I don't know my name.
That should probably terrify me more than it does.
Instead, I'm standing in the middle of a coffee shop, staring at strangers who are beginning to stare back.
I can't remember walking in here.
I can't remember where I came from.
I can't even remember why I'm freezing.
All I know is that I need to sit down.
I take a seat near the small fireplace and hold my hands toward the warmth. The shop looks normal enough; bright lights, shelves lined with books and mugs, the smell of roasted coffee beans filling the air. A man types away on his laptop while a young couple laughs a few tables over.
Everything looks normal.
Except me.
I search my mind again.
My name. My home. A face. Anything.
Nothing.
I reach for the small handbag hanging from my shoulder and dig through it, hoping for an ID, a phone, money something that might tell me who I am.
My fingers catch on a folded piece of paper.
Relief shoots through me until I open it.
One word is written across the yellow, worn page.
REMEMBER.
I stare at it.
"Very helpful," I mutter.
If I could remember, I would.
The coffee shop is almost empty now.
I glance toward the clock.
Ten minutes until closing.
Outside, the wind pushes against the windows, and judging by the thin black sweater I'm wearing, stepping back into that cold isn't exactly appealing.
Unfortunately, I can't stay here forever.
I look down at myself, dark navy jeans, black-and-white sneakers, nothing particularly useful. No coat. No phone. No wallet.
No clue who I am.
Someone has to be looking for me.
Right? Right?
The thought should make me feel better.
It doesn't.
What if nobody is?
I shove the possibility away before it can settle.
There has to be somewhere I can go.
A hospital?
No.
YOU ARE READING
Remember
RomanceI woke up with no name, no past, and the feeling that something was following me. With nowhere else to go, I wander into a tiny coffee shop hoping someone can tell me where I am. They whisper. They stare. They avoid my questions. Worse! There are th...
