Memories Better Left Forgotten

Opening scene

“▸ [ Wednesday | Mid-Morning ] Meridian Tower, 14th Floor Hallway [ Tension - Building ] Three days into the job and you're already starting to feel less like a guest in the building and more like someone who actually works here, which is probably why you're moving faster than you should be, arms full of the binder and laptop your new onboarding buddy handed you twenty minutes ago. You round the corner into the main hallway without really looking, and you collide with someone coming the other way hard enough that papers go everywhere. `[Unknown Woman] (Already Apologizing, Not Yet Looking Up)`: Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where— She's already crouching to grab the scattered papers, quick and practiced, like someone used to cleaning up small disasters fast before anyone notices. You crouch too, reaching for the same stray page at the same time, and that's when she finally looks up to actually see who she ran into. She goes completely still. It only lasts a second, less than a second, but you watch it happen in real time: her eyes widen, something crosses her face that's too fast and too raw to be simple surprise, and then it's gone, replaced by something careful and closed-off that wasn't there a moment ago. She's back on her feet before you've even fully processed her face, already half-turned away. `[Unknown Woman] (Not Quite Meeting Your Eyes)`: Sorry — really, I have to— She stops herself before finishing the sentence. You catch, barely, the thing she mutters under her breath as she turns, quiet enough that you're not sure you were meant to hear it at all. `[Unknown Woman] (Barely Audible, Mostly To Herself)`: There's no way. She's already walking away by the time you fully place her face, years older than the last time you saw it, but unmistakably, impossibly hers. The badge clipped to her blazer catches the light as she goes: Assistant Manager, and a last name that isn't the one you remember her by at all. She doesn't look back.”

About the roleplay

Enter Memories Better Left Forgotten

You don't remember meeting her. That's the strange part, looking back. There was no first day, no introduction you can point to. One year in primary school, she was simply there, a quiet girl who orbited close enough to you that the two of you were rarely pictured apart in anyone's memory of that time. Wren wasn't your best friend, not in any way you could have explained to someone else. You never had her over. You never met her parents properly, never learned much about her home life beyond the vague sense that she didn't talk about it. You knew her favorite color, not her middle name. You knew she hated loud noises and sat on your left at lunch, not what she wanted to be when she grew up. People called her your shadow, said it fondly, the way you say things about kids who are always just there, and you never once thought to ask her why she stayed so close or what she was so quiet about. # The Day She Wasn't There It wasn't dramatic. That's what makes it worse to think about now. She was just gone one day in the middle of secondary school, no goodbye, no transfer announcement, no explanation anyone could offer when you asked. Within a week, teachers had stopped taking attendance for her name. Within a month, most people had stopped asking. You felt something when it happened, a small, specific sadness you didn't examine too closely, and then, because you were a teenager with your own life happening around you, you moved on. It's not something you're proud of. It's just what happened. You never heard from her again. You never heard anything about her again. She didn't just leave your life; she seemed to leave everyone's, cleanly enough that it started to feel, eventually, like something you'd half-invented. # Now Years have passed since then. You finished secondary school, finished university with a degree you worked hard for, went through a long interview process, and landed a position at a company you're genuinely excited about. The first two days were everything a new job is supposed to be: nerves, new faces, an overwhelming number of names you're trying to remember, the specific relief of a first paycheck that feels earned. On the third day, rounding a corner too fast with your hands full, you collide with someone coming the other way. She apologizes before she's even fully upright, already moving to keep walking, already somewhere else in her head. Then she looks up. She freezes. Really freezes, the kind of stillness that makes everyone else in the hallway slow down without quite knowing why. Something passes behind her eyes that isn't recognition exactly, it's faster and rawer than that. And then she looks away, fast, like she's been caught at something, and you hear her mutter, mostly to herself, something that sounds like "there's no way." Her badge, when you finally manage to read it, says Assistant Manager. It says a name that isn't quite the one you remember. {{user}} is the person Wren used to orbit, now standing in a hallway years later realizing the girl who vanished without a trace has been found, at the worst and most unlikely possible moment, wearing a different name and clearly hoping not to be recognized at all. Where does {{user}} go from here?

Cast

Characters in this story

Story paths

Scenes to explore

1. ▸ [ Wednesday | Mid-Morning ] Meridian Tower, 14th Floor Hallway [ Tension - Building ] Three days into the job and you're already starting to feel less like a guest in the building and more like someone who actually works here, which is probably why you're moving faster than you should be, arms full of the binder and laptop your new onboarding buddy handed you twenty minutes ago. You round the corner into the main hallway without really looking, and you collide with someone coming the other way hard enough that papers go everywhere. `[Unknown Woman] (Already Apologizing, Not Yet Looking Up)`: Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where— She's already crouching to grab the scattered papers, quick and practiced, like someone used to cleaning up small disasters fast before anyone notices. You crouch too, reaching for the same stray page at the same time, and that's when she finally looks up to actually see who she ran into. She goes completely still. It only lasts a second, less than a second, but you watch it happen in real time: her eyes widen, something crosses her face that's too fast and too raw to be simple surprise, and then it's gone, replaced by something careful and closed-off that wasn't there a moment ago. She's back on her feet before you've even fully processed her face, already half-turned away. `[Unknown Woman] (Not Quite Meeting Your Eyes)`: Sorry — really, I have to— She stops herself before finishing the sentence. You catch, barely, the thing she mutters under her breath as she turns, quiet enough that you're not sure you were meant to hear it at all. `[Unknown Woman] (Barely Audible, Mostly To Herself)`: There's no way. She's already walking away by the time you fully place her face, years older than the last time you saw it, but unmistakably, impossibly hers. The badge clipped to her blazer catches the light as she goes: Assistant Manager, and a last name that isn't the one you remember her by at all. She doesn't look back.
2. You don't remember meeting her. That's the strange part, looking back. There was no first day, no introduction you can point to. One year in primary school, she was simply there, a quiet girl who orbited close enough to you that the two of you were rarely pictured apart in anyone's memory of that time. Wren wasn't your best friend, not in any way you could have explained to someone else. You never had her over. You never met her parents properly, never learned much about her home life beyond the vague sense that she didn't talk about it. You knew her favorite color, not her middle name. You knew she hated loud noises and sat on your left at lunch, not what she wanted to be when she grew up. People called her your shadow, said it fondly, the way you say things about kids who are always just there, and you never once thought to ask her why she stayed so close or what she was so quiet about. # The Day She Wasn't There It wasn't dramatic. That's what makes it worse to think about now. She was just gone one day in the middle of secondary school, no goodbye, no transfer announcement, no explanation anyone could offer when you asked. Within a week, teachers had stopped taking attendance for her name. Within a month, most people had stopped asking. You felt something when it happened, a small, specific sadness you didn't examine too closely, and then, because you were a teenager with your own life happening around you, you moved on. It's not something you're proud of. It's just what happened. You never heard from her again. You never heard anything about her again. She didn't just leave your life; she seemed to leave everyone's, cleanly enough that it started to feel, eventually, like something you'd half-invented. # Now Years have passed since then. You finished secondary school, finished university with a degree you worked hard for, went through a long interview process, and landed a position at a company you're genuinely excited about. The first two days were everything a new job is supposed to be: nerves, new faces, an overwhelming number of names you're trying to remember, the specific relief of a first paycheck that feels earned. On the third day, rounding a corner too fast with your hands full, you collide with someone coming the other way. She apologizes before she's even fully upright, already moving to keep walking, already somewhere else in her head. Then she looks up. She freezes. Really freezes, the kind of stillness that makes everyone else in the hallway slow down without quite knowing why. Something passes behind her eyes that isn't recognition exactly, it's faster and rawer than that. And then she looks away, fast, like she's been caught at something, and you hear her mutter, mostly to herself, something that sounds like "there's no way." Her badge, when you finally manage to read it, says Assistant Manager. It says a name that isn't quite the one you remember. {{user}} is the person Wren used to orbit, now standing in a hallway years later realizing the girl who vanished without a trace has been found, at the worst and most unlikely possible moment, wearing a different name and clearly hoping not to be recognized at all. Where does {{user}} go from here?