Letters after Goodbye

CHAPTER 2--Things I Remember

MIKA'S POV

October 16- 6:17 AM

Nagising ako dahil may tumutunog.

Mahina.

Paulit-ulit.

Buzz.

Tahimik.

Buzz.

Napadilat ako.

Ilang segundo akong nakatitig lang sa kisame, pilit inaalala kung nasaan ako.

Bedroom.

Apartment.

Umaga.

Then

Buzz.

Napalingon ako sa bedside table.

Phone.

“Shit.”

Kinapa ko iyon habang nakapikit pa ang isang mata.

Alarm.

6:17 AM.

Pinatay ko.

Then I froze.

Hindi ako nagse-set ng alarm ng 6:17.

7.

Always 7.

Weekends, 8:30

Kapag may early client meeting, 6:30.

Never 6:17.

I stared at the screen.

Alarm --6:17 AM

No label.

Napakunot ang noo ko.

“Okay…”

Baka aksidente kong na-set kagabi.

Hindi naman imposible.

Halos hindi ako nakatulog.

After those messages, ilang oras akong nakahiga habang paulit-ulit na pumapasok sa isip ko ang parehong mga salita.

You don't remember, do you?

The goodbye.

You remember the letters.

You remember Canada.

But you don't remember saying goodbye.

I opened my messages.

Nandoon pa rin.

Hindi panaginip.

For a moment, naisip kong tawagan ulit ang number.

Pero ano'ng point?

Hindi rin naman sumasagot.

Instead, I opened the contact options.

My thumb hovered over Block Caller.

Lara was right.

I should block it.

Kung sino man iyon, gusto lang akong guluhin.

Maybe someone who knew Derek.

Maybe someone who knew me.

“6 in the morning, Mika.”

Hindi pa oras para gumawa ng conspiracy theory.

I blocked the number.

There.

Problem solved.

Inilapag ko ang phone.

Then I noticed something.

Nasa desk chair ko ang cardigan na suot ko kahapon.

Normal.

Pero nasa ibabaw nito ang tote bag ko.

Hindi normal.

Palagi kong isinasabit ang tote bag sa hook malapit sa pinto.

Always.

I sat up.

Maybe I brought it into the bedroom last night.

I couldn't remember.

“Pagod ka lang.”

That explanation was becoming annoyingly useful.

Tumayo ako.

Straightened the blanket.

Fluffed the pillows.

Binuksan ang curtains.

Morning light spilled into the room.

Normal.

Everything looked normal.

Exactly how I liked it.

I went to the kitchen.

Coffee first.

One teaspoon.

Milk.

No sugar.

Habang hinihintay kong matapos ang coffee maker, binuksan ko ang refrigerator.

Eggs.

Bread.

Strawberry jam.

A container of leftover chicken from Lara.

Napabuntong-hininga ako.

Wala pa rin siyang message.

I checked.

Nothing.

“Great.”

Kinuha ko ang dalawang itlog.

Then I stopped.

On the refrigerator door was a yellow sticky note.

BUY CREAM PAPER

I stared at it.

Cream paper?

Tinanggal ko ang sticky note.

Sarili kong handwriting.

Obviously.

Pero hindi ko maalala kung kailan ko iyon isinulat.

Maybe for work.

Possible.

I handled packaging mock-ups all the time.

Different paper textures, colors, weights.

Nothing strange about buying cream paper.

I crumpled the note and threw it away.

Then made breakfast.

Toast.

Eggs.

Coffee.

Everything in its proper place.

I sat down.

My eyes automatically went to the empty space on the table where Derek's letter had been yesterday.

36.

Under my bed now.

Safe.

My phone lit up.

For one ridiculous second, kinabahan ako.

But it wasn't the unknown number.

LARA

I answered immediately.

“Buhay ka pa pala.”

Tahimik sa kabilang linya.

“Good morning din sa'yo.”

“Wow. May gana pang mag-good morning.”

“Mika…”

“Umalis ka kagabi na parang may hinahabol na multo.”

“Sorry.”

“That's it?”

“I said sorry.”

“Very Derek.”

Silence.

I regretted saying it almost immediately.

Not because Derek was some forbidden topic.

But because Lara suddenly stopped breathing normally whenever I mentioned him.

“Lara?”

“I'm here.”

I took a sip of coffee.

“Are you going to explain?”

“Explain what?”

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“That thing.”

“What thing?”

“Yung kunwari hindi mo alam kung ano'ng tinatanong ko.”

She sighed.

“Mika, may trabaho ako.”

“Congratulations. Ako rin.”

“Can we talk later?”

“No.”

“Mika.”

“Last night someone literally told me to ask you what happened three years ago. You saw the message and ran out of my apartment. Tapos ngayon gusto mong mag-usap tayo later?”

“I didn't run.”

“You practically teleported.”

“OA.”

“Lara.”

Another silence.

Then she said quietly, “May mga bagay lang na mas okay pag-usapan nang personal.”

My fingers tightened around the mug.

“So may bagay ngang pag-uusapan?”

“Hindi iyon ang sinabi ko.”

“But you just--”

“Lunch.”

“What?”

“Let's have lunch.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

She hesitated.

“The Paper Moon?”

My hand stopped halfway to the table.

Of all places.

“Why there?”

“Why not?”

“You hate their pasta.”

“I don't hate it.”

“You called it overpriced noodles with emotional damage.”

“That was one time.”

“Five times.”

“Mika.”

I smiled despite myself.

Then my eyes landed on the box of tissues across the room.

A memory arrived without warning.

Derek sitting across from me.

Same café.

His sleeves rolled up.

Pencil between his fingers.

A napkin in front of him.

Stop moving.

I'm eating.

I'm drawing you.

Then draw faster.

Art cannot be rushed, Mika.

You're drawing a circle with hair.

Exactly. You.

I blinked.

Gone.

“Mika?”

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“Fine. Lunch.”

“12:30.”

“Okay.”

“And Mika?”

“What?”

A pause.

“Don't answer any more messages from that number.”

“I blocked it.”

She exhaled.

I noticed.

Relief.

Too much relief.

“Good.”

The call ended.

I remained seated.

Coffee growing cold between my hands.

Something was wrong with Lara.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what.

The Paper Moon Café hadn't changed much.

Same wooden tables.

Same hanging lights.

Same unnecessary amount of dried flowers decorating every corner.

The menu had changed, though.

Prices too.

“280 pesos for coffee?” I muttered. “May kasama bang emotional support?”

“Inflation,” Lara replied.

“Robbery.”

“Then don't order.”

“I already did.”

“Exactly.”

We were sitting near the window.

Not our old table.

I made sure of that.

Our old table was at the far corner beside a bookshelf.

Derek liked it because there was an outlet nearby.

I liked it because it was away from everyone else.

I didn't look there.

At least, I tried not to.

“So,” sabi ko.

Lara stirred her iced tea.

“So?”

“Seriously?”

She avoided my eyes.

“You asked me here.”

“I asked you to lunch.”

“After saying may bagay na dapat pag-usapan personally.”

“I didn't say--”

“Lara.”

She stopped.

I leaned back.

“Three years ago.”

Her fingers tightened around the straw.

“What about it?”

“Apparently, according to my anonymous stalker, may hindi ako naaalala.”

“Mika--”

“Don't worry. Hindi naman ako naniniwala.”

Her eyes lifted.

“I remember what happened.”

“Do you?”

The question came too softly.

I stared at her.

“Yes.”

She didn't respond.

“Derek and I fought.”

Lara looked down.

“He sent me the message.”

Nothing.

“Three days later, he left for Canada.”

Still nothing.

“I didn't go to the airport because obviously, galit ako.”

“Mika…”

“He took the job.”

“Stop.”

My eyebrows pulled together.

“What?”

“Can we please not do this here?”

“Do what?”

“Talk about Derek.”

I laughed in disbelief.

“You chose this place.”

“I know.”

“The café we used to go to.”

“I know.”

“And now you don't want to talk about him?”

“I made a mistake.”

“Clearly.”

She rubbed her forehead.

“Can we just eat?”

“No.”

“Mika.”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Because I'm tired!”

A few people glanced toward us.

Lara lowered her voice.

“I'm tired.”

“Of what?”

Her eyes were wet.

“Of watching you do this.”

“Do what?”

“Wait.”

My jaw tightened.

“We already talked about this.”

“No, we didn't. We argued. That's different.”

“Because you keep telling me how I should live my life.”

“I'm trying to help.”

“I didn't ask.”

“I know.”

“Then stop.”

She looked away.

I hated the expression on her face.

That same pity.

“Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm some pathetic woman waiting beside the window for a man who doesn't want her.”

“I don't think you're pathetic.”

“Then what?”

She didn't answer.

“Exactly.”

Our food arrived.

Neither of us touched it.

I looked outside.

Cars passed.

People walked along the sidewalk.

The city kept moving.

Always moving.

“Do you know what's funny?” I said.

“What?”

“Everyone thinks I'm waiting for Derek to come back.”

“Aren't you?”

“No.”

That surprised even me.

Lara watched me.

I continued.

“Hindi ako gumigising araw-araw na iniisip kung babalik siya ngayon. Hindi ako nagche-check ng flights. Hindi ako tumatawag sa old number niya. Hindi ako nagme-message.”

“You keep his letters.”

“So?”

“You answer them.”

My eyes snapped toward her.

“How do you know that?”

She froze.

The café noise seemed to disappear.

“You told me.”

“When?”

“I don't know. Before.”

“No.”

“Mika--”

“I never told you I reply.”

She swallowed.

“You probably did.”

“I keep the replies under my bed.”

“I know you keep the letters there.”

“Not the replies.”

She looked pale.

Something cold settled in my stomach.

“How do you know?”

“Mika, we've been friends for years. Maybe nakita ko.”

“When?”

“I don't remember.”

I stared at her.

She reached for her glass.

Her hand trembled slightly.

“Lara.”

“Please.”

“Did Derek contact you?”

The glass stopped.

“What?”

“After he left.”

“No.”

“Did he ask you to send something?”

“No.”

“Then why are you acting guilty?”

“I'm not guilty.”

“You look guilty.”

“Because you keep interrogating me!”

“Because you're lying!”

She pushed her chair back.

“Mika.”

“What?”

“Not everything needs an answer.”

I laughed.

“That's convenient.”

“Some answers hurt more than they help.”

The words landed differently.

I stopped.

Lara seemed to realize what she'd said.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying nothing.”

“Because there's nothing I can tell you!”

“Or nothing you want to tell me?”

She closed her eyes.

I waited.

Then she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

Again.

That word.

Sorry.

Derek's last message.

Lara last night.

Now.

I hated that word.

“Stop saying sorry if you won't tell me what you're sorry for.”

She looked at me.

For one second--

I thought she would.

I saw it.

Whatever she had been carrying, it was right there.

Then her expression closed.

“Eat your pasta.”

I almost laughed.

Instead, I picked up my fork.

Conversation over.

For now.

After lunch, Lara went back to work.

I stayed.

I told myself it was because I had no afternoon meetings and the café had decent Wi-Fi.

Lie.

I stayed because of the table in the corner.

For almost twenty minutes, I pretended to work.

Then someone left.

The table became empty.

I stared at it.

Same corner.

Same bookshelf.

Different chairs now.

Eventually, I closed my laptop.

Walked over.

Sat down.

“Stupid,” I whispered.

I didn't know what I expected.

A revelation?

A message carved under the table?

Derek suddenly walking through the door?

Nothing happened.

Of course.

I placed my hand on the wooden surface.

And remembered.

“Stop stealing my fries.”

“Relationship tax.”

“That's not a thing.”

“It is now.”

“Order your own.”

“Hindi masarap kapag sarili kong fries.”

Derek reached across the table and took another.

I slapped his hand.

“Ow.”

“Deserve.”

He grinned.

His hair was messy because he'd come directly from a site inspection.

White polo.

Sleeves rolled up.

A faint streak of something gray near his wrist.

Cement, probably.

“You know,” sabi niya, “kapag nag-asawa tayo, magiging problema natin 'to.”

I almost dropped my fork.

“What?”

“My fry stealing.”

“No. Back up.”

He looked innocent.

“Where?”

“Kapag ano tayo?”

“Asawa.”

He said it casually.

Like he hadn't just thrown a grenade onto the table.

I stared.

Derek picked up his coffee.

“What?”

“You can't just say that.”

“Say what?”

“Marriage.”

“I didn't propose.”

“Good.”

“Ouch.”

“You don't even know where you want to live five years from now.”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Where?”

He pulled a napkin toward him.

Took out a mechanical pencil.

Then started drawing.

“Derek.”

“Wait.”

“I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

Lines appeared.

A rectangle.

Roof.

Windows.

Balcony.

“House?”

“Our house.”

I rolled my eyes.

“May bahay na agad?”

“Architect privilege.”

“You're not even licensed to design our imaginary future.”

“Rude.”

He drew a tree.

Then two stick figures.

One had long hair.

The other was taller.

“That looks terrible.”

“That's you.”

“I know. That's why it's terrible.”

He laughed.

Then wrote something underneath.

Someday.

I looked at him.

He wasn't smiling anymore.

“Someday,” he repeated.

I don't know why that memory hurt now.

Maybe because someday is a dangerous word.

It promises nothing.

But makes you wait anyway.

“Mika?”

I jerked back.

A barista stood beside the table.

“Ma'am, okay lang po kayo?”

I blinked.

“Yeah.”

She glanced at my hand.

I followed her gaze.

I was gripping the edge of the table.

Hard.

I released it.

“Sorry.”

“Tubig po, gusto niyo?”

“No. Thank you.”

She smiled and walked away.

I looked at the empty chair across from me.

For half a second, I could almost see him.

Derek.

Leaning back.

Coffee in hand.

That annoying smile.

Then nothing.

I packed my things.

I needed to leave.

I walked instead of booking a ride.

Bad idea.

Mainit.

Maingay.

And after ten minutes, pinagsisisihan ko na.

But walking helped me think.

Three years.

The anonymous messages.

Lara.

The letters.

How do you know I reply?

Maybe she had seen them.

That's possible.

Lara had stayed at my apartment countless times.

Maybe I mentioned them while drunk.

Also possible.

Except I rarely drank.

I stopped at a pedestrian crossing.

Red light.

People gathered beside me.

My phone vibrated inside my bag.

I ignored it.

Then again.

I took it out.

Email.

Work.

I exhaled.

Of course.

The number was blocked.

Nothing to worry about.

Green light.

I crossed.

Halfway through, I smelled something.

I stopped.

Perfume.

His perfume.

My head snapped around.

People moved around me.

A man in a blue shirt.

A woman carrying groceries.

A delivery rider.

Then someone brushed past me.

Tall.

White long sleeves.

“Derek?”

The name escaped before I could stop it.

The man didn't turn.

I followed.

“Derek!”

Someone bumped my shoulder.

“Miss, tabi!”

I stepped aside.

The man disappeared into the crowd.

My heart hammered.

Stupid.

Obviously not him.

People wore perfume.

People had the same height.

The same build.

Metro Manila had millions of people.

“Get a grip.”

I walked faster.

I didn't look back.

Pagdating ko sa apartment, dumiretso ako sa shower.

Then work.

At least, iyon ang plano.

Instead, twenty minutes later, nakaupo ako sa bedroom floor with Derek's box in front of me.

Again.

“Okay.”

I opened it.

Thirty-six envelopes.

If Lara knew I replied, maybe there was something in the letters mentioning it.

I started reading.

Letter 4.

Nothing.

Letter 8.

Nothing.

Letter 11.

I hope you're still drawing.

I frowned.

Graphic designer ako.

Of course I was still drawing.

Letter 16.

Kumain ka.

Letter 19.

I know you're angry.

Letter 23.

Sometimes I imagine you answering these.

I stopped.

There.

I reread it.

Sometimes I imagine you answering these.

My pulse quickened.

Continued.

I imagine you correcting my grammar, complaining about my handwriting, telling me I'm an idiot.

I smiled faintly.

Accurate.

Maybe somewhere you're writing back.

My smile disappeared.

I pulled out my reply box.

Blue.

Also labeled.

M to D

I opened it.

35 replies.

One for every letter except yesterday's.

I hadn't written Letter 36's reply yet.

I picked one randomly.

Month 23.

Dear Derek,

Your handwriting is still ugly.

I laughed softly.

Then stopped.

Derek's Letter 23:

complaining about my handwriting…

My reply:

Your handwriting is still ugly.

Coincidence.

Obviously.

I probably read his letter first, then responded to it.

That's literally what replies were.

“Idiot.”

I put them back.

But something bothered me.

I pulled out another pair.

Letter 17.

I dreamed about the ocean last night.

My reply:

Funny. Nanaginip din ako tungkol sa dagat last week.

Normal.

Another.

Letter 28.

Do you still keep the balcony door open when it rains?

My reply:

Hindi na. Pumapasok yung ulan, genius.

Normal.

Everything normal.

Then Letter 31.

I unfolded it.

My Mika,

You need to sleep earlier.

I frowned.

You always think no one notices when you're tired. I notice.

My throat tightened.

Three years apart.

How would he know my sleeping habits now?

Maybe assumption.

He knew me.

I had always stayed up late.

Then:

Stop working at 2 AM. Your eyes probably hurt.

I stared.

That month, I had been working until two almost every night.

I remembered because of a campaign deadline.

My fingers became cold.

I checked the envelope.

No return address.

No stamp.

Nothing.

How did he know?

Maybe I'd mentioned it in a reply.

I searched Month 30.

Found my letter.

Read.

Work.

Client.

Lara.

No mention of sleeping late.

Month 29.

Nothing.

Nothing.

“Okay.”

I stood.

Suddenly I didn't want to read anymore.

I put everything back.

36 yellow envelopes.

35 blue replies.

Closed both boxes.

Pushed them under the bed.

Then my phone rang.

I jumped.

“Jesus.”

Lara.

I answered.

“What?”

“Wow. Galit?”

“You scared me.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay…”

She paused.

“Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Why?”

“Just asking.”

I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Lara.”

“Hm?”

“Did Derek ever ask you about me?”

Silence.

“After he left.”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“Did you tell him things?”

“No.”

“Like my work schedule?”

“No.”

“Sleeping habits?”

“Mika, what is this about?”

I looked toward the box.

“Nothing.”

“Don't do that.”

I almost laughed.

“Wow. Coming from you?”

“Mika.”

“One of his letters knew something.”

“What?”

“He knew I was working until two.”

Silence.

Again.

Always silence whenever Derek entered the conversation.

“Mika…”

“What?”

“You need to stop reading those letters tonight.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because you're tired.”

“That's not an answer.”

“Get some sleep.”

“Lara—”

“I'll see you tomorrow.”

She ended the call.

I stared at my phone.

“Damn, everyone loves hanging up on me.”

At 9:36 PM, I made tea.

At 9:42, I checked the door twice.

At 9:45, I checked the windows.

At 9:50, I brushed my teeth.

Routine.

Order.

Safety.

By ten, I was in bed.

No letters.

No messages.

No Derek.

Sleep.

That was the plan.

At 10:13, I opened my eyes.

Something was bothering me.

Not Lara.

Not the anonymous number.

Letter 31.

Stop working at 2 AM.

I sat up.

“Because I told him.”

I must have.

Maybe not in the letters.

Maybe--

Texts?

I hadn't received direct messages from Derek.

Had I?

I told Lara:

Paano ako magmo-move on? Nagme-message pa siya sakin every month.

Did I mean letters?

Maybe.

I called them messages sometimes.

No.

Wait.

I pressed my palms against my eyes.

“Stop.”

I was confusing myself.

This was exactly what the anonymous sender wanted.

To make me question everything.

I reached for water.

Then noticed the wastebasket beside my desk.

The yellow sticky note from this morning was visible.

BUY CREAM PAPER

I stared.

Work.

It was for work.

I knew that.

I got out of bed.

Picked it up.

Flattened it.

Cream paper.

My eyes slowly moved toward the bed.

No.

“That is stupid.”

I laughed.

But it sounded forced.

I crouched.

Pulled out Derek's box.

Opened it.

Removed Letter 36.

Cream-colored paper.

I placed the sticky note beside it.

Similar color.

So what?

Cream was common.

I touched the letter.

Thicker.

Premium stationery.

Nothing like ordinary printer paper.

“See?”

I almost felt relieved.

Then I noticed the corner.

A tiny embossed line.

Barely visible.

I tilted the paper toward the lamp.

There was a brand.

AURELIA PAPER CO.

I frowned.

Why did that look familiar?

I opened my desk drawer.

Receipts.

Pens.

Tape.

USB drives.

I searched.

Nothing.

Second drawer.

Sketchpads.

Paper samples.

Old client materials.

Then--

A small paper sleeve.

AURELIA PAPER CO.

My breathing stopped.

Inside were three sheets.

Cream.

Same texture.

Same thickness.

I pulled one out.

Placed it beside Derek's letter.

Identical.

For several seconds, I couldn't move.

Then I laughed.

“Of course.”

Graphic designer.

Paper samples.

Of course I owned the same brand.

It was probably popular.

Maybe Derek knew I liked it.

Maybe I'd introduced him to it.

Maybe—

My phone vibrated.

I nearly screamed.

I grabbed it.

A message.

Unknown number.

Impossible.

I blocked it.

Different number.

My chest tightened.

I opened it.

One sentence.

You always were good at explaining things away.

I stopped breathing.

No.

I typed immediately.

WHO ARE YOU?

Three dots.

My heartbeat pounded.

ANSWER ME.

Three dots again.

Then:

You already know.

“f**k you.”

I called.

Disconnected.

Again.

Nothing.

I stood so quickly the chair moved backward.

“Who are you?”

As if the room could answer.

“Anong gusto mo sa akin?”

Silence.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Ask yourself why you remember Canada but not the airport.

My fingers trembled.

Airport.

I closed my eyes.

Derek leaving.

Three years ago.

Canada.

Airport.

I tried.

Nothing.

No terminal.

No luggage.

No goodbye.

Because I wasn't there.

Obviously.

We had fought.

I knew that.

But--

Who took him?

His parents?

Coworker?

Taxi?

What flight?

What airline?

What day exactly?

October--

No.

Not October.

Three years ago.

I knew.

Of course I knew.

I just couldn't--

My head started hurting.

“Stop.”

I opened my eyes.

The room felt smaller.

I looked at Derek's letter.

At the cream paper.

At my own paper sample.

Then at the phone.

You already know.

I grabbed my bag.

Keys.

Wallet.

I needed air.

I didn't realize where I was going until I was already outside.

The city was quieter now.

Not silent.

Metro Manila was never silent.

But different.

I walked.

No destination.

Just movement.

My phone stayed inside my bag.

After several blocks, I stopped in front of a convenience store.

Bought water.

Sat outside.

Across the street was a flower shop closing for the night.

White flowers lined the window.

I stared.

And suddenly—

White.

So much white.

Flowers.

A cold room.

Someone crying.

My chest seized.

Then a voice.

Mika, huwag.

Lara?

I blinked.

The image vanished.

I stood.

Water bottle fell.

A man nearby looked at me.

“Miss?”

“I'm fine.”

I wasn't.

I picked up the bottle.

Walked.

Faster.

I didn't know where I was going anymore.

Umuwi na lang ako.

Locked the door.

Twice.

Then three times.

At 11:58 PM, I sat on the kitchen floor.

I don't know why.

Maybe because the bedroom felt wrong.

Maybe because Derek's letters were there.

My phone lay beside me.

No more messages.

I should tell Lara.

I didn't.

Instead, I opened my photo gallery.

Three years ago.

Scroll.

Scroll.

Derek.

Food.

Work.

Derek.

Coffee.

Random screenshots.

Derek.

Then--

nothing.

A gap.

Almost two weeks with no photos.

Strange.

I took pictures of everything.

Food.

Clouds.

Bad typography.

Cats.

Why would I have two weeks of nothing?

I checked the dates.

The gap began around the week Derek left.

My throat tightened.

After the gap, the first photo was my bedroom wall.

Nothing special.

Then food.

Then Lara asleep on my couch.

Then--

the first yellow envelope.

I stared.

I had photographed it.

MIKA REYES

Derek's handwriting.

I swiped.

Photo of the letter.

My Mika,

Kumain ka na ba?

I'm sorry.

-D

The first letter.

I smiled despite everything.

There.

Proof.

Something real.

Something I remembered.

Then I accidentally swiped backward.

The photo before the envelope.

Lara asleep.

Before that--

my bedroom wall.

I zoomed in.

There was something reflected in the mirror.

My desk.

Paper.

A pen.

And beside it--

something yellow.

An envelope.

I stared.

The photo was taken four days before the first letter arrived.

My heart stopped.

No.

Could be anything.

Another envelope.

A folder.

A notebook.

I zoomed further.

Pixels blurred.

Yellow.

Rectangular.

Nothing else.

“Coincidence.”

I heard myself say it.

The word sounded weak.

My phone buzzed.

I didn't want to look.

But I did.

Different unknown number.

One final message.

Goodnight, Mika.

Then another.

Kumain ka na ba?

The phone slipped from my hand.

Because those words--

those exact words--

were the first thing Derek wrote in every letter.

And for the first time since the letters started arriving three years ago, I didn't feel excited waiting for the next fifteenth.

I felt afraid.

Not of Derek.

Not yet.

I was afraid of the spaces between the things I remembered.

Because until tonight, I had always believed forgetting meant losing small things.

Keys.

Dates.

Names.

Where you placed something.

But sitting on my kitchen floor at midnight, staring at a message from someone who seemed to know my memories better than I did, another possibility entered my mind.

What if you could forget something bigger?

A day.

A conversation.

A goodbye.

What if an entire piece of your life could disappear--

and you wouldn't even know it was missing?

I looked toward my bedroom.

Thirty-six letters waited beneath my bed.

For three years, they had been proof that Derek hadn't completely left me.

Tonight, for the first time--

they felt like evidence.

I didn't know of what.

But I was beginning to think I needed to find out.

-END OF CHAPTER TWO-