Reminisce Book Novels & Stories

My family had to put a stop to the broadcast of my memories. I huddled in a corner, feeling numb about the whole situation, but they struggled to accept reality. Sandra teared up shakily, mumbling in disbelief. Roger gasped heavily, his fists clenched, while Caleb, wearing his heart on his sleeve, punched the table. “I can’t believe Casey is evil! “Where is she? I must ask her if this is real.” The scientist wiped away a tear. “This is the donor’s deepest and most personal memory. There’s one more piece of memory. Do you want to watch it?”

Then she folded them to her chest and said, "I understand, Sarah. Don't worry. Leave everything to me. I'll make sure the people who hurt you get what they deserve." When I saw her nod, I felt a sense of relief. I had only nine minutes left to live. My consciousness began to slip away, and my vision became blurry. My phone buzzed on the bedside table. It was a message from Emma. "Sarah, tomorrow is our birthday. Let's celebrate together. I want to thank you for giving me everything." She added a playful smiley emoji at the end. I read the message and let out a bitter laugh. Her amnesia act was so pathetic, yet our entire family bought it.

Is it just me or did my brain not seem to understand what RE-ESTABLISH meant anymore? Come to think of it, why on earth would Riven have a book like this? "Could it be...?"

At this point, I felt like regaining my memory was like a puzzle that needed special permission before I could even unlock it. A maid came over to my table, her voice soft as she informed me that it was time for dinner. I gave her a small nod and told her I would be coming over soon. I started putting the books back in their places, sliding them onto the dusty shelves. Right as I was returning one book on local flora, I suddenly caught the sight of a strangely binded book tucked into a corner. I remembered that it definitely wasn't here the last time I checked. It had a dark, pebbled leather cover that felt oily to the touch. I pulled it out and saw it was a book on shadow wraiths.

The weight of it. It was a collection of essays by a writer she had mentioned once in a conversation four months ago. She had said the name in passing while talking about something else entirely and she had moved on and she had not thought about it again. He had heard it. He had found the book. He had sent it with no note because no note was the right amount of note. Not a letter. Not an explanation. Not I was thinking about you or I remembered you said. Just the book. Just the proof of the remembering without the performance of the remembering.

I stared at him and shook my head. I remembered a line from a book by Brianna Wiest: When our lives revolve around someone, they don’t just stop doing so, even if all that’s left is the semblance of their memory. There are always those bits that linger. Was it even possible that I remembered everything about him? We were back to being strangers, yet I never felt like he had returned as one to me. His birth date, the day we first met—those dates were no longer just ordinary markers on a calendar. They had weight, history, meaning.

The weight of his presence pressed against my chest, suffocating and immovable. I forced myself to walk forward, each step dragging against the primal urge to flee. The gravel crunched beneath me, mocking my hesitation. Inside, the scent hit me: polished wood, old books, and something richer beneath it, unplaceable. A sudden memory surfaced, unbidden: the warm scent of my family’s home decades ago, of cinnamon curling into the air during quiet afternoons. A world where doors were not locked from the outside, where choices were mine to make.

in this situation. I can reconcile that in my mind. I can even reconcile the lingerie and the toys—even the pearls. But the books? Hell, the sightseeing, in general. Including high tea at The Dorchester. These latter things are neither possessive in nature nor meant as a prelude to anything sexual. They’re more like… Experiences to collect. Memories to make. Perhaps what is most curious to me is that these are memories I’m making with him. My stomach flutters. I clamp down on my lower lip, briefly, to suppress a smile.

"Nessa, when you read this, your new life begins. Don't dwell on the past, and don't try to uncover who you used to be. Trust me, move forward with determination. You have what it takes to live a brilliant life. "Also, never believe in love or any nonsense men spout. People change. No one is ever truly reliable. The only person you can count on is yourself. You must love yourself first and foremost." She folded the note and slipped it into her pocket, ready for herself to find when she woke. The airport speakers announced the final boarding call. "Passenger Nessa Hill, your flight is about to depart. Please proceed to Gate H25 immediately." Courtney pulled out the vial of memory-erasing poti

The atmosphere of the island was serene and warm, despite the nearness of the sea and the lightness of swimwear. — At the center of the square There stood a massive book, bound in dark brown leather. Its pages were thick, as if made to bear the heaviest of emotions. It lay open to a blank page. This was the Book of the Lovers’ Remembrance. It was said that every name written within it could never be erased, never forgotten, but would be immortalized with the island itself. Naomi approached slowly, her eyes gleaming with pure wonder, curiosity mingled with an inexplicable sense of awe. Adel followed her, stood beside her, and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.