> "Forgetting is the gentlest way the heart defends itself."
— Curtain's Edge Bookstore Memoir, Page Two
---
The city night was fading into a watercolor blur.
Streetlights glowed on the wet pavement, shimmering like melted stars.
Linyue leaned against the bus stop pole, clutching the same book he'd brought home last night.
The silver musical notes on its cover caught the light whenever the wind turned the pages.
"...Something's off," he murmured.
Every time the wind passed, it felt as if the book breathed.
Then, a sweet scent—milk and roasted beans—drifted over from the corner café.
The sign read Sunny Sky Coffee, its warm light spilling onto the street.
He pushed the door open.
A bell chimed above him, and a girl behind the counter looked up.
"Welcome! Oh—hey, it's you."
She blinked, her ponytail swaying slightly.
"Me?" Linyue blinked. "Have we met?"
"Yesterday," she said with a smile. "You got lost and asked me where the bus stop was.
Then it started raining, and you left your umbrella here."
She pointed toward the corner—sure enough, a blue umbrella hung by the door.
So it really was her.
He remembered a faint image: a girl's silhouette under the streetlight, holding an umbrella.
"Thanks. I guess I've been... forgetful lately."
"Lately?" she teased. "Then you need sugar therapy! I'll make you a strong latte—on the house."
She set the cup down, fingers brushing the hot ceramic, and flinched just a little.
"I'm Ye Qing," she said with a grin. "And you?"
"Linyue."
"That really sounds like a night kind of name."
Her laughter was soft, warm—like a small moon hidden under café lights.
---
"So, you live around here?" she asked, wiping a table.
"For now," Linyue said. "Looking for some part-time work."
"Oh? Perfect! I actually need someone."
He raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"A friend of mine's a painter. He keeps forgetting things—like, a lot of things. He said he needs someone to 'remind him what's real.'"
"Remind him... what's real?"
"Yep. When he paints too long, he kind of forgets the world outside his canvas."
The words made Linyue's chest tighten slightly.
For some reason, they carried the same strange resonance as the melody he'd heard from the silver book.
"Can I meet him?" he asked.
"Sure," Ye Qing smiled. "But first—help me wash these cups."
"Huh? Wait, when did I agree to a part-time job—?"
"Now." She stuck out her tongue playfully.
And just like that, Linyue was half-tricked into helping at the café.
---
By afternoon, the rain had stopped.
They brought a small bouquet of lilies and headed to the painter's studio.
The door was ajar. The air smelled of oil paint and turpentine.
Canvases lined the walls—every single one showed the same girl: long hair, gentle smile, sitting by a lake.
But all the faces were painted over in white.
As if someone had erased them.
"She's... what was her name again?"
The young man at the easel frowned, palette knife trembling slightly in his hand.
Ye Qing's smile faltered. "You... forgot her?"
"I remember her laughing," he said, voice hollow, "but I don't remember who that laughter belonged to."
Linyue felt a chill crawl up his fingers.
In his pocket, the silver-marked book trembled faintly.
The silver notes began to glow—softly, like distant music.
"Have you," Linyue asked carefully, "borrowed a book recently?
Something... strange?"
The painter blinked. "How did you know?"
He opened a drawer and pulled out a weathered book titled "The Grey Portrait."
Its cover bore the same silver musical symbol.
The air around them tensed, like a string pulled too tight.
A faint melody echoed inside Linyue's mind—gentle, sorrowful.
He saw a vision:
a girl in golden light, smiling as she said, "When you finish this painting, I'll tell you my real name."
And then—darkness.
The memory broke apart like torn paper.
Linyue gasped, opening his eyes.
"Her name... was taken," he whispered.
"Taken?" Ye Qing looked alarmed.
"The bookstore," he said slowly, "the Curtain's Edge Bookstore. It lends out memories.
Your friend... must've borrowed one—to forget the pain of losing her."
Silence filled the studio.
Sunlight filtered through the dusty window, casting white light on the unfinished paintings.
The thick paint reflected like a curtain of light.
The painter touched the face on the canvas.
"Then... can I see her again?"
Linyue hesitated.
He knew the truth: to return a borrowed memory was to reopen an old wound.
But still, he said softly, "Yes. I'll help you find her."
Ye Qing turned to him, her eyes steady and bright.
"Then let's do it—together."
---
By dusk, the three of them stepped out of the studio.
The sunset draped gold across the quiet street.
"You seem weirdly calm about all this," Ye Qing teased.
"I just think... if we forget too much, the world starts feeling empty."
She stopped walking, looked at him, and asked quietly:
"What about you? If someone took away one of your memories... would you want it back?"
He froze.
The melody from the silver book echoed faintly in his mind.
"I... don't know yet," he said.
Ye Qing smiled without pressing further.
She raised her half-empty cup of coffee, clinking it lightly against his paper cup.
"Then until you figure it out—let's not forget this one, okay?"
Linyue nodded.
Sunlight scattered like gold dust between them, and their shadows merged into one.
In his pocket, the book sighed softly,
as if another page of memory had just turned itself.