The street didn't stop.
It slowed.
Like reality was buffering, trying to decide which version of events it was allowed to keep.
Cars crawled past too quietly. Conversations dulled into half-formed sounds. Even the air felt thick, like it was resisting movement.
Raghav stood in front of me, shoulders squared, hands clenched at his sides.
He was trying not to look scared.
That made everything worse.
My phone vibrated again.
Hard enough to sting.
I didn't need to look to know what it said.
Tomorrow wasn't asking anymore.
I stepped closer to Raghav and lowered my voice. "You need to leave. Now."
He shook his head. "You always say that right before things get bad."
My chest tightened. "Then listen this time."
He searched my face, like he was trying to match it with a memory that didn't fully belong to this moment.
"They're coming," he said quietly. "I can feel it."
"So can I."
The pressure sharpened.
The tea stall's metal roof groaned softly, as if under strain. A crack zigzagged down the glass of the display case—not breaking, just… forming.
Raghav swallowed. "If I forget you, does this stop?"
I didn't answer.
Because silence was an answer.
He exhaled slowly. "Then do it."
My heart slammed.
"I don't know how," I said.
He smiled faintly. "You always do."
That scared me more than anything Tomorrow had done so far.
I closed my eyes.
The mirror-version of me whispered urgently:
You can't erase him completely.
He chose you. That leaves a mark.
Tomorrow's presence pressed closer—not angry, not cruel.
Expectant.
I spoke without opening my eyes.
"Take the memory," I said. "Not him."
The world reacted.
The pressure twisted, confused.
A voice—not sound, not thought—answered.
Partial erasure is unstable.
"I don't care," I said. "Take me from his memory. Take everything that leads back to me."
Raghav's breath hitched.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
I opened my eyes.
"I'm letting you live," I said softly.
The air snapped.
A sharp, invisible force rippled outward—not violent, not painful—but final.
Raghav staggered back like he'd been shoved.
His eyes widened.
Then… emptied.
Not blank.
Just unfamiliar.
He blinked rapidly, disoriented.
"Sorry," he said awkwardly, glancing around. "Did I— did I say something weird?"
My throat closed.
"No," I whispered. "You were just ordering tea."
He nodded slowly, embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."
He picked up his cup with shaking hands, took a sip, and winced. "Too much sugar."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
The pressure lifted.
The street resumed its noise. Cars honked. Someone shouted at a vendor. Life stitched itself back together like nothing had torn.
Tomorrow receded.
Satisfied.
Raghav stepped aside to let someone pass, already half-forgetting the moment he'd been brave.
Then he paused.
Frowned.
Looked back at me.
For half a second—just one—recognition flickered.
Not memory.
Instinct.
"You should be careful," he said suddenly. "I don't know why, but… it feels important."
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood there long after he disappeared into the crowd.
Something burned behind my eyes.
Not tears.
Loss.
The mirror-version of me spoke softly.
"He won't remember you."
"I know."
"But he'll feel the absence."
I pressed my fingers into my palm until it hurt.
"So will I."
My phone buzzed one last time.
> Stability restored.
Cost accepted.
I stared at the screen.
"You don't get to call that stability," I whispered.
The screen went dark.
And for the first time since this began, Tomorrow didn't answer.