Day 88.
I forgot where I put my umbrella.
Again.
It wasn't raining yet—but Ren was already standing by the gate, holding his.
He didn't ask where mine was.He didn't joke about it.He just opened his, stepped closer, and said quietly:
"It's okay.I've got you."
We walked home in silence.
And maybe silence is all we need sometimes—because when the words start to disappear,the spaces between them matter more.
At home, I tried to write in my notebook.
But I paused.Because something felt... off.
I stared at the page.At the date: Day 88.
And I hesitated.
Wasn't it… Day 89?
No. I had already written that one.I remembered writing about the beach.Or was it the rooftop?
No—maybe it was the summer memory?
I closed my eyes.
But there was only static.
"Day 88.I think I lost a day."
At school, things got worse.
I called my friend by the wrong name.
I entered the wrong classroom.Sat down like it was mine.Smiled like I belonged there.
And when they stared at me—I just laughed and said, "Sorry, long night."
But I knew.Deep down, I knew.
I was starting to vanish.
One moment at a time.
That afternoon, I found Ren waiting behind the gym.He was holding something.
A small box.
He handed it to me wordlessly.
Inside were five photos.All of me.Some recent, some older.One from the beach.One on the school rooftop.One where I was asleep, head on the library desk.
"You took these?"
He nodded.
"I thought… maybe one day you'll need to see proof you existed."
My chest tightened.
"I don't want to forget you."
"You will," he said, voice calm."But I won't."
That night, I opened a new page and wrote slowly:
"Day 88.Today I forgot someone's name.Tomorrow it might be mine."
"But there's a boy who keeps showing up in the moments I forget.Like a constant.Like the shape of something I can't hold—but still feel."