Aninsa stopped in front of a strange shop, nearly hidden among the shadows of the narrow street. The display window was filled with old objects—torn and faded photographs, incomplete albums covered in thick dust, scraps of yellowed newspapers, and even books with tattered, bleached covers, like fragments of forgotten worlds. In the center of the window, a handwritten sign announced: “The Memory Shop.”

  Aninsa paused before the door, hesitating. A slight sense of unease enveloped her—the kind of feeling you get when stepping into a place where you aren't supposed to be. Nevertheless, she pushed the door open and entered.

  Inside, the air was heavy and damp, and the smell of old paper and rusted metal immediately filled her lungs. On the shelves sat dozens of metal cases, each locked and labeled with strange inscriptions. Each shelf bore a label stuck to its bottom edge. Aninsa’s eyes scanned them quickly: “Family Memories,” “Memories from Dreams,” “Memories You Have Lost,” “Ancestral Memories,” “Others' Memories of You”…. Aninsa stopped in front of the last shelf, staring fixedly at the label that read: “Memories of Things That Never Existed.”

  “How can someone have false memories?” she wondered. Her mind wavered between curiosity and disbelief.

  Another sign caught her attention. It was written in large, red letters, as if it wanted to scream out of the darkness:

  “PROMOTION! Two memories for the price of one. Buy a beautiful memory now and receive a sad one for free!”

  Aninsa raised her eyebrows, a feeling of unease rising in her chest. “Why would anyone want to buy a sad memory?” she asked herself. But no one answered. The shop was empty, with no clerk or customers. Only her and those locked cases, which seemed to be waiting for her.

  When she reached the cash register, she noticed a small, nearly faded sign: “Foreign currencies not accepted.” She realized suddenly that she had nothing to offer—no money, no objects, not even memories of her own to give in exchange. She couldn't buy anything.

  “What is the point of coming here if I can't take anything?” she murmured angrily, a note of disappointment in her voice.

  As she turned to leave, her eyes fell upon a small box sitting near the door. Above it, written in ink, were the words: “Free product. Expiration date approaching.”

  Aninsa hesitated, her hand trembling, but then she took the box and stared at it. She didn’t know what to do with it, but she felt she couldn’t leave without taking it. What was hidden inside? A forgotten memory? An unfinished story? Or perhaps… nothing?

  Without a second thought, she stepped out of the shop, feeling the darkness of the city envelop her once more.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Aninsa walked on, the box in her pocket. She felt its strange weight, even though it was no heavier than an apple. After several blocks, she stopped by a bench under a flickering streetlight, where the light trembled, barely managing to scatter the dense darkness of the street.

  Filled with anticipation, Aninsa sat on the bench and, with hesitant movements, took out the box and looked at it. The metal was cold, and the latch, though it appeared rusted, opened easily at her touch.

  Hesitating, she stared at the nearly faded inscription on the lid: “Expiration date approaching.” What did that mean? Could memories actually expire, vanishing on their own like extinguished flames? But Aninsa decided quickly: it was better to open the box now than to let whatever was inside be lost forever.

  When she lifted the lid, something unseen poured out from within. There was nothing inside—only a dark void, like a mouth refusing to speak. It wasn't an object or a sound, but a warm, melancholy sensation. The moment she touched the edges of the box, her mind was suddenly flooded by a vibrant memory, as if it had been pulled from the depths of a forgotten dream.

  And then, she saw Maiana.

  She found herself in a dark room where the air was warm and heavy, smelling of something vaguely familiar—burnt wood and sweet tea. A cracked window let in a faint light, filtered through old curtains, and the wooden floor was strewn with books and sheets of scribbled paper.

  In the middle of the room, two figures lay on the floor; one of them was small and fragile.

  Filled with curiosity, Aninsa approached the scene to observe the details more closely.

  The younger girl had tangled blonde hair and a face Aninsa knew all too well—Maiana. She was lying on her stomach, drawing something with blue chalk on a slate, and beside her sat a younger version of Aninsa, laughing softly.

  “Will you still look at these drawings years and years from now?” Maiana asked, looking up.

  “Of course,” the other Aninsa replied without hesitation.

  Maiana smiled and traced her finger over the drawing, slightly blurring the outline.

  “But what if I erase them? Then you won't be able to see them anymore.”

  The younger Aninsa frowned slightly, as if she didn't understand.

  “Then I will remember them. I don’t need to see them; I just need to know they were there.”

  A cold shiver ran through Aninsa’s body as she watched the scene. She didn't remember ever saying that. She didn't remember this day at all.

  Maiana looked at her sister and laughed almost playfully:

  “You think so, Aninsa? You’d better promise me that you’ll never forget me.”

  The younger version of Aninsa laughed in turn.

  “I don't need to promise. There is no way I could ever forget you, Maiana.”

  Maiana drew the final line of her drawing.

  It was a house, with two people holding hands in front of it. Looking closer, Aninsa realized that on the slate, drawn with childish clumsiness, was the image of herself and Maiana.

  Aninsa felt a lump in her throat. Before she could say anything, Maiana reached out and wiped the entire slate with her palm, leaving behind nothing but chalk dust.

  “Now you’ve forgotten,” she said.

  Then, the memory shattered.

  Aninsa fell back into reality with a violent shock, as if she had been abruptly awakened from a dream.

  The box in front of her had vanished. On her hands, there were traces of blue chalk dust.

  Something in her chest tightened with an almost physical pain. That day, that moment—she had lost it without even knowing. And only now had she won it back.