The things we never say.

Charpter 5:The Notebook

That night, I couldn't stop thinking about the forty-four minutes I had lost.

Am I going crazy? I asked myself as I sighed.

I kept telling myself there had to be an explanation. Otherwise, I was slowly losing my mind.

Tears almost filled my eyes, but I tried to keep my cool.

Maybe I was tired.

Maybe I had been distracted.

Maybe I was simply forgetting things.

But none of those explanations felt right.

There had to be some sort of explanation.

I needed to know what was happening to me.

So, on my way home, I stopped at a small stationery shop.

I walked around for a few minutes before choosing a notebook.

It was black with burgundy shimmers.

Nothing special about it.

I paid for it and put it in my bag.

When I got home, I made myself a cup of tea.

I sat on my bed and opened the notebook.

For a few seconds, I just stared at the first empty page.

Then I picked up my pen.

I didn't know what to write.

So I wrote the only thing that came to mind.

If I forget, this notebook remembers.

I stared at the sentence.

It sounded dramatic.

Almost ridiculous.

But I didn't cross it out.

Instead, I started writing down everything I could remember.

The old woman at the grocery store.

The man on the bus.

The thoughts.

The missing forty-four minutes.

I wrote down the times.

The places.

Everything.

If my memory couldn't be trusted, maybe the notebook could.

I closed it and placed it beside my bed.

For the first time in days, I felt slightly calmer.

It was as if everything was finally going to be okay.

Maybe this was the answer.

Maybe I just needed to keep track of things.

Maybe I wasn't losing my mind after all.

I turned off the light and closed my eyes.

I don't know how long I slept.

But sometime during the night, I woke up.

The room was dark.

I could barely see anything.

I reached for my phone.

3:17 a.m.

I sat up.

Something felt wrong.

I looked toward my bedside table.

The notebook was open.

I froze.

I was sure I had closed it.

I reached for the lamp and turned it on.

My hands started shaking.

There was writing on the page.

I stared at it for a few seconds.

I didn't recognize the handwriting.

But then I realized something that made my stomach drop.

It was mine.

At the bottom of the page, there were five words.

You shouldn't have started writing.

I stopped breathing.

I looked at the notebook again.

Then at my hands.

And for the first time...

I wondered if I was really the only person writing in it.