Chapter 2
Rata’s world tilted the day she stumbled into Judy at the mall, her old friend’s voice cutting through the hum of shoppers and the clatter of food court trays. Over a hurried coffee, Judy spilled the truth about Im’s memory loss—a truth far stranger than a car accident. Im had undergone a procedure, not once but multiple times, to erase memories deliberately. The “accident” was a convenient lie, a cover for a choice Im had made to wipe away pieces of her past—including, it seemed, Rata herself. Each session had scrubbed away more, leaving her a bright, blank canvas who greeted Rata with a stranger’s smile.
Judy explained how the facility—shuttered now, not for ethical breaches but for tax evasion—had operated with consent. Im had signed the papers, willingly trading her history for a fresh start. The realization sank into Rata like a stone: she was one of the people Im had chosen to forget. The clinic’s closure meant no easy answers; any hope of reversing the damage lay scattered among the researchers who’d once worked there, now lost to time and distance.
Rata thanked Judy, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. Judy apologized for not reaching out sooner, her eyes brimming with guilt, but Rata waved it off. “You looked after her while I was gone. That’s more than enough.” They parted with a hug, leaving Rata to wander the mall’s tiled corridors, her thoughts a tangle of longing and loss.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her back to the present. A message from Im glowed on the screen: “Hey, pretty, you coming over?” Rata’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. It was Im—impatient, playful, the same woman she’d loved—yet not. Starting over felt like a second chance, but also a betrayal of the past they’d shared. Her phone buzzed again before she could reply: “Well? Don’t leave me hanging, I’m dying over here!”
Rata chuckled, shaking her head. Always so dramatic. Her fingers danced over the keys: “Yes, calm your pretty butt down—I’m on my way.” Seconds later, Im fired back: “How much do you like my butt, huh? Rate it, 1 to 10.”
“Solid 12, you menace,” Rata muttered to herself, grinning as she pocketed her phone and headed out. She stopped by a street vendor to grab some krapow gai—chicken basil stir-fry, extra spicy, just how Im liked it—the scent of chili and holy basil wafting from the plastic bag as she made her way to Im’s place.
She didn’t bother with the doorbell or the gate; Im had handed her a spare key days ago with a wink and a breezy, “You’re basically family now, right?” Trust came so easily to this new Im, a stark contrast to the guarded woman Rata once knew.
Stepping inside, she found Im perched on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees, her face scrunched in concentration as she muttered into a headset. A virtual meeting. Rata caught Im’s eye and waved the takeout bag, only to earn a playful glare.
“Wow, no ‘hello’ for your VIP guest?” Im teased, hitting mute and flicking off her camera. She leaned back, crossing her arms with mock indignation, her sundress crinkling against the cushions. “I’m slaving away here, and you just waltz in like you own the place?”
“You were busy scowling at your screen,” Rata shot back, kicking off her sandals and padding toward the kitchen. “Focus on your meeting, Miss Employee of the Year. Food’s waiting when you’re done—don’t drool too much ‘til then.” She dangled the bag enticingly before setting it on the counter.
Im’s glare softened into a pout. “Fine, but you’re mean. Look at you, tempting me with krapow—pure evil.” She unmuted herself, flashing Rata a final exaggerated frown before turning back to her call with a chirpy, “Yes, sorry, I’m here!”
Rata smirked, unpacking the food onto plates—steaming rice, the fiery stir-fry glistening with oil, a sprinkle of fried egg bits on top. The kitchen smelled like a Bangkok street stall, sharp and savory. She checked her phone, hoping for a reply from a London friend who’d promised to dig into memory research. Nothing yet. Sighing, she settled at the table, scrolling aimlessly until Im’s voice broke through.
“Is that krapow from P’Noi’s stall?” Im called, peeling off her headset and bounding over, her hair bouncing loose from its tie. “Tell me you got it extra spicy—I need my taste buds to cry for mercy.”
“Yes, you lunatic,” Rata said, sliding a plate toward her. “It’s so hot it’ll make the neighbors weep just from the smell.”
Im plopped down, clapping her hands like a kid on Christmas. “Perfect! You’re officially my favorite person.” She took a dramatic bite, eyes fluttering shut as she savored it. “Mmm, heaven. You’re a genius.”
“Genius? I just carried it here,” Rata laughed, digging into her own milder portion. “You’re the one who’d marry chili if it asked.”
“Guilty,” Im grinned, pointing her fork at Rata. “But you love me anyway, don’t you, neighbor?” Her tone was light, but her eyes sparkled with a flirty dare.
Rata’s heart skipped, but she played along, leaning forward with a sly smile. “Maybe I do. You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re spicy.”
Im gasped, clutching her chest. “Cute? I’m a goddess, thank you very much. Bow down, peasant.”
They bantered through the meal, the air thick with chili fumes and laughter. Im’s cheerfulness still felt foreign to Rata, like a melody she hadn’t learned yet, but it drew her in all the same. Halfway through, Im paused, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Oh, wait—I got us something!” She darted upstairs, leaving Rata blinking at her empty chair.
Minutes later, Im bounced back down, cradling a small canvas, a handful of paintbrushes, and a cluster of acrylic tubes. “Ta-da!” she sang, setting them on the table with a flourish. “Our next adventure!”
Rata tilted her head, bemused. “What, you quitting your day job for art school?”
“No, silly,” Im giggled, nudging Rata’s arm. “This is for us. You said you wanted something fun last time, and I saw this at the market and thought, ‘Rata’s gonna love painting with me!’” Her eyes shone with excitement, and she batted her lashes dramatically. “Say I’m brilliant—go on, I deserve it.”
Rata cooed, unable to resist. “Oh, you’re so brilliant, my little Picasso. Should I start calling you ‘maestro’ now?” She poked Im’s side, earning a squeal.
“Only if you paint me a masterpiece first, cutie,” Im retorted, sticking out her tongue. “Let’s see if that master’s degree taught you anything useful.”
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“Im?” Rata ventured later, brushing paint off her fingers. The canvas between them was a mess of colors—Im’s bold streaks clashing with Rata’s tentative swirls.
Im glanced up, her cheek smudged with blue, tilting her head like a curious puppy. “Hmm? What’s up, my messy muse?”
Rata hesitated, then plunged in, her voice soft. “How about you and me at a museum? Get out of this paint-splattered dungeon for a bit?”
Im’s eyes lit up, and she leaned closer, her paintbrush dangling playfully near Rata’s nose. “Oh? Asking me on a date already, huh? You move fast, neighbor.”
Rata’s cheeks warmed, but she swatted the brush away with a grin. “A date? Please, I’m just saving your walls from more of your ‘artistic genius.’ They’re screaming for mercy.”
“Hey, my walls love me!” Im laughed, tossing a sofa pillow at Rata. It bounced off her shoulder, and Im crossed her arms with a pout. “Fine, Miss High-and-Mighty. I’ll grace you with my presence at this museum. But you’d better woo me properly—none of this ‘I’m just being nice’ nonsense.”
Rata caught the pillow, hugging it to her chest. “Oh, don’t worry, my queen. I’ll treat you so nice you’ll be begging to hang out with me every day.”
Im smirked, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “Big talk, angel. Let’s see if you can back it up.”
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The museum date was everything Rata remembered and more, a kaleidoscope of old memories and new moments. The building loomed grand and quiet, its marble floors cool under their feet, the air faintly musty with history. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, gilding the exhibits in a soft glow. Rata had picked this place deliberately—one of their old haunts, a treasure trove of shared laughter and stolen glances. She hoped, secretly, that it might spark something in Im’s fractured mind.
Im flitted from display to display like a butterfly, her sundress swishing with every step, her voice bubbling with trivia Rata hadn’t expected. At a sculpture of a lopsided elephant, she spun around, hands on her hips. “Did you know the artist messed this up on purpose? Said perfection’s boring. I kinda love that.”
Rata grinned, trailing behind her. “You would. You’re basically chaos in a cute package.”
“Chaos? Me?” Im gasped, clutching her heart. “I’m a delight, thank you. You’re just jealous of my charm.” She stuck out her tongue, then grabbed Rata’s hand, tugging her toward a painting of a sun-drenched field. The colors blazed—gold and green bleeding into blue, wildflowers dotting the canvas like confetti.
Im stopped, her breath catching. “Wow. It’s like I can feel the sun on my face, you know?” Her voice softened, almost reverent, and she swayed closer to Rata, their shoulders brushing.
Rata’s chest warmed, echoes of their past flickering to life. “That’s the point,” she murmured, her eyes on Im’s profile—the curve of her jaw, the way her lashes caught the light. “The artist wanted you to feel at peace, like you’re part of it.”
Im turned, catching Rata staring, and smirked. “You’re such a nerd. Lucky you’re cute when you ramble.” She bumped Rata’s hip with her own, then looped an arm through hers. “Come on, let’s find something weirder.”
They wandered to a case of ancient artifacts—jagged clay pots and chipped stone tools, their edges softened by time. Im leaned in, her nose nearly touching the glass. “Think these were real? Like, someone actually used them to cook or fight or whatever?”
Rata shrugged, her arm tingling where Im’s rested. “Maybe. They’re stories, right? Someone’s life, carved into clay.”
Im’s fingers found hers, threading together with a casual ease that stole Rata’s breath. “I like that,” she said, squeezing gently. “We’re all just stories bumping into each other. You’re my favorite one so far, though—don’t tell the pots.”
Rata’s laugh was shaky, her pulse racing. “Oh, I’m honored. Better than a dusty old bowl?”
“Way better,” Im teased, swinging their joined hands as they moved on. “Bowls don’t flirt back.”
The afternoon spun into a blur of silliness—posing dramatically with statues, snapping selfies with goofy filters (Im insisted on bunny ears), giggling at a painting of a man with an absurdly long nose. “Look, it’s your secret boyfriend!” Im cackled, dodging Rata’s playful swat. Passersby shot them amused glances, but they didn’t care, lost in their bubble of joy.
At a quiet corner, they slumped onto a bench, catching their breath. Im stretched out, kicking her legs over Rata’s lap with a grin. “You’re fun, you know that? I’m keeping you.”
Rata caught her ankles, tickling lightly until Im squealed. “Good, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere, you brat.”
Im sat up, scooting closer, her knee pressing against Rata’s thigh. “Promise? ‘Cause I’d miss you bossing me around.”
“Promise,” Rata whispered, her voice thick with something deeper than flirtation. Im might not remember their old museum days, but this—this was enough. For now.
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They capped the day at a café tucked beside the museum, its wooden tables scarred with years of coffee rings. Rata volunteered to order, smirking at Im’s taunt of, “Ooh, such a gentlewoman—sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?” She returned with iced lattes and a plate of mango sticky rice, setting them down as Im clapped delightedly.
“You’re spoiling me,” Im cooed, popping a piece of mango into her mouth. “Keep this up, and I’ll never let you leave.”
“That’s the plan, princess,” Rata winked, sipping her latte. She watched Im across the table, the late afternoon light painting her in gold. Two years abroad, countless faces, and still, Im outshone them all—her laughter, her teasing, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Rata’s resolve hardened. If Im couldn’t remember her, she’d make her fall in love all over again.
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Their final stop was a bridge overlooking Bangkok’s bustling streets, the city alive with honking cars and neon signs. The sun dipped low, streaking the sky with pink and orange, a perfect farewell. Rata leaned on the railing, the metal warm under her palms, and glanced at Im. “Hey, Im?”
Im turned, her hair fluttering in the breeze, her expression soft. “Yeah?”
Rata took a breath, her question heavy. “If someone from your past—someone you wanted to forget—showed up again, what would you do?”
Im’s gaze drifted to the horizon, the sunset reflecting in her eyes. She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers tightening on the railing. “When I woke up after the ‘accident,’ I didn’t feel anything,” she began, her voice low. “Not happy, not sad—just… blank. The doctors said it was trauma, but it didn’t click. I was fine, though, so I told myself that’s what mattered.”
Rata listened, her heart thudding as Im continued. “But weeks later, it hit me—this emptiness, like holes I couldn’t fill. Missing pieces I couldn’t find. It drove me nuts, you know? So I started digging online, looking for answers. That’s when I found it—an ad for a clinic that deletes memories.”
Rata’s breath hitched. Im glanced at her, eyes sharp. “I was curious. If they could erase, maybe they could bring stuff back, too? So I emailed them—and guess what? Their address was already in my contacts.” She laughed, a brittle sound. “It all clicked then. I’d done it before. More than once.”
“Im,” Rata whispered, reaching for her hand, but Im pulled back, her gaze locking onto Rata’s.
“So, to answer you,” Im said, tears glinting in her eyes, “if someone I wanted to forget came back? I’d ask myself—would they give me a reason to erase them again?
Rata swallowed, the weight of Im’s words sinking in. The sunset blazed behind them, a fleeting promise of something new—or something reclaimed.