At 2 PM, the second customer walked in. Park Min-su, 45 years old. His suit was neat but his shirt was
wrinkled, his beard unshaven for days, and most telling of all were the deep dark circles under his eyes
that spoke volumes about his condition.
"I heard that . I can buy memories here."
It was an unusual request. Most people came to erase memories, but buyers were rare.
"What kind of memory are you looking for?"
Min-su pulled out an old photograph from his wallet. It was a happy family photo—a young Min-su, a
beautiful wife, and what looked like a 5-year-old daughter.
"I want to recover . happy memories with them."
"What do you mean by 'recover'?"
"I lost my wife and daughter in a car accident five years ago. The shock was so great that . I lost all
memories related to them. Even the good ones."
Min-su's voice trembled.
"The doctors said it was psychogenic amnesia. The trauma was so severe that my brain blocked out the
memories to protect itself. But . but I didn't want to lose all those happy times we shared."
I took his hand and peered into his memories. Indeed, only memories from five years ago onward
remained. Everything before that was a complete blank.
"So you have no memories of your family at all."
"I can't remember my wife's voice or my daughter's laughter. I don't even remember how we met or
when we got married . I only know them through photos and videos."
Min-su clenched his fists.
"Every night I search for them in my dreams. But since I can't remember their faces or voices . I can't even
meet them in my dreams."
"But I can't create fake memories for you. We only deal with real memories."
"Real memories?"
I led him to the back of the shop. Opening the door marked 'Memory Archive' revealed an enormous
warehouse. Hundreds of glass bottles were arranged on shelves, each containing memories donated by
different people.
They varied in size and color. Happy memories glowed with warm golden light, sad memories emitted
blue light, and memories of anger radiated red light.
"What is this?"
"These are memories that other people have stored or donated. Some people want to erase painful
memories but don't want them to disappear completely, so they leave them here. And some of these ."
I pointed to a corner marked 'Donation.'
"These are memories from people who donated them. People who found them too painful for
themselves but thought they might help someone else."
Min-su's eyes lit up.
"So . might there be someone who donated happy memories with their family?"
I examined the donation section and found one particular bottle: 'Joy of First Child's Birth - Anonymous
Donor, 26-year-old Female.'
"This memory . who donated it?"
"A woman who became an unwed mother in her early twenties. She was in such dire financial straits that
she had no choice but to give the child up for adoption. The guilt was so overwhelming that she wanted
to erase all memories related to the birth."
I pulled out the donor's letter.
"But she left this letter: 'I hope this memory can help someone who truly misses their family.'"
Tears fell from Min-su's eyes.
"Could I . have that memory?"
"But that's someone else's child. Not your daughter."
"I don't care. The joy, the excitement, the feeling of love . I want to experience those emotions again. I
want to know how I felt waiting for my daughter, what it was like when I first held her ."
I carefully opened the bottle. Warm golden light seeped out.
"Are you ready?"
Min-su nodded. I pressed the light against his forehead.
Suddenly, the scene of a hospital delivery room unfolded. After the pain of labor, a baby's first cry could
be heard.
"Congratulations. It's a healthy baby girl."
The nurse placed the newborn in waiting arms. A small, warm life. The entire world was filled with this tiny
being.
"Hello, my daughter . do you know how long mommy has been waiting for you?"
Love enveloped everything. I never knew such emotions existed in this world. The feeling that you could
do anything for someone.
Min-su smiled brightly through his tears.
"This is it . this is how it felt. When I first saw our daughter, I must have felt exactly like this."
But I had to receive the other memories as well—the donor's pain too. The day she gave the child to the
adoption agency.
"Live well . mommy is sorry."
A final embrace. And then eternal separation.
That sorrow entered me. While I gave Min-su only the joy, I received the donor's pain in its entirety.
"Thank you . thank you so much."
Min-su paid 5 million won and left the shop. I could feel a father's warmth in his retreating figure.
I looked in the mirror. Another emotion had been etched onto my face. Following Seo-yeon's pain, now I
carried a mother's sorrow of separation.
"It's getting heavier."
But something was strange. Today, my reflection in the mirror seemed unfamiliar, as if I were looking at
someone else.
I suddenly became curious. Who am I? Why did I end up doing this work? And . why do my memories
only go back three years?