When Memories Bleed

Darkness swallowed everything.

Aya floated in it—weightless, lost. There was no up or down, no sense of time. Only whispers. Faint voices brushing against her mind like cold fingers.

“She’ll remember eventually.”

“When she does, everything starts again.”

Aya reached out blindly. Her fingers brushed something cold—paper? A torn page? But before she could grasp it, a piercing light broke through the dark.

She gasped, sitting up abruptly. Her breath came in shallow, rapid bursts. The familiar white ceiling greeted her, the pale curtains filtering in morning sunlight. The same room. The same bed.

No… not the same. Something was different. The air was heavier.

Her gaze fell on the nightstand. The notebook was there. But this time, it was open.

The torn page was back.

Aya’s heart pounded. The page lay there as though it had never been missing. But the writing on it—

"If you’re reading this, you’ve seen her. The girl with red eyes. Don’t trust her. Don’t trust Riku. Run."

Aya’s blood ran cold.

The door creaked.

“Aya? Breakfast is ready.”

Riku’s voice. Calm. Familiar. Too familiar.

Aya stared at the warning. The page she knew had been missing. Had someone returned it? Was this another cruel trick?

She needed answers.

The kitchen smelled of syrup and butter again. Riku smiled at her from across the table, sliding a plate of pancakes toward her.

“Sleep well?”

Aya didn’t sit. She clutched the notebook tightly, knuckles white. “The page is back.”

Riku’s smile faltered. “What page?”

“This one.” Aya flipped the notebook around, shoving it toward him. “The one that was torn out yesterday.”

Riku leaned forward slowly. His dark eyes scanned the page. The calm expression didn’t break, but his fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said evenly. “That page has always been there.”

Lies.

Aya stepped back. “You’re lying.”

“Aya—”

“No. You said trust you. But this—this says I shouldn’t.”

She turned on her heel and ran.

The park was empty. The same path, the same bench overlooking the pond. But it felt different. Colder.

Aya sat on the bench, staring at the torn page.

Don’t trust Riku. Run.

She had run. But now what?

“Aya.”

She froze. The voice wasn’t Riku’s.

Turning slowly, she came face-to-face with her.

The girl with red eyes.

Her silver hair glinted in the sunlight. Her crimson gaze bore into Aya’s.

“You remember me now,” the girl said softly. “Good.”

“Who are you?” Aya’s voice shook. “What do you want?”

The girl smiled—a sad, distant smile.

“My name is Kael. And I’m here to help you remember.”

Aya stepped back. “The notebook says not to trust you.”

Kael’s smile didn’t waver. “Of course it does. Because he wrote it.”

Aya’s breath caught. “What?”

Kael stepped closer. “Do you really think you wrote that warning? Look at the handwriting. Look closely.”

Aya glanced down. The handwriting—neat, looping letters—was familiar. But something about the strokes of the warning page felt off. Slightly different.

Not her handwriting.

Aya’s pulse quickened. “If I didn’t write it, then who—”

Kael’s crimson eyes softened. “You already know.”

A memory surfaced. Faint, blurred. A voice—Riku’s voice—whispering something in a dimly lit room.

“She can’t know the truth.”

Kael’s hand closed gently over Aya’s wrist, pulling her back to the present.

“There’s more,” Kael said. “Come with me.”

Aya hesitated. The warning echoed in her mind. But the doubt was stronger now.

Who should she trust?

Riku, who had been there every morning? Or Kael, who seemed to know the truth behind the lies?

Aya took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m coming.”

And with that, she stepped into the unknown.

To be continued...