Episode 15: The One Who Left No Voice
684 Words
It was a cloudy afternoon. While reorganizing the archive of voice files, Nguyen An noticed a new email.
No subject. No sender. No message.
Just one attachment.
"000-NoVoiceLeft.txt"
He opened it.
The first line stopped him cold:
"I was the first who left no voice.
I do not belong in this archive.
I was Linh – before Linh became Linh."
He reread the sentence.
Someone… had existed before Linh?
Someone who had once archived voices too?
But left behind no sound at all.
He continued reading:
"I was not forgotten.
I erased myself."
An rushed to the beginning of the entire archive system.
File after file, arranged by number.
Oddly, the first numbered file was "03". There was no "01", no "02".
He had never noticed before.
But now…
“If I am voice zero,
and Linh is voice one,
then the rest of you… are just echoes.”
An’s breath caught.
This person didn’t leave behind audio—only absence.
And that absence was what led Linh to create the archive in the first place.
But who made the "One Who Left No Voice" disappear?
Behind the secret wall of the hidden room, An discovered a notebook he had never seen.
No name.
Black cover, faded ink.
He flipped it open.
"I once archived voices too, like Linh.
But I didn’t believe anyone would ever listen.
I saved them… and deleted them.
Like writing on sand—waiting for the tide."
"One day, I met her.
She believed in keeping them.
She became Linh."
"She asked me:
If you don’t record a voice, how will anyone remember you?"
I laughed.
And replied:
I don’t need to be remembered.
I just want to live—like I never existed."
That evening, a new voice file appeared in the system.
"15-ForgedVoice.m4a"
An clicked play.
It was Linh’s voice.
But something was off.
Each word, each breath—it was as if Linh were reciting a script she no longer believed. Emotionless. Mechanical.
At the end, another voice cut in.
Unfamiliar.
"You think these voices are real?
You think Linh was real?
How much of what you’ve heard is recording—
and how much was constructed?"
"When you archive someone,
you’re also rewriting them in your own image."
An shivered.
Was he… manipulating memories too?
5:30 a.m.
At the door of the writing clubroom lay a single gray envelope.
No sender.
Only a line:
“Open before sunrise.”
An sat on the floor, heart pounding, and opened it.
"I erased myself from the archive.
But I still exist—in those files where no name is spoken."
"Linh knew this.
She once asked:
Why not leave behind a voice—just once?"
"I answered:
Voices can be used.
Only silence keeps the truth untouched."
"If you still wish to continue,
stop archiving.
Live with them.
Don’t turn them into documents."
An clutched the paper tight.
That night, Nguyen An sat alone in the hidden room.
Around him were walls of transcripts, tapes, and fragments of once-forgotten lives.
But this time, instead of opening a file…
He opened a notebook.
Blank. No lines.
And he wrote:
"My name is An.
I used to archive voices.
But now I choose to live with them."
"I won’t record them anymore.
I’ll remember."
The first entry recorded a name unknown to anyone.
No timestamp. No audio.
Only: “The One Who Left No Voice”
At dawn, a new email arrived.
This time, the sender was clear.
Linh_ArchiveProject@protonmail.com
Subject: RE: The Zero Voice
The message read:
"So you’ve found them.
I once doubted they existed—
Until I heard the clearest silence of my life."
"They were the foundation.
I was merely the last to listen."
"An—
You are not just the recorder.
You are the one telling with your heart."
Attached was a PDF file.
Just one page.
Title: A List of Those Who Once Stayed Silent
At the bottom of the list was the final line:
“00. Left no voice. But left everything else.”
To be continued...
- Writer
