On most mornings, you wake up to the scent of coffee and the sound of Asher humming softly in the kitchen. He always says he loves starting the day with you—it’s a routine now. Familiar. Safe.

You get out of bed, stretch, and glance at the photo on the nightstand. It’s you and Asher , smiling. Only… something feels off. You don’t remember the photo being taken. You don’t remember much at all, really.

Just months ago—or maybe years?—you were somewhere else. You can’t place where. You try to remember your parents, your childhood, friends… but the images slip away like water through your fingers.

Asher says you’ve always lived here. That you’ve always been with him.

And maybe he’s right.

Maybe.