Fragmenting..

During one of my runs, someone called my name.

It didn’t register at first. Voices blurred together easily when I was moving, especially in crowded areas. I kept my pace steady, assuming it wasn’t meant for me.

“Akira!”

I slowed, confused, the sound catching just enough to pull me out of rhythm. 

I glanced over my shoulder, then forward again, already drifting past whoever it was. A hand grasped my shoulders suddenly, firm enough to stop me but not aggressive.

I turned sharply.

It took me a moment.

It was my manager. From the retail store where i work part time.

The realization landed awkward. His face was familiar in isolation—broad jaw, perpetually furrowed brow, the faint crease between his eyebrows that deepened when he was irritated. But it took effort to assemble the rest of the context around him.

“I’ve been calling,” he said, already annoyed. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I—” I started, then stopped.

He was breathing hard, hands on his hips now, eyes running over me like he was checking for damage. “Do you have any idea how many shifts you’ve missed? You just stopped showing up.”

I opened my mouth again, searching for an explanation to excuse myself but nothing came.

“I’ve been… busy,” I said finally. The words sounded thin, even to me.

“Busy?” His voice rose immediately. “Busy with what? You have been in an accident, haven't you? Why did you not notify me when you recovered?”

I stood there, listening, trying to reconstruct timelines in my head. I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I’d last gone in. days.. weeks... or maybe more.

The hospital confinement had blurred into routine. The training.. health tests and then sleep. 
Everything else about my normal life had faded into the background.

“Did you go back to your parents’ place?” he demanded. “Without notice?”

I froze.

The question should have been simple.

I opened my mouth to answer—and stopped.

The words didn’t come. The image of my parent's house is blurry too.

My mind searched automatically, A house. A street. Something solid to anchor the idea of home.

There was nothing like that in my mind...

Not blankness, exactly. More like fog. A shape without detail. I could tell the memory was supposed to be there, but when I reached for it, my hand closed on air.

“What?” he said, staring at me now. “You’re telling me you don’t even remember your own hometown? The place you grew up in?”

I didn’t answer.

His irritation sharpened. He clicked his tongue loudly, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. What am I supposed to do with kids like you?"

I bowed without thinking.

“I’m sorry,” I said, automatically, voice steady even knowing that something crucial had slipped by me all this time.

My manager name is Ishinori-san.. I remembered it after he took me back to the store.

I stood outside the store, still head down. People who were passing by had started watching me.

I noticed them in pieces first. The way conversations nearby faltered. The way footsteps slowed. 
A few girls standing near the crosswalk whispered to each other, glancing over openly now, one of them nudged the other and smiled.

I kept my eyes lowered.

My manager huffed and turned away, already done with me. He started rummaging through his phone, muttering under his breath, then disappeared briefly inside the store. I stayed where I was, hands hanging uselessly at my sides, unsure what I was supposed to do.

So i just waited.

When he came back, he held a small piece of paper.

He scribbled something down quickly, then shoved it into my hand. “This,” he said. “That’s the address we have on file. Go sort your mess out before you come back.”

“I—”

“You're fired if you don't go home now, hurry." he added, already turning away.

He didn’t wait for a response.

I stepped aside automatically, clearing space as he brushed past me. Someone laughed nearby. Not loudly. Just enough that I noticed. A camera shutter clicked—a sharp, unmistakable sound.

I didn’t look up.

I stood there until the street resumed its usual flow, until the space around me filled back in and the early morning dissolved into traffic filled, hot mess. 

Only then did I move, lowering myself onto the curb a few steps away.

The paper in my hand was creased already. I folded it once.. unfolded it.. and folded it again.

The address stared back at me.

The numbers. The street name. The region.

Familiar in shape but empty of any meaning to me now.

I traced the ink with my thumb, as if that might help. Tried to picture the place it belonged to. 
A front door. A neighborhood. Anything that could connect the words on the page to a memory.

Nothing came but I wasn’t panicking.

That was the part that scared me the most.

I should have been alarmed. Distressed. At least embarrassed. 

Instead, there was only a muted pressure in my chest, a sense of wrongness that didn’t spike or fade. It just sat there, steady and cold.

I tried remembering again, focused harder.

Parents.

Home.

The place I grew up in...

There should have been something. Even a fragment. A smell. A sound. A name that i can work with.. It felt like trying to remember a dream too long after waking up.

I stayed there longer than I should have, holding the paper, unsure what to do next. People passed by without looking at me now. Traffic died down. Life continued in the same indifferent way it had always been.

Eventually, I leaned back against the low railing behind the curb and closed my eyes.

My body felt fine.

Whatever was happening to me wasn’t affecting everything about me equally. It was selective. 
As if something had decided what parts of me were necessary—and what parts were expendable.

I opened my eyes again and looked at the address one more time.

It didn’t feel like mine this is all I have that would connect me back to my real family.

I folded the paper carefully, and slipped it into my pocket. 

I didn’t stand right away. I wasn’t sure where I'm going to go now. I have the address but it just unpleasant and strange.

For the first time since waking up in that hospital bed, I felt truly unanchored.

Not lost in the sense of direction, i'm lost in the sense of origin.

And sitting there on the curb, surrounded by a world that clearly remembered me better than I remembered myself, I realized that whatever I was becoming… it was already costing me more than strength or time.

It was taking pieces of myself away from me, the pieces that i hadn’t known how to protect.