He Said He Remembers Me by Daria Lishchyshyna

 — You’re dead.

— And you’re still wearing my watch.

Her hand flinched involuntarily. The silver watch on her wrist - the same one she had taken off his body three years ago. He was sitting across from her. His face was a bit leaner, his eyes deeper. But it was him.

— Who sent you? - her voice no longer trembled. It was cold now, almost metallic.

— No one. I came on my own. I’m me, Lara. No codes, no spy tricks. Just… I’m back.

— We found the body. There was no mistaking it.

— I know. You’re the one who identified it.

She stood up abruptly.

— Then what the hell are you doing here?

— Because death isn’t exactly what we thought it was.

He pulled a small bundle wrapped in black cloth from his coat and placed it on the table. She didn’t touch it.

— What is that?

— Your memories.

— Mine…?

— You weren’t in that apartment that night. In fact, you weren’t there at all. Everything you remember - it was made. None of it’s yours. My death wasn’t real. Neither was your grief.

She stepped back. Then another step.

— This is insane.

— Then why do you keep having the same dream - me pulling you into the water - and waking up with a bruise on your collarbone?

Her lips barely moved. No words came.

— The people who did this didn’t think you’d want to know the truth. But you’ve already started looking. That’s why they sent me — or at least the part of me that still remembers who I was.

— So you’re not… you?

— I’m the part that remembers how you laughed when the salt spilled on the table. How you stayed silent when you wanted to scream. How you cried when you thought I was asleep. And I came to tell you - you’ve got three days left before they rewrite it all again.

He stood, took the bundle, and held it out to her.

— Do you want to know who you really are? Open this. But remember - there’s no going back afterward.

— And then you’ll disappear again?

— I already did. What you’re seeing now - it’s just a trace. The choice is yours.

He left. The street outside the window was empty when she ran out. The air smelled like rain… and something else - like burnt film.

She returned to the room, looked at the black bundle, and whispered:

— What if these memories aren’t mine either…?

And still — she opened it…