Back in the hospital room, Masaru tapped the side of his cup nervously. "You've been quiet since you woke up, Lily. Different. The doctors say it's normal, but… feels like you're thinking a lot more. Like you've grown up overnight."
Ethan lowered his eyes. There was something building in his chest. A weight. A dread. He swallowed hard.
Then, finally, he asked, "Do you… remember Ethan?"
The room went still.
Masaru furrowed his brow. "Who?"
Ethan blinked. "Ethan. My… brother."
Masaru's face was blank. "You don't have a brother."
Silence.
It rang in Ethan's ears like an explosion. He sat frozen, lips parted, unable to breathe. What did he just say?
"Lily…" Masaru leaned forward, a little concerned now. "Are you feeling okay?"
The breath caught in Ethan's throat. No. No, no, no. That's not possible. He felt the chill crawl down his spine, like invisible fingers gripping him from the inside.
"What about—pictures?" Ethan asked suddenly. "The family photo album?"
Masaru scratched his head. "You mean the one with you, me, and your parents? I don't remember any with someone named Ethan." Then he chuckled softly, unaware of the devastation he'd just unleashed. "Were you dreaming or something?"
Ethan didn't reply.
He couldn't.
I don't exist.
That sentence looped in his mind like a curse. His body — gone. His name — forgotten. Even in memories, he had vanished.
Had Lily erased him? Or had something deeper happened when they switched? Something cosmic? Something that didn't just rewrite their fates — but reality itself?
Uncle Masaru gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before he left. "Take care of yourself, Lily. And rest. I'll visit again soon."
The door clicked shut.
Ethan sat there in silence, the fruit basket untouched beside him, and stared at the reflection in the dark window.
Lily's face stared back.
But the girl in the glass looked hollow, haunted.
"I'm still here," he whispered to no one.
But no one remembered.