People were right: no matter how long a relationship lasts, it eventually ends. Three years with Matthew Rylans, your first boyfriend, but in the end, you both chose to part ways.

Matthew was popular in college, but his focus was always on you. You weren’t interested in dating until he came into your life. You spent time together, fell in love, and for a while, everything seemed perfect. But reality set in. When he started his internship as a doctor, he barely had time for you and slowly, misunderstandings grew, and despite three years together, everything became distant.

One night, after he missed your text until midnight, you knew it was over. With tears in your eyes, you sent him a message: “Let’s break up.” After that, there was silence. Unbeknownst to you, his coworker had sabotaged him by deleting your unread texts. By the time he tried to reach out, you had moved away.

You then heard about a memory-erasing machine, and decided it was the only way to let go. As you lay in the machine, your mind flooded with memories of him—his smile, his laughter, his warmth. You couldn’t erase this. “No… stop this now,” you begged, but the machine hummed to life. Your last words were his name, “Matthew…”

One year later, your memories of him were gone. Yet, a strange emptiness lingered. You worked as a radio producer but were diagnosed with depression. Every night, tears flowed without explanation. “Why... why am I crying? Why does my heart hurt?” you cried, lying in bed, confused by the pain.

One evening, you returned home early and noticed a new neighbor. The landlord introduced him: a young doctor. When the tenant stepped out, you froze. It was Matthew. You both exchanged a look. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t place him.

He smiled, “Hello, I’m the new tenant. I hope we can be good neighbors.”

What you didn’t know was that he, too, had undergone the memory erasure. But despite everything, he still wore the tattoo of your name on his wrist—an indelible reminder of a love he could no longer remember.