Lingering Memories Novels & Stories

The kind that simmered in your bones and made everything feel off-kilter. I started to wonder how many times I’ll be agitated because of the person I couldn’t remember. Maybe she isn’t lying, maybe she is. Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake Lena Whitmore from my mind. Her eyes, her voice, the way she said my name—they haunted me. Not because they were unfamiliar, but because they weren’t. Because they meant something I couldn’t touch, like trying to remember a word that was always on the tip of your tongue.

Her eyes filled with anger. “You're saying he erased my memories?” “Not exactly.” “Then what?” Lucien looked at her. “He divided them.” The words made no sense. “Divided?” “Your memories were fragmented. Hidden beneath ordinary memories. Certain triggers can bring pieces back.” Seraphina suddenly remembered the dreams. The rain. The old laboratory. Her father's voice. A young Lucien standing behind glass. The strange flashes she'd always dismissed as nightmares. Her face went pale. “That's why I've been seeing things.”

She closed her eyes, imagining his face, his hands, the warmth that seemed to linger in her memory like a fragrance she couldn’t shake. They lingered on memories, revisiting Manchester through shared recollections—laughing at minor embarrassments, savoring victories, recounting the moments when they had felt most alive. The conversation felt like a bridge, tenuous but unbreakable, reconnecting hearts that distance and circumstance had strained but not broken.

My chest tightened with unease. The haunting image of his lifeless eyes and the charred remains of his body plagued my every waking moment. It was as if my mind had carved a permanent, vivid portrait of that catastrophic incident. The memory, like a relentless echo, followed me wherever I went. But I knew, deep down, that constantly dwelling on the gruesome details would only serve to keep me trapped in a cycle of despair.

Lyra recognized it first. ‘No’ Her voice trembled. “The memory dies.” Silence. The sentence hit everyone. Even the origin. “What does that mean?” asked Mara. Lyra looked at the burning horizon. “The memories were held too long.” Silver flames swirled over the sky. “Now they dissolve.” The dreamer moved under the waves. Sad. Mara felt it. Don't worry. Not rage. Sad. Unbelievable sadness. The dreamer had kept memories for millennia.

The memory of Lytheria’s true end was a stain on Liora’s soul. It wasn't like the other memories she had anchored, those had been restorations, like bringing a faded painting back to life. This was different. It was like carving a tombstone for a million souls, chiselling the word "DEVOURED" into the bones of the world. The air in the cove no longer carried a beautiful lie, but it didn't feel clean or true either. It felt heavy, haunted by a scream that would now never fully fade.

Patricia let out a deep sigh, her chest rising and falling as the memory washed over her. Just yesterday, everything had unfolded in a way that felt almost surreal, and she was certain that even as time passed, the vivid moments they shared would forever be etched in her mind. The emotions and sensations were so intense that she wouldn’t be surprised if they haunted her for years to come; the past lingered like a sweet perfume, intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

The memories were hazy, like fragments of a shattered mirror, but I tried harder, straining my mind. With each passing moment, the pieces randomly fell into place like every time I tried to recall, the memories forming into a cloudy narrative that only sent shivers down my spine. I remembered the flames licking at the sky, the acrid scent of smoke filling the air, the screams of anguish echoing through the night.

This is the one night which has broken him beyond repair. The memories resurface in his mind. These memories are one of the few which he wants to get rid of so desperately, but it’s like some sticky gum which he cannot get rid of no matter what. These would always find some way to haunt him and come to him to remind him of his past, his identity, his everything which he so desperately wants to erase.

Living me confused. Until we finally leave the hospital, the man never leaves my mind. There's something about him that keeps bothering me. It's just that I don't know what that thing is. And the more I think of that thing makes me feel that I shouldn't have left that place.