My phone vibrated on the table. The sound was small, but it cut through everything. Sean was seating on the sofa opposite me and peering into a book. He was talking, something about a lecture and how the professor kept contradicting himself. I wasn't listening anymore. My eyes were on the screen.
I didn't flip it over. Maybe if I ignored it, it would feel like it doesn't exist. It vibrated again, and Sean stopped what he was saying mid-sentence.
"You always do that," he said, turning toward me.
I glanced up. "Do what?"
"Leave before you actually leave."
"I'm still here," I said defensively.
He studied me like he was measuring the truth of what I was saying. His gaze was steady, almost patient. My phone buzzed a third time. I flipped it over this time. It was Markus.
I swallowed and opened it.
Markus: I saw him today. Small world.
My pulse shifted. Another message came in before I could respond.
Markus: Did he tell you?
Across from me, Sean hadn't moved.
"Bad news?" he asked quietly.
"It's nothing," I said, trying to avoid his eyes.
He didn't believe me. I could tell by the way his eyes sharpened slightly, like he was focusing a lens. I couldn't keep it in anymore.
"You know Markus?" I asked.
"Yes," he said without hesitation.
"How?"
He paused. Not long enough to be suspicious, but long enough to feel intentional.
"We've known each other a long time."
The answer settled wrong in my stomach. It felt vague, like he was trying to hide something. I hated that he was calm. Since that day in the rain, Markus had been dropping some ominous texts. Texts about Sean, implying that there was something that he was hiding from me.
Heavy silence pressed in between us. Finally, Sean heaved a long sigh. "There was a time our families were close," he said finally.
Close. The word lingered. I wondered what on earth he was talking about. Close in what way? Were we family friends, or neighbors, or something else?
"I don't remember you," I said carefully.
"You don't remember a lot of things."
Something in my chest tightened. His voice was soft, almost thoughtful. Like he was observing me, not accusing me.
"I would remember if our families were ever close."
"Would you?" he asked softly.
The way he said it made my skin prickle. A flicker hit me without warning.
It was hot. A ceiling fan was spinning lazily in the hot air, while sunlight stretched across the hallway. Then I saw it, a beautiful baby blue.
I blinked and it was gone. I looked at him again. "What aren't you saying?" I asked.
He watched me for a long moment before finally speaking. "There was a house," he said quietly. "Blue hallway."
My breath stuttered. Blue. The word sunk too deep. It felt too familiar, but at the same time, very inconspicuous. It didn't mean anything, really. Lots of houses had blue walls.
He didn't elaborate, or try to fill in the gaps. Just let the silence in between us swell yet again. I tried to ask if it was his house, if it meant anything. He didn't say a word. He was doing this on purpose, talking like he expected me to catch up.
His gaze shifted slightly, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "You really don't remember that summer?"
His question cracked something open. I saw a hallway again, longer this time. Sunlight cutting across the floor. A shadow leaning against a doorway. It was a boy, tall, quiet, watching me steadily. My pulse pounded in my ears. I tried to remember, but it seemed like my memory kept failing me.
"Why don't you just tell me?" I asked.
He leaned back slightly, studying me like I was something fragile he was deciding whether or not to touch. "If it mattered, you'd remember.
His words hurt more than they should've, and I didn't know why.
He stood and stepped closer. The space between us felt charged and dangerous. The heat growing stringer with each second.
"Sometimes," he said quietly, "you look at me like you don't know me."
"I don't."
"Maybe you did."
His fingers brushed my wrist, and suddenly, my breath caught as he grabbed my waist.
For half a second, I hear a voice downstairs, calling my name.
Not the name I use now. The one I stopped answering to.
I pulled my hand back like I'd been burned and released myself from his grip.
"What happened that summer?" I whispered.
He watched me intently, something dark moving across his eyes. Not cruel, but not kind either. It felt measured.
"Nothing you're ready to remember."
That's all he gave me before stepping away. Like he didn't just tilt something inside me off balance.
Later in my room the silence felt wrong. Like it was listening. My phone lit up.
Markus: You don't remember that place?
Me: What place?
His reply came quickly.
Markus: The one with the blue walls.
My breath stopped. Another message came in.
Markus: You really don't remember him?
He didn't mention any name. Didn't say Sean. Just him.
My chest tightened painfully as I closed my eyes and forced myself to go back.
I saw the blue hallway again. The sunlight. The door half open. The boy leaning against the frame, watching me. He looked protective. Or distant. I couldn't tell.
The image slipped away like it didn't belong to me. My heart was racing now. This was stupid. If something happened, I would know. If we were close, I would remember.
Unless forgetting was easier.
My phone vibrated again.
Markus: He hasn't forgotten.
Hasn't forgotten what? I wondered. Me, or that place? Or something I did, or something that happened? I stared at my reflection on the dark screen.
For the first time, my past didn't feel solid. It felt like a dark, locked room. And Sean was standing inside it in the dark. Waiting for me to find my way back in.