Chapter 1 — The Night I Don't Remember
The last thing I remember clearly is her laughing.
Not just a smile. Not the polite kind she used when she didn't want to be rude. This was different.
It was loud. Uncontrolled. Real.
The kind of laugh that made people turn their heads, even if they didn't know what the joke was. The kind that filled the room and pushed everything else to the background.
For a moment, it had felt like nothing else mattered.
Not the argument we'd had earlier.
Not the things she had said.
Not the things I hadn't said.
Just that laugh.
And the bottle between us.
Mahua.
Stronger than it looked. Stronger than it tasted.
Not the kind of drink that hits you all at once and knocks you down.
No.
Mahua was patient.
It waited.
It settled in your system like it belonged there. It blurred the edges first. Softened everything. Made the world feel slower, easier, quieter.
And then, without you noticing, it started taking things away.
First your balance.
Then your judgment.
And eventually…
Your memory.
I remember reaching for the glass.
I remember her watching me.
There was something in her eyes—something I should have understood at the time.
Something important.
"You never—"
The memory snapped.
Gone before I could hold onto it.
I tried to pull it back, but it slipped away like it had never been there in the first place.
That was the last clear moment.
Everything after that was fragments.
Broken pieces that didn't fit together.
And by morning—
She was gone.
---
I woke up to a dull, throbbing pain behind my eyes.
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't sudden.
It was steady.
Like something had settled inside my skull and decided to stay there.
For a few seconds, I didn't move. Just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of why everything felt… wrong.
The fan was spinning above me.
Slow. Lazy.
The room felt heavier than usual. Like the air itself hadn't moved in hours.
I swallowed. My throat was dry.
Too dry.
I turned my head slightly, expecting to hear something.
Anything.
The soft sound of movement.
The rustle of fabric.
Her voice.
There was nothing.
The silence wasn't peaceful.
It was… empty.
I frowned and pushed myself up slowly, the world tilting just enough to remind me that I wasn't fully steady yet.
My gaze drifted to the other side of the bed.
Empty.
The sheet was flat, untouched.
Cold.
That didn't make sense.
She always moved in her sleep. Always pulled the blanket away or shifted closer or further without realizing it.
The bed shouldn't have looked this neat.
I stared at it for a second longer than I needed to.
Then I exhaled and swung my legs off the bed.
"Hey?" I called out.
My voice sounded rough. Unfamiliar.
No answer.
I cleared my throat and tried again, a little louder.
"Are you in the kitchen?"
Still nothing.
A faint discomfort settled somewhere in my chest.
I ignored it.
There were plenty of normal explanations.
She could have woken up early.
She could have stepped out.
She could have gone to get something from the shop downstairs.
It wasn't unusual.
It wasn't a big deal.
At least, that's what I told myself.
I stood up and walked out of the bedroom.
The living room looked exactly the way we had left it.
That was the first thing that caught my attention.
Nothing had changed.
The table was still cluttered.
Two glasses.
One slightly tilted.
The bottle of mahua sat between them, its level lower than I remembered.
The faint smell of it still lingered in the air—sweet, fermented, heavy.
It mixed with the stale air of the room and made my head feel worse.
I walked closer.
The chair across from mine was pushed back slightly.
Not neatly.
Not casually.
Like someone had stood up too quickly.
I stopped beside the table and looked at it for a few seconds.
Trying to remember.
We had been sitting here.
Talking.
Drinking.
She had said something.
Something that had mattered.
I knew it had.
I could feel the weight of it, even if I couldn't recall the words.
"You never—"
Again.
That same broken fragment.
And nothing after it.
I clenched my jaw slightly.
"Seriously?" I muttered.
I picked up my phone from the table and unlocked it.
No messages.
No missed calls.
No notifications.
Nothing that suggested anything unusual had happened.
I tapped her contact and hit call.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then it stopped.
No answer.
I stared at the screen for a second before trying again.
Same result.
"She probably stepped out," I said under my breath.
It sounded reasonable.
It sounded normal.
It sounded like something I could believe if I didn't think too much about it.
I put the phone down and walked back toward the bedroom, slower this time.
More aware.
More alert.
I wasn't sure what I was looking for.
But something felt off.
I just didn't know what it was yet.
I stepped into the room and looked around properly.
Not just a glance this time.
A real look.
Her bag was still there.
Sitting on the chair near the wall.
Closed.
Untouched.
I stopped.
That wasn't right.
She didn't go anywhere without it.
Not even for something small.
Not even for a quick walk.
I took a step closer to it, my eyes narrowing slightly.
"Maybe she forgot," I said.
But even as I said it, it didn't sound convincing.
She didn't forget things like that.
I ran a hand through my hair and turned to leave—
—and that's when I saw it.
Near the foot of the bed.
A single sandal.
Just one.
The other was missing.
I walked toward it slowly, like moving too fast might change what I was seeing.
I bent down and picked it up.
It felt normal.
Light.
Worn slightly at the edges.
Familiar.
I turned it over in my hand.
Looked at it from different angles, like it might suddenly explain itself.
It didn't.
It just stayed what it was.
A single sandal.
Which made no sense.
If she had left, she would have taken both.
If she had gone somewhere, she wouldn't have walked out like this.
Unless—
No.
That didn't make sense either.
I straightened up slowly, the sandal still in my hand.
A tight, uncomfortable feeling had started forming in my chest.
Not panic.
Not yet.
Just… pressure.
Like something was building, waiting for me to understand it.
I looked around the room again.
The window was slightly open.
The curtain moved gently with the breeze.
I stared at it.
Had it been open last night?
I tried to remember.
I really tried.
But there was nothing.
Just that same blank space where the memory should have been.
That bothered me more than anything else.
Not knowing.
Not remembering.
I closed my eyes for a second, forcing myself to think.
We were in the living room.
Drinking.
Talking.
She said something important.
Something that should have stayed.
Something that should have made sense right now.
But it was gone.
Completely gone.
"There should be more," I whispered.
There had to be more.
There had to be something I was missing.
I opened my eyes and walked back into the living room, faster this time.
The unease had grown stronger.
Harder to ignore.
I checked the main door.
Locked.
From the inside.
I unlocked it and opened it.
The hallway outside was empty.
Silent.
No movement.
No voices.
Nothing.
I stepped out, looking left, then right.
Still nothing.
I stood there for a few seconds, waiting.
For what, I didn't know.
A sound.
A sign.
Anything that would make this make sense.
But the hallway stayed the same.
Quiet.
Unresponsive.
Like nothing had happened.
I went back inside and closed the door slowly.
The click of the lock sounded louder than it should have.
My eyes moved back to the table.
To the bottle.
To the two glasses.
To the chair that had been pushed back.
To the empty space where she should have been.
"They'll say she left," I said quietly.
It was the easiest explanation.
The cleanest one.
The kind that didn't ask too many questions.
The kind people accepted without thinking too much.
I looked down at the sandal in my hand.
My fingers tightened around it slightly.
"No," I said.
More firmly this time.
"She didn't."
The words felt heavier than they should have.
Like they carried something I didn't fully understand yet.
I glanced back toward the bedroom.
Then at the window.
Then at the door.
Everything was normal.
Everything looked exactly the way it should.
And that was the problem.
Because nothing about this felt normal.
I exhaled slowly, the unease settling deeper.
And that was the first thing that didn't make sense.