Before You Forget Me

Saint John’s had changed her. Or maybe… it had revealed who she was always meant to become. Ivara stood quietly on her balcony, her fingers lightly wrapped around the cold railing, as the evening sky melted into shades of deep blue and amber. The harbor stretched endlessly in front of her, city lights flickering softly over the water—calm, beautiful, distant. Five years. It had been five years since she chose this life. Five years since she left behind everything that once felt familiar… and walked into a future she had only ever imagined in fragments. And now, at twenty-eight, she had it all. A home that felt like a dream. A career she once thought was out of her reach. A version of herself that younger Ivara would have admired… maybe even envied. She exhaled slowly, a faint smile touching her lips. “I did it.” The words were soft. Almost uncertain. As if she needed to hear them out loud to believe them. The wind brushed past her, gentle yet cold, carrying a strange stillness with it. The kind of silence that doesn’t comfort you… but makes you aware of everything you’re trying not to feel. Her eyes scanned the city again. Everything looked perfect. So perfect… it almost felt unreal. And yet— something inside her felt incomplete. The smile faded. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t obvious. Just a quiet, persistent emptiness. The kind you can’t explain. “There’s still something missing…” she whispered. Her voice didn’t break. But something inside her did. Ivara had learned how to be alone a long time ago. She didn’t need people to feel whole. She had built herself, piece by piece, without waiting for anyone to stay. So this feeling? It wasn’t loneliness. It was different. It was the feeling of someone. Someone who wasn’t there. Someone who had never been there… and yet, somehow— always was. Her fingers tightened around the railing, her breath slowing as a strange thought crossed her mind. What if… it wasn’t about finding someone? What if… she had already lost them? The idea hit her harder than it should have. Her chest tightened. “That doesn’t make sense,” she murmured to herself, shaking her head slightly. There was no one. There had never been anyone. Right? Her gaze dropped to the city below, trying to ground herself in reality. Cars passed. Lights flickered. People moved. Everything was normal. Everything was real. So why did she feel like she was forgetting something important? Not a memory. Not exactly. More like… a person shaped absence. Ivara closed her eyes for a brief second. And for a moment— it felt like something was right there. Close. Familiar. Almost within reach. A presence she couldn’t see. A voice she couldn’t hear. A feeling she couldn’t explain. Her heart started beating faster. “Who are you…?” she whispered into the wind. Silence. Only the sound of the distant water and the restless air answered her. She let out a soft breath, opening her eyes again, forcing herself to step back from the thought. “Enough,” she muttered. “This is stupid.” And yet… it didn’t feel stupid. It felt real. Too real. The wind picked up again, colder this time, brushing against her skin like a warning she couldn’t understand. And then— her phone vibrated. The sudden sound broke the moment completely. Ivara frowned slightly, pulling it out of her pocket. Unknown number. Her heartbeat slowed… but not completely. Something about it felt— off. She stared at the screen for a second longer than necessary. Then answered. “…Hello?” Silence. But not empty. The kind of silence that feels like someone is there… listening. Breathing. Waiting. A chill ran down her spine. “Hello?” she repeated, softer this time. And then— a voice. Low. Calm. Unfamiliar. And yet— it hit her like something she had always known. “You still stand on balconies… thinking you have everything?” Ivara’s breath stopped. Her fingers froze around the phone. Every nerve in her body reacted at once— because that voice— felt like home. And she had no idea why. “Who… is this?” she whispered. Her voice barely held together. A soft pause. Almost like a smile she couldn’t see. And then— “You really don’t remember me.” Her heart dropped. Hard. Because deep down— she knew one thing in that moment. He wasn’t wrong. The call ended. The screen went dark. And suddenly— for the first time in five years— Saint John’s didn’t feel like home anymore.