That night, the house felt like a tomb. My father sat on the couch, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his tablet, his face illuminated by a pale, blue light. He didn't look up when I entered. "I'm home," I said. He only offered a distracted grunt in response.
I locked myself in my room and opened my laptop. I typed "History of the city" into the search bar. Loading... Records Unavailable. I tried "Origins of society." No data found. I scrolled through dozens of articles, but they were all identical—the same phrases, the same praises for the Architects, the same circular logic.
The light outside my window faded into a bruised purple, and then into the deep, artificial black of the city night. I leaned back, my breathing uneven. Something was fundamentally broken in the world, and the harder I looked for the edges of the lie, the more the world seemed to push back.
I fell into a fitful sleep, only to be jolted awake by the sound of voices. It was early morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. I stepped into the living room, rubbing my eyes, and froze. Two men in crisp, white uniforms sat across from my father. They had calm, pleasant expressions that made the hair on my arms stand up.
"What's going on?" I asked, my voice cracking.
One of them stood up and smiled gently. "We're here for a routine health check-up, Kael. Just a scan. Nothing serious."
I looked at my father. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He looked at the floor, his hands gripped tightly in his lap. "Dad?"
"Just go with them, Kai," he whispered, his voice sounding thin and defeated. "It's for the best."
I was led to a room that was nothing but white. No windows, no shadows, no exit. I sat in a hard plastic chair, facing a man who didn't speak. He just watched me. The hum of machinery was the only sound in the world. After what felt like hours, the man leaned forward.
"So..." he said, his voice echoing in the sterile void. "You're interested in the past."
The sun was bright, the sky was a perfect, filtered blue, and the birds were chirping their three-note melody from the manicured trees. I was walking to school. My uniform was pressed, my bag was balanced on my shoulder, and my pace was steady.
Everything was normal. Too normal.
I stopped at a crossing, waiting for the electronic signal to change from red to green. I looked at the other students waiting beside me. They were chatting about the upcoming exams, their voices light and carefree. I waited for the pulse of fear that usually lived in my gut, but there was nothing. No panic. No memory of the white room. It was as if the previous day had been erased from the reel of my life.
I crossed the street, but as I walked, my breathing began to grow heavy. It wasn't the shortness of breath that comes from exercise; it was a deep, soul-level exhaustion. I leaned against a brick wall in a quiet side street, closing my eyes as a dull ache throbbed in my right arm.
I frowned and rolled up my sleeve. My breath caught. Faint, yellowed bruises mottled my skin, circling my forearm like a grip. They looked old, like healing shadows of a struggle I couldn't remember participating in. I touched one gently and flinched as a sharp pain lanced through my arm.
When did this happen? I thought. I searched my mind for a fall, an accident, anything. There was nothing. Just a blank, white space where yesterday afternoon should have been.
The school gate was a chaotic flood of noise and color. Kenji spotted me and waved enthusiastically, his face bright with a smile that felt genuine. I waved back, but as I did, a sharp, piercing headache struck me behind the eyes. It was so sudden I winced, clutching my forehead. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it was gone.
The world snapped back into focus. I was in the classroom.
I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. I was already seated at my desk. My pen was in my hand, poised over a page of notes. I didn't remember walking through the door. I didn't remember the morning bell. I checked the clock on the wall: 10:42 AM.
I looked down at my notebook. The pages were filled with neat, orderly handwriting. Diagrams of cellular structures, dates of historical "alignments," notes on social mathematics. It was my handwriting. I flipped back through the previous pages, and they were all there—full, completed lessons from the past twenty-four hours.
I didn't remember writing a single word of it.
The pen slipped from my trembling fingers and clattered onto the desk. The girl sitting next to me glanced over for a second, her expression neutral, before returning to her work. Mrs. Vane continued her lecture as if I weren't there. When the bell rang for lunch, the class stood up in a single, fluid motion. I hesistated for a half-second, a jarring delay in the perfect synchronization of the room, before scrambling to my feet to join the line.
I caught up with Kenji in the corridor. "Did I miss school yesterday?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Kenji froze. It was only for a microsecond—a tiny hitch in his stride—but I saw it. Then he laughed, that loud, forced sound I was beginning to hate. "No. Why would you think that? You were right here, man."
"I just... I feel off," I said, searching his face for a lie.
"You're overthinking again," Kenji said, speeding up his walk and creating a gap between us that I couldn't bridge. He didn't look back.
In the cafeteria, I sat alone. I pulled out my phone and went to my browser. My search history was empty. My bookmarks were gone. Every saved tab I had kept regarding the city's history had been wiped clean. I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. I began to type: past of our—
The screen froze. The device let out a sharp, angry vibration and the screen went black. A moment later, the corporate logo of the City Council appeared as the phone restarted itself. My hands were shaking so hard I had to grip them together on the table. No one noticed. The hundreds of students around me continued to eat and laugh in a world where everything was fine.