Forgotten

My name is Azumi. I am a 26-year-old woman living atop an abandoned building with my boyfriend, Victor. Our home, an unusual makeshift shelter cloaked by an enormous tree, is perched on a rooftop surrounded by a rusted fence.

It is both our sanctuary and our cage. In a world where the human race is slowly fading into oblivion, this place keeps us alive. Yet, despite its safety, I often find myself wondering how I even ended up here.

Victor says he’s my boyfriend, and I’ve played along, but the truth is, I don’t remember him—or anything before the day I woke up next to him. My mind was blank, my memories erased.

He told me we were in love, that we’d been through so much together, but I couldn’t recall a single moment of it. At first, I feared he might be lying. What if he had ulterior motives? What if he wasn’t the person he claimed to be? To protect myself, I pretended to remember fragments of a life I didn’t recognize.

Over time, my apprehension began to fade. Victor wasn’t a threat. He was kind, gentle, and attentive. He cared for me as if I were the most precious thing in the world, and slowly, I stopped questioning his intentions.

He wasn’t just telling me a story—he was creating new memories with me, day by day. And despite my doubts, I found myself believing in the life he described.

“Love, why don’t you go inside and rest? It’s scorching out here,” Victor said one afternoon. His voice, deep and husky, carried a soothing quality that always made me smile.

“It’s not even noon yet,” I replied, chuckling as I reached for the basket hanging on the wall. “Besides, I need to keep busy. Idle hands, you know?”

Victor shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips, before returning to the garden. Together, we had cultivated a small oasis amidst the ruins of the city—a patch of green that provided us with berries, vegetables, and a sense of purpose.

While I picked the ripest produce, Victor worked to irrigate the soil, his strong hands guiding the flow of water. Watching him was a comfort, a reminder that even in a world as broken as ours, there was beauty to be found in simple, shared tasks.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, we retreated to our favorite spot on the edge of the building.

From here, we could see the city stretched out before us—a wasteland of crumbling skyscrapers and deserted streets. The silence was eerie, broken only by the distant rustle of wind and the occasional creak of the building beneath us.

Victor reached for my hand, his fingers warm and reassuring. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said, his voice soft.

“It is,” I agreed, though my eyes lingered on the desolation below. “Beautiful, and yet so tragic.”

He pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “At least we have each other,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. In moments like these, it was easy to forget the world we had lost. Victor’s presence was my anchor, a constant in the chaos that surrounded us.

“So, when do you think we’ll leave this place?” I asked suddenly, breaking the spell of our tranquility.

Victor didn’t answer right away. Instead, he gazed back at our little home—a modest structure nestled beneath the sheltering branches of the tree that had grown through the building. Its thick roots had sealed off every entrance, creating an impenetrable barrier against the zombies that roamed the city at night.

“It’s been three years, love,” he said at last. “No one has come to help. I don’t think anyone will.”

“Do you think we’re the last humans alive?” I whispered, the weight of the question pressing down on me.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “And honestly, I don’t want to find out. We’re lucky to have what we need here—food, water, safety. Why risk it?”

He had a point. In three years, we had never been attacked. The tree’s roots provided a fortress, and the garden gave us sustenance. Yet, a part of me yearned to venture beyond these walls. I didn’t know why, but I felt an inexplicable pull to find others like us.

“You’re right,” I said finally, not wanting to argue. “We’re safe here, and that’s what matters.”

Victor smiled, his relief evident. He leaned down to kiss my forehead, a gesture so tender it made my heart ache.

“Let’s head inside,” he said. “The sun’s setting, and we need to turn off the lights before the zombies come out.”

As he stood and began gathering our harvest, I couldn’t help but watch him. Even after years of isolation, Victor’s strength and resilience were evident in the way he moved, the way he carried himself.

He was handsome, too—his chiseled features and sharp jawline a stark contrast to the harshness of our surroundings.

I followed him back to the house, but before I could take more than a few steps, a chilling scream pierced the air. I froze, my breath catching in my throat. The sound was distant yet clear, echoing through the empty streets below.

“Victor, did you hear that?” I called, rushing to the edge of the building.

He joined me, his expression tense. “Stay here,” he said, his tone firm.

But there was nothing to see. The streets below were as empty as ever, the scream fading as if it had never existed. I searched the shadows, my heart pounding, but there was no sign of movement, no indication that anyone had been there.

“It’s nothing,” Victor said finally, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Probably just the wind.”

But I wasn’t convinced. The scream had felt too real, too human. And as I stood there, staring into the darkness, a strange sensation washed over me—a flicker of familiarity, a memory just out of reach.

“Was that—just a memory?” I whispered, clutching the edge of the wall as unease settled over me. What was happening to me?

Victor gently pulled me away from the edge, his concern evident. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside. It’s not safe out here.”

Reluctantly, I followed him, though my mind was racing. Who had screamed? And why did it feel as though that voice was calling to me?

Inside, Victor prepared dinner while I sat at the table, my thoughts consumed by the strange event. He tried to cheer me up with his usual humor, teasing me about how I always left the smallest berries at the bottom of the basket.

“You’re hopeless,” he said, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

I managed a weak smile, but my mind was elsewhere. Victor noticed, of course. He always did.

“You’re worried about the scream,” he said, sitting beside me. “Aren’t you?”

I nodded, my gaze fixed on the table. “It felt… familiar, somehow. Like I’ve heard it before.”

Victor reached for my hand, his touch grounding me. “We’ve been through a lot, love. Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.”

“Maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t convinced.

That night, as we lay in bed, Victor held me close, his presence a comfort against the fears that lingered in the corners of my mind. But even as I closed my eyes, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—or someone—was out there, waiting for me to find them.

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