No.””
“Vivian—”
“No.””
I slapped the bouquet from his hands.
The roses fell onto the wet sidewalk, scattering like drops of blood against the gray pavement.
A silence followed.
I expected anger.
I expected frustration.
I expected him to finally show the side of himself I had been waiting for.
Instead, Adrian slowly crouched down.
He picked up one of the roses.
Then another.
His expression wasn’t angry.
It was broken.
“Why are you doing this?”” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
His fingers moved through the fallen flowers, searching.
Then he suddenly froze.
A small white envelope had fallen from the center of the bouquet.
My heart tightened.
Adrian stared at it as if he had forgotten it was there.
“What is that?”” I asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Adrian.””
Slowly, he opened the envelope.
Inside was an old photograph.
The moment he saw it, all color drained from his face.
“Vivian,” he whispered.
The way he said my name made my anger hesitate.
Not disappear.
Just hesitate.
“Please,” he said.
“Just look at this.””
I stepped back.
“I don’t want anything from you.””
“Then look once.””
His voice cracked.
“Look once, and I’ll leave.””
I stared at him.
Rain slid down his face, mixing with the exhaustion in his eyes.
For three months, he had chased an answer I didn’t believe existed.
For three months, I had convinced myself he was nothing more than a stranger with an obsession.
But something about his expression made me pause.
Not because I trusted him.
Because I had never seen anyone look so desperate to prove something that should have been impossible.
Slowly, I reached out.
I took the photograph.
And the world stopped.
The woman in the picture stood beside Adrian.
She was smiling.
Her hand rested against his arm.
They looked comfortable.
Familiar.
Like they belonged together.
But that wasn’t what made my stomach twist.
It was her face.
My fingers tightened around the photograph.
“No.””
Adrian watched me carefully.
“Vivian—”
“No.””
My voice came out quieter this time.
The woman in the picture had my eyes.
My smile.
The small scar above her eyebrow.
A scar I had gotten when I fell from my bicycle as a child.
A scar I knew was mine.
“This isn’t possible.””
Adrian swallowed.
“I know.””
I looked at him.
“How did you get this?””
“Because it was mine.””
“That doesn’t answer my question.””
His eyes lowered.
“Because I was there when it was taken.””
The rain seemed louder.
The hotel lights blurred behind him.
I looked back at the photograph.
The woman beside Adrian looked happy.
She looked alive.
She looked like someone who had a thousand memories I didn’t have.
“I didn’t know you twelve years ago,” I said.
Adrian’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Not disappointment.
Pain.
“That,” he whispered, “is exactly what I’ve been trying to explain.””
I wanted to throw the photograph back at him.
I wanted to walk inside.
I wanted to pretend this never happened.
But my feet wouldn’t move.
Because no matter how much I hated admitting it, the picture was real.
And it was me.
“Turn it over,” Adrian said.
I looked at him.
“What?””
“Turn it over.””
“Why?””
“Because you need to see.””
Something in his voice frightened me.
Not because he sounded threatening.
Because he sounded like someone preparing to watch my entire world collapse.
Slowly, I turned the photograph around.
There was writing on the back.
Old handwriting.
Faded ink.
My breath caught.
Because I recognized the handwriting immediately.
It was mine.
The message was short.
Only one sentence.
Adrian, if I ever forget you, please find me.
My fingers went numb.
I stared at the words.
Again.
And again.
“No.””
Adrian didn’t speak.
I looked up at him.
“You wrote this.””
He shook his head.
“You did.””
“That’s impossible.””
“I know.””
“You’re lying.””
“I wish I was.””
The anger inside me returned, but now it was mixed with something worse.
Fear.
Because there was one thing I couldn’t explain.
I knew that handwriting.
I knew every curve of every letter.
It was the same way I wrote grocery lists.
The same way I signed birthday cards.
The same way I wrote my name.
But I had never written those words.
I had never met Adrian.
At least, that was what I believed.
“Where did you find this?”” I asked.
His silence answered before his words did.
“Your mother gave it to me.””
Everything inside me went still.
“My mother?””
Adrian nodded.
The rain continued falling between us.
“My mother died eight years ago.””
“I know.””
The way he said it made my skin crawl.
“How do you know that?””
He looked away.
Because apparently, there were still secrets left.
Too many.
“Because I went to her funeral.””
My stomach dropped.
“What?””
“I was there.””
“You didn’t know my family.””
“I did.””
“No, you didn’t.””
Adrian looked back at me.
And the sadness in his eyes was almost unbearable.
“Vivian, you need to understand something.””
He stepped closer.
“The woman you remember being…”
He paused.
“The life you think you lived…”
My grip tightened around the photograph.
“What are you saying?””
His voice lowered.
“I’m saying twelve years ago, something happened to you.””
I shook my head.
“No.””
“You lost memories.””
“No.””
“You forgot everyone.””
“Stop.””
“You forgot me.””
My chest tightened.
“Stop talking like you know me.””
He flinched.
For the first time, I saw how much those words hurt him.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather notebook.
I recognized it immediately.
Not because I had seen it before.
Because I knew it.
The moment my eyes landed on it, a strange feeling moved through me.
Like a door inside my mind had opened for half a second.
A flash.
A summer afternoon.
A boy laughing.
A field of yellow flowers.
A voice saying my name.
Then it vanished.
I grabbed my head.
Adrian noticed.
“Vivian?””
“I’m fine.””
“You remembered something.””
“No.””
But my voice betrayed me.
He stepped closer.
“You did.””
I looked at the notebook.
“Where did you get that?””
His answer came softly.
“You gave it to me.””
I stared at him.
“When?””
His eyes filled with tears.
“The last night I saw you.””
The world became silent.
“What last night?””
Adrian opened the notebook.
Inside the first page was a photograph.
Another photograph.
This one newer.
This one impossible.
Because it showed Adrian standing beside me again.
But this time, I wasn’t twelve years younger.
I was exactly as I looked now.
Same hair.
Same face.
Same age.
And beneath the picture was a date.
A date from three months ago.
The exact week Adrian first found me.
My hands began shaking.
I looked at him.
“What happened three months ago?””
Adrian closed his eyes.
And when he opened them again, he looked more afraid than I had ever seen him.
“Vivian…”
He whispered my name.
“There’s something you need to know about the day you disappeared.””
My heartbeat thundered.
“What day?””
Adrian looked at the photograph.
“The day you lost twelve years of your life.””
Then he said the one sentence that made the ground beneath me disappear.
“You didn’t forget me by accident.””
May you like
He handed me the notebook.
“You were made to forget.””