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cheekbones stood out against her face and the warmth in her smile was so genuine, I could almost
feel it through the paper. Her dark, emerald eyes stared into his own in the photo, a look that
suggested familiarity – maybe even something more. There was something familiar about her, but I
could not put my finger on it. My heart beat faster as I looked at her – maybe it recognised her even
if my eyes didn’t. Turning the photo over, I saw a note scrawled in pen: ‘
I’m sorry’.
I had a feeling
that the girl had written it, but I had no idea who she was. All I knew was that the two of us were
wearing the same café uniform. I needed to find out.
Rushing out the door, I put the photo safely into my pocket. Glancing at my watch, I saw that I had
ten minutes before the morning shifts began so I sprinted as fast as I could to the café. I burst
through the doors like a madman and noticed that the customers all went silent as they stared at my
maniac entrance. I didn’t care, all I cared about was finding some answers to my questions. I hurried
to the counter, showing the photo to my colleagues and asking if they knew the girl, but nobody had
a clue. They stared blankly at me and shrugged. I pleaded for them to remember something, or
anything, about her but none of them knew.
‘Impossible!’ I yelled, frustrated. ‘She works here, doesn’t she? How does nobody remember?’
I realised that I too could not remember her, yet she was once my co-worker. I was losing my mind.
The photo was proof that she exists, that I knew her, but my mind was telling me something
completely different. The confusion and frustration coursed through my veins with every passing
second. I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach and my head was pounding. My hands were
bunched into angry fists at my sides as I shoved open the café doors. Why couldn’t I remember?