The Boy Who Knows My Name

Chapter Three: The Name I Shouldn’t Know

I didn’t sleep well that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the notebook.

Not the pages.

The sentence.

“Lila will forget me first.”

It stayed in my mind like something carved into my thoughts.

By morning, I told myself I was done thinking about it. Done listening. Done letting something I couldn’t see control me.

But even as I got dressed, I kept waiting.

For his voice.

For my name.

Nothing came.

School felt worse, not because anything changed—but because I noticed everything. The way people laughed like life was simple. The way teachers explained things like the world made sense.

I moved through the halls carefully, like I might step into something I couldn’t climb out of.

Still, the voice didn’t come.

Not once.

By lunch, I started to wonder if I had imagined it all.

Maybe stress. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe—

“Lila.”

I froze so hard my tray almost slipped.

Slowly, I turned.

Nothing.

Just students eating, talking, living normally.

My heart raced anyway. “Stop it,” I whispered. “Stop messing with me.”

No answer.

But I felt it.

Not heard.

Felt.

Like the air beside me had shifted.

After school, I went straight to the library.

I told myself it was to prove something—that I was still in control. That I wasn’t being pulled around by something I didn’t understand.

But the moment I stepped inside, I knew I wasn’t in control at all.

Same table.

Same chair.

But the notebook was gone.

My stomach dropped.

“No,” I muttered. “I didn’t imagine that.”

I checked under the table, around it. Nothing.

Just silence.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Fine.”

But it wasn’t fine.

Now I had no proof. No notebook. Only a memory that didn’t feel like mine alone.

I sat down anyway.

Minutes passed.

Then—

The chair opposite me moved.

Just slightly.

Like someone had adjusted their weight.

I stood up instantly. “Okay,” I said sharply. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

“If you’re real, say something.”

Nothing.

My chest tightened. “Stop doing this to me!”

Still nothing.

Then—

“You came back.”

The voice wasn’t loud.

But it was clear.

So clear it felt like it was inside my thoughts instead of outside them.

I turned slowly.

“I didn’t come back for you,” I said quickly. “I came back for answers.”

A pause.

“That’s what I meant.”

“What?”

A faint shift in the silence, almost like sadness.

“You always look for answers when you’re scared,” he said.

I frowned. “You don’t know me.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

A pause.

“I knew you before you learned how to pretend you’re fine.”

My throat tightened.

“That’s not possible,” I whispered.

“And yet,” he said softly, “you’re here.”

I sat again, slowly.

My hands were shaking.

“Who are you?” I asked.

Silence.

“I don’t have a name anymore.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

I shook my head. “Everyone has a name.”

“Not everyone gets to keep it.”

That made something tighten in my chest.

“I don’t understand,” I said quietly.

“I know,” he replied. “That’s why you forgot.”

The word hit harder than it should have.

Forgot.

“I didn’t forget you,” I said quickly. “I don’t even know you.”

A pause.

“That’s not what I meant.”

The air felt heavier again.

“What did I forget then?” I asked.

Silence stretched.

Then—

“Me.”

The word landed softly.

But it didn’t feel soft.

It felt like something cracking open.

I stood up fast. “No. That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does,” he said calmly. “Just not yet.”

I backed away. “Why are you doing this? Why say my name like it means something?”

A pause.

“Because it does.”

I left the library quickly.

Outside, everything looked normal. Too normal.

But my chest wouldn’t settle.

I walked without looking back.

Even when I felt it again.

That presence.

That almost-voice.

And just before I turned the corner—

“Lila.”

I stopped.

But I didn’t turn around.

Because I couldn’t tell if I was afraid of what I’d see…

Or afraid there would still be nothing there at all.