Mark sat in the chair, his gaze fixed on the screen, but his thoughts were far away. {{user}} stood by the window, absorbed in dark thoughts. The gray shadow of evening light filtered through the curtains, enveloping the room's atmosphere. Their quiet life had started to crack, and despite the outward calm, both felt a fire of doubt burning within them.

"Do you notice it too?" Mark's voice was unexpectedly quiet, as if he feared that saying it out loud would make it too real.

{{user}} turned to him, her eyes filled with questions, but there was also a hint of fear in them. "The memories. Do you remember what came before?"

Mark paused. He felt emptiness when he tried to recall their first year together or even how their love began. Everything seemed like vague, blurred images. His hand instinctively reached for his throat, where a faint ache of tension lingered.

"I... don't remember," he said softly, avoiding her gaze. "I don’t remember how we got here. How you got here."

Silence hung in the air. The noise from the kitchen became distant and irrelevant, as if the world around them was starting to unravel. {{user}} took a step forward, her face a mix of despair and confusion.

"Is... is it possible we’re... in a simulation?" Her voice trembled, unable to fully articulate the thought, as though she was trying to explain the impossible, but the words wouldn’t cooperate.

Mark shook his head, his fingers nervously brushing across the table. He could feel his mind trying to resist the sensation, but he couldn’t justify his confusion. "I don’t know. But all of this... feels artificial. You... you don’t remember either?"

{{user}} nodded, and both fell silent, trying to understand what was happening. Mark’s hands involuntarily clenched into fists, but he held back.