Fragments

4

The next morning, the world feels different. I wake in a panic, my heart pounding from a dream that I can't remember. The early morning light filters through the window, casting a pale glow across the room. Elias is still resting beside me, his sleep never disturbed by fragments, the perfect picture of serenity. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake the unsettling feeling clinging to me like a second skin.

I dress quietly and head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. It's normally Elias who takes on this task, but today, I need to move, to do something that will steady the rapid beat of my heart. The routine tasks—measuring the nutrient supplements and blending the protein shake—should hold enough meticulosity to occupy my mind. But they don't. My hands tremble as I pour the liquid into our two glasses, the sound of it splashing into the cup unnervingly loud in the quiet of the apartment.

Elias enters the kitchen, his golden hair tousled from deep sleep. He smiles at the sight of me. "You're up early," he says, his voice still thick with sleep. "Is everything alright?"

"I'm fine," I reply too quickly, forcing a smile. "Just thought I'd get a head start on the day."

He watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You know, you don't have to do this," he says gently, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around my waist. "I can handle breakfast."

"I know," I murmur, turning away from his gaze. "I just needed to keep busy."

He doesn't press further, taking the glass I offer him with a look of gratitude. We sit down to eat, the silence between us heavy and unfamiliar. Usually, this is the time when we relish the quiet, allow it to wash over us like a welcome mat to the day.

Today, I can't bring myself to keep a smile with so many things going on in my brain. My mind is elsewhere, drifting back to the encounter with the woman and her insistence that I remember the azaleas. I don't know why I'm so bothered by a memory that isn't mine, but the way she was able to so fully immerse herself in that memory, the sights and the smells, feels like such a foreign concept to me. When I think back on my time at Sector 5, I can barely visualize what was there let alone remember the scents.

Maybe that's what has me so upset. I can't smell my memories...

"Elias," I say suddenly, causing him to look at me in surprise. We rarely speak while we eat. "Did you grow up near flowers?" I ask.

He had been in Sector 4 his whole life. There weren't any flowers here now, but maybe it's a forgotten part of my past that he can better remember. Maybe flowers were something the Ministry phased out as unnecessary to preserve resources, but they once existed in all the Sectors.

Elias thinks on it for a moment, pausing and really trying to remember before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

I want to push him, to ask if he remembered any smells from his youth, but I don't want him to get suspicious.

"Why?" he asks curiously, his attention fixated on me as he tried to guess what's peaked my interest into his childhood.

I shrug, trying to lessen how much it means to me that the smells have disappeared from our minds, "A woman in 8 told me she grew up near a garden that smelled beautiful. I was just wondering if they had flowers here, too," I say. It's a partial lie. I don't really care if there were once flowers. I just want to know where all the smells have gone.

I leave the apartment earlier than usual, without Elias, mumbling something about extra tasks at the Ministry as an excuse. He doesn't question it, but I can feel his eyes on me as I gather my things and head for the door. The streets are quieter at this hour, the city not yet fully awake. The sky is a muted gray, the dome overhead filtering the sunlight into a dull, even light that casts no shadows.