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The gentle chime of the bell echoed as Alya entered the shop. The air inside was different—not musty like an antique store, but warm and inviting, like a quiet embrace from the past. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with small glass bottles that glowed with soft, pulsating light. Each one seemed alive, its glow resembling the gentle rhythm of a heartbeat.
Behind the old wooden counter stood an elderly man with a welcoming smile. His hair was as white as freshly fallen snow, and his eyes held a depth of wisdom beyond years. He did not seem surprised to see Alya, as if he had been expecting her all along.
"Welcome to The Memory Shop," he said. "Here, we sell lost time."
Alya frowned. "You mean… memories?"
The old man nodded. "Memories that have faded, been forgotten, or erased. Here, you can buy them back."
Alya's breath hitched. If that were true, there was one memory she desperately longed to reclaim—a memory of someone she had once loved, now only a faint shadow in her mind. She did not know when or how the memory had disappeared, but every time she tried to recall it, she was met with nothing but emptiness.
"How does it work?" she asked, her voice trembling.
The old man reached for a small bottle from the shelf. Inside, a golden light swirled lazily, as if waiting to be released. "Each bottle contains a single memory. If you wish to retrieve it, you must pay with another memory. Time cannot be created, only exchanged."
Alya hesitated. If she wanted to gain a lost memory, she had to give up another. What would she be willing to sacrifice?
"How do I know which memory I will lose?"
The old man’s smile was gentle yet unwavering. "That is the risk you must take. You cannot choose which memory is taken. This shop does not operate on desire but on balance."
Alya stared at the glowing bottle in her hand. The golden light shimmered warmly, almost as if it recognized her. A deep longing surged within her—fear intertwined with hope. What if she forgot something important? But what if she remembered something that was once her everything?
With trembling fingers, she uncorked the bottle.
In an instant, the world around her shifted. A wave of warmth swept over her, flooding her mind with voices, laughter, the scent of rain-soaked pavement, and the gaze of someone she had once cherished. She saw him clearly—a young man with a soft smile and eyes filled with love. They stood together under a dusky sky, their hands entwined, their hearts beating as one. The memory was vivid, as if she had traveled back in time.
But as the memory returned, something else slipped away. A faint void crept into her mind—a sensation of absence, a piece of herself vanishing into the unknown. What had she just lost?
Alya blinked, returning to the dimly lit shop. The empty glass bottle rested in her palm. The old man watched her quietly, his expression unreadable.
"How do you feel?" he asked.
Alya touched her temple, searching for the missing piece. She had regained a cherished moment, but something else had faded into oblivion. "I... I don't know. I have my memory back, but... I feel like something is missing."
The old man nodded knowingly. "That is the price. Every memory has equal value. You will not know what you have lost until the moment you realize its absence."
Alya stared at him in disbelief. "Then what if I want to get back what I lost? Can I retrieve it?"
The old man offered a small, enigmatic smile. "Perhaps, one day, you will find your way back here. Or perhaps, the lost memory will return to you in another form. Time always finds a way."
Alya was silent. Had she made the right choice? She could not tell. But she knew, without a doubt, that she was no longer the same person who had walked into this shop.
With uncertain steps, she turned toward the door and walked outside. The cool night air brushed against her skin. When she glanced back, the shop had vanished, as if it had never existed.
But she knew it was real. She had been there, exchanged time, and reclaimed a lost piece of herself. And maybe, just maybe, one day, she would return.
Because some memories are too precious to be forgotten—even if it means losing a part of yourself to keep them.
56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX7GyDWarhL
