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❝ rich kids with nothing but fake friends❞
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Already, his heart starts to thrum in his ears, the flow of air down his throat halting. He doesn't know how or why, as a torrent of questions seize him. His hands shiver while he clutches the phone, focus drawn to the message. Could it be—?

No. There's no way.

| depends on who's asking

| It's Sam. Don't you remember me?

The question makes Kaede his throat tighten. His brows knit together, a pain blooming behind his eyes as he struggles again to remember. Yet there's nothing, absolutely nothing that heeds to the name 'Sam'.

Dread grips his heart as he says, no, i don't

| i'm sorry

I'm. Sorry.

Kaede stares at the message after sending it, realising then that that is all he has to offer—a pathetic apology. A war brews inside him, his heart and mind battling between fear and hope. A stranger or not a stranger, a friend or foe? He swings between the two like a pendulum in a tornado, not knowing which to latch on to.

For it's that question which he doesn't know the answer to.

And it scares him to know just as much, that the only thing between him and the other, is but a screen.

Fragile plastic, ready to shatter.

Kaede sucks in a breath once he sees the next text being typed, and he waits, restlessly. He bites his lip, sensing the trembles coursing through his veins. He's suddenly nervous, scared, not knowing what to expect.

| Please, they say, the first word causing him to still.

—tell me that you're just joking.

| Is it true that youve lost your memories?

Within seconds, every sense of caution before, all the dread and fear he feels, pierces through his bones and submerges his lungs, bringing with it, a long-buried nightmare. Of drowning thoughts and a cold, blackening world. He tenses and breathes in sharply, as he fires back a response.

| who told you that?

| Andrew Morton did.

His heart thuds. My therapist?

| I met him.

Reading the two messages, Kaede quickly attempts to interrupt them and give an answer, but he doesn't get to, of course. For the next messages end up saying far too much for him to even swallow.

| I came back home to find you only to realise that you left.

| People told me that you were gone, that you moved. I don't even know where you went, and if youre doing okay right now. All I have is your phone number and this is what I get after years not seeing you.

| So please tell me that you're just joking

| That you're really just messing with me

The words barrage him, the questions practically accusing, scraping slumbering, fiery thoughts. Bristling in anger, he hurls back his answer.

| what am i supposed to say then?

| you claim to know me so well, then tell me

| if i remember you, would i say these to you?

| would i try to hurt you with a joke as sick as this?

Almost, he sends another text into the heated chain, but his phone buzzes again, stopping him as he receives another message.

| No, they say.

| You're right

| You wouldn't lie to me

He's not a liar? Kaede scoffs and almost laughs, the falseness of the sentence a literal joke. He knocks his head against the headboard, sensing that by now, his eyes have been rimmed red by unshed tears. He peers back down.

| how bold of you to assume that

| years, as you said, are enough time for anyone to change

| even this precious one right here

| You wont lie to me, they continue to fight.

| But I refuse to believe that you don't remember me at all.

| There has to be something, one thing at least, that you remember about us.

| i don't, he responds bluntly. I really don't.

| You used to come to my house all the time. Wed always sit in my room and you'd watch me draw. do you remember that?

| i don't, i'm sorry

| we were friends?

At this point, they're pushing him to the verge of shattering, his heart crumbling its resolve as he struggles to figure out what they're saying. It's scaring him even as it tugs him forward in a lost, loose sense of longing to remember—something, anything.

| You werent just a friend

Then who was I? he nearly seethes to the screen, fingers tightening around the phone.

| You used to tell me that you had a story that you're building. That one day youd become a writer and I can illustrate for you

Kaede puffs out a breath, lips trembling as his finger stills momentarily.

| please just stop

| ive already told you that i dont remember

It's a plea, begging for them to stop shoving erased memories down his throat. To cease the pain throbbing in his ribcage and the storm in his head. To let him sleep and see these memories once more in a dream he's soon to forget.

He wants to remember, but at the same time, he doesn't.

All because he can't.

And that helplessness is what's makes this so much more painful than it already is.

Kaede doesn't notice that the other user has stopped, the words to show that he's typing staying 'online'. It's only after a long while when nothing comes, does it occur to him. It's only then it becomes apparent to him, how empty it feels once it seems as though the hurricane has paused. It's not a comforting sense, but not entirely frightening. He gazes down at the book beside him, then ever so lightly with a pen from the table, he pushes out the object he'd seen.

It's a vial sort of tube, a thin silver chain within and a strange piece locked to it.

A necklace.

A vibration from his phone causes him to jolt, tugging his eyes back to it.

| Do i scare you, Kaede?

The words make him freeze.

Is he scared?

Vaguely, he's aware that he ends up staring at the screen silently for quite long, before his fingers begin to move, ever so slowly putting in the first and only thought that comes to mind.

| yes.

And unsurprisingly, there's a long pause before the following text finally arrives. Only, its contents, as it dawns onto him, are nothing close to unsurprising.

| I knew her.

| She had black hair and blue, very deep blue eyes. 

| The girl that you loved so much

Right then, every muscle of his body stills, the beats of his heart smothered in his empty ears. He stares in stunned silence, rendered useless of rationality.

| what girl? He asks, dumbfounded.

| The music box and the necklace with the key attached to it, they were hers. She gave them to you.

| And I know you've kept them.

Kaede's gaze falls to the tube in his hand. With a hesitant hand, he uncorks it and lets the necklace inside to flow out. It streams through his trembling fingers, his eyes locked to the piece fallen to the middle of his cold palm.

A key.

The phone shakes with more messages.

| That's the proof I know.

| And I also know Rain is no longer with you, and it seems even after four years, your grandmother and neither your therapist have done much to help you regain your memories. Especially to why all this has happened to you.

| But I know a lot about you.

| And if you want even the slightest bit more hope of ever remembering her, of ever remembering me and Rain, and the story behind all this

| Then don't erase me.

| I can help you.

The last words strike him, sucking the energy out of Kaede, the daunting prospect of them scaring him more rather than soothe him.

| how?

And even despite the desperation behind the tone of that question, they say nothing of it, pointing out instead, | it's late.

| Go to sleep.

And soon after, with nothing more to say, the phone goes dark, just as the room does long after.