There are choices we make with our mouths.
And there are choiceswe make with silence.
The most irreversible onesare always the latter.
Lin stopped coming.
One day passed.Then two.Then three.
The chair across from Thir remained empty,its wooden surface untouched,as if it were holding its breath.
He told himself not to worry.
People forgot things all the time.People forgot places.Forgot habits.Forgot reasons.
But his chest tightenedeach time the door creaked openand it wasn't her.
On the fourth day,he realized something far worse.
He could no longer rememberhow long she had been coming.
Only that she had.
That night, the girl in gray appeared without warning.
She stood behind the counter,feet not quite touching the floor.
"You're running out of time," she said calmly.
Thir didn't ask for what.
"I'm not going to open the door," he replied.
The girl tilted her head.
"You already know what's behind it."
"Knowing isn't the same as choosing," Thir said.
She smiled faintly.
"That's what he used to say too."
Thir's breath caught.
"You talk like you knew him."
"I did," she answered."I watched him decide."
"Decide what?"
The girl stepped closer.
"To disappear gently."
The fifth day, Lin returned.
She stood at the door for a long momentbefore stepping inside,as if unsure whether she belonged.
Her eyes scanned the shopwith polite curiosity.
No recognition.
No warmth.
"Hello," she said softly."This place… what do you do here?"
Thir felt something crack inside him.
"…We repair memories," he answered.
Lin hesitated, then nodded.
"That makes sense," she said."I keep feeling like something important is missing.Not painful.Just… hollow."
She sat.
The same chair.The same light.
But this time,she didn't look at him like she was home.
When Thir touched her temple,the sound of glass did not shatter.
It collapsed.
The gray space opened violently.
Cracks webbed across every wall.Doors stood half-broken, half-erased.
And at the very center—
A single door remained untouched.
The name on it was fading.
Kin
"You're too late," the girl's voice echoed.
Thir rushed forward.
"No," he said."Not yet."
He pressed his hand to the door.
And everything came back.
Rain against windows.Two cups of bitter coffee.A quiet apartment filled with unfinished sentences.
A man sitting across from him, hands clenched.
"If I disappear," the man had said, voice trembling,"you'll be happier.You won't have to choose."
Thir remembered himself then.
Young.Afraid.Silent.
He remembered not saying I love you.
He remembered letting silence answer instead.
The door dissolved.
The memories surged.
And Thir screamed.
When he opened his eyes,he was back in the shop.
Lin was staring at him in alarm.
"Are you okay?" she asked quickly."You suddenly looked like you were in pain."
Thir swallowed hard.
"…Do you know why you keep forgetting?" he asked.
Lin shook her head.
"But I think…"She paused, pressing a hand to her chest."I think someone wanted me to."
Thir nodded slowly.
"Yes."
"And do you know who?" she asked.
He met her eyes.
And for the first time,he chose not to lie.
"Yes."
That night, the girl stood silently as Thir packed away his tools.
"You remembered," she said.
"Yes."
"And now?"
Thir looked at the empty chair.
"I'm going to answer him."
The girl's eyes widened slightly.
"But that will undo the balance."
"I know."
"And someone will disappear."
Thir nodded.
"I already let him disappear once," he said quietly."I won't do it again."
Before closing the shop,Thir wrote one final line in his notebook.
If love demands a witness,then let me be the one who remembers.
Some people vanishbecause no one stopped them.
But sometimes,they disappearbecause silence gave permission.
And this time—Thir was going to speak.