“Don’t follow the strings unless you’re ready to lose your reality.”
That warning echoed in Garah’s head as she awoke again—this time, inside a train.
But it wasn’t moving.
There was no sound. No conductor. No voice over the speakers. Just silence.
She looked down. The bracelet still glowed, but fainter now—like a dying ember.
Suddenly, the lights flickered. And standing at the far end of the train… was the boy from earlier.
Only now, he was dressed in a school uniform. Just like hers.
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Garah blinked. “You—”
He raised a hand. “Don’t panic. This is one of your memory trains. You’ve boarded it before. You just don’t remember.”
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The doors behind him opened with a hiss.
Beyond them? A school hallway. But not hers.
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“Why are you showing me this?”
The boy smiled—sad, almost nostalgic. “Because to remember the truth, you must walk through the lie.”
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Meanwhile, in the present…
Pearl zoomed in on the photo again.
“What the heck is this glow?” she whispered.
Zyreen leaned closer. “That wasn’t there during class.”
Francisco stayed quiet, scanning the hallway.
“Is she messing with some kind of filter?” Pearl asked.
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Zyreen raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe she finally snapped. You know Garah. She always talked about seeing weird things. Threads. Destinies. Dead people.”
Francisco suddenly stepped away from the group. “You two head back.”
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“Why?”
He didn’t answer. But in his hand… he clutched a red string. Real. Visible.
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And it was pulling him… somewhere.
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Inside the memory train...
The hallway Garah stepped into was dimly lit, like a scene from her own nightmare.
The walls were lined with old photos—some blurred, others scratched out. She walked slowly, until she saw one picture frame that wasn’t damaged.
A photo of her.
Younger. Smiling. Standing beside the silver-haired boy.
“I don’t remember this…”
Behind her, his voice came like a breeze.
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“You erased me.”
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