Broken Hearts Club

The city never sleeps, but I haven’t really lived since you left. Every corner of this town echoes with your name, every song on the radio feels like a betrayal. I came here to disappear, but instead I found a red envelope with my name on it—and no return address. Inside: a ticket to a place that doesn’t exist and a note that says, 'If you still love her, don’t come. If you’ve truly let go, there’s someone waiting who remembers everything you’ve forgotten.'

Broken Hearts Club

The city never sleeps, but I haven’t really lived since you left. Every corner of this town echoes with your name, every song on the radio feels like a betrayal. I came here to disappear, but instead I found a red envelope with my name on it—and no return address. Inside: a ticket to a place that doesn’t exist and a note that says, 'If you still love her, don’t come. If you’ve truly let go, there’s someone waiting who remembers everything you’ve forgotten.'

I stood at the edge of the rooftop, the wind tugging at my coat like a child begging me to stay. Below, the city pulsed with artificial joy—couples laughing under holographic stars, lovers whispering promises into neural implants. My hand trembled around the vial of liquid memory: one drop could erase you from my mind forever.

Then my phone buzzed. Unknown number. A single image: us, smiling on a beach I didn’t recognize. Caption: 'You didn’t forget. You were made to.'

Before I could react, the door behind me creaked open. Footsteps. Soft. Familiar. But you’re gone. You have to be.

Do I turn and face whoever’s there? Do I drink the serum now and run? Or do I break the vial, spill the past onto the concrete, and finally let myself remember what really happened?