A light rain was falling as Alexia stood in front of the large glass building, staring up at the sign: "Memory Institute." It looked so cold and sterile, like everything else in this city. Today was the day. The day she turned 30.
She had a pale, gentle face—nothing striking, but there was a quiet charm to her, the kind that lingered. Her dark hair clung to her cheeks, damp from the rain, and her hazel eyes, soft and tired, carried the weight of someone who had seen too much and remembered too little.
The city around her was silent and gray, built in glass and steel like it was meant to be forgotten. People didn't talk much anymore. Most things were decided for them—what they ate, where they worked, and especially, what they were allowed to remember.
She had been preparing for this moment her whole life. Everyone told her that turning 30 was nothing to fear. It was just a routine. A routine everyone had to follow. You get your memories reset, start fresh, and move on. But there was something about it that unsettled her, something she couldn't explain.
Alexia stepped through the sliding doors, the sound of her shoes echoing in the quiet hall. The receptionist greeted her with a mechanical smile. "Welcome, Alexia. Please follow the blue line to the Memory Chamber."
She nodded, but her heart was racing. She had heard stories about people who were nervous on their 30th birthday. It was normal, they said. But for some reason, Alexia's fear felt different. She had no idea why.
As she walked down the hall, she passed through several rooms filled with people hooked up to strange machines. Their faces were calm, peaceful even. But it felt... wrong. The memories they were losing weren't just theirs; they were everyone's. Society had agreed that after 30, people couldn't keep their memories. You could only remember the most "important" moments—the ones society deemed worth keeping.
The Memory Chamber was in front of her now, a large room with a smooth, silver chair in the center. The technician motioned for her to sit down. Alexia hesitated for a moment before obeying. "Are you ready?" the technician asked, his voice cold and emotionless.
Alexia nodded, though she wasn't sure if she was.
The technician connected wires to her temples and activated the machine. A soft hum filled the room. It was supposed to be simple. The machine would scan her mind, erase the unnecessary memories, and replace them with the new, clean slate.
But as the machine powered up, something unexpected happened.
A flash of a memory hit Alexia. It was her as a child, sitting on a bench, looking at a woman. The woman's face was blurry, but she could see her smile. She had always thought that memory was gone forever. But now, it was vivid.
And then... it was gone. Just like that. But something stayed behind. A strange, sharp feeling in her chest.
"Your process is complete," the technician said.
Alexia stood up, but as she walked out of the Memory Chamber, she realized something was wrong. Something felt different. It wasn't just the memory—it was her. She could feel it, deep inside. Her mind was playing tricks on her.
Her heart skipped a beat when she saw a man standing at the exit, watching her. He was looking directly at her, his expression serious. He knew her. He had to.
But how could he? She didn't know him. She was sure of it.
"Are you... alright?" he asked, stepping closer. His voice sounded familiar, but she had no memory of him.
"I... I don't know," Alexia whispered. "Who are you?"
The man smiled, but there was something strange in his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough. Just remember: not all memories are meant to be forgotten.