The Moment You Asked Me To Remember You Less

The curtain slipped from the rod and fell in a slow uneven line to the floor. Dust lifted and settled again. Hannah did not reach to fix it. She stood in the center of the room with her hands curled at her sides feeling the quiet certainty that this was the last thing she would leave unfinished here.

Her full legal name was Hannah Louise Porter. It appeared on the forwarding form taped to the door beside the light switch. The letters looked too formal for the life she had lived in this apartment. Too certain. She avoided looking at it again.

The room smelled of old paper and lemon cleaner. Cardboard boxes lined the walls half packed half abandoned. Outside the window evening pressed close carrying the low sound of traffic and distant voices that did not belong to her.

She picked up the fallen curtain and folded it once then stopped. There was no reason to keep going. She set it on top of a box and leaned her forehead briefly against the wall. Cool paint steadied her breathing.

The knock came then. Not loud. Not hurried. A single knock followed by a pause long enough to feel intentional.

Her chest tightened. Her body knew before her mind allowed the thought to form.

Do not open it she told herself. This is how you finally move forward.

The knock came again. Same rhythm. Same patience. The air cooled subtly as if the room itself had shifted back.

She turned.

When she opened the door he stood there with the hallway light behind him turning his outline thin and pale. He looked as he had the last night she saw him breathing and nothing like it at all. His eyes held a quiet depth that made her throat ache.

His full legal name arrived with unwanted precision. Peter Jonathan Hale. The name she had whispered into hospital sheets. The name she had learned to carry without saying aloud.

You cannot be here she said.

I know he replied.

His voice was softer than memory. Thinner. As if carried through something dense.

You are dead she said.

He nodded once. Yes.

The word settled instead of breaking her. She hated how familiar that felt.

She stepped back without inviting him. He did not cross the threshold. The space between them felt deliberate alive.

Why now she asked.

He glanced past her into the half empty room. You packed he said.

The truth of it struck gently and painfully. She had not told anyone. How do you know.

You always organize when you are trying not to feel he said quietly.

Anger flared sudden and sharp. You do not get to know me anymore.

He accepted that without protest. I know.

Silence stretched. The hum of the building filled it. She noticed with distant clarity that he did not cast a shadow.

She exhaled slowly. Come in she said.

The word invitation settled heavily. He crossed the threshold. The temperature dropped enough to raise goosebumps along her arms. The light flickered once and steadied.

He stood near the doorway uncertain. She remained near the window arms folded tight.

You look different she said.

You look braver he replied.

She laughed once without humor. I am not brave.

They moved toward the center of the room without planning and sat on the floor opposite each other. Distance felt safer.

I leave tomorrow she said.

He nodded. I know.

Of course you do.

Silence returned heavier than before.

I never meant to leave you with so much quiet he said softly.

Her jaw tightened. You left me with everything.

I did not choose the way it happened he said.

You chose not to tell me how afraid you were she replied.

He closed his eyes. I know.

The words stayed between them unfixable. She realized then that this was the cost. Not spectacle. Not fear. Just the quiet weight of knowing nothing could be rewritten.

The nights that followed blurred into something fragile. He came after dark. Always before morning. Never stayed long enough for light to touch him. She learned the rules through absence.

They spoke of small things. Of dangerous ones. He asked about the new job. About the city she was moving to. She told him about learning how to sleep without listening for another breath.

Sometimes she forgot what he was. Sometimes she turned toward him expecting warmth and remembered only when her hand met cold air.

One night she asked where he went when he left.

He closed his eyes. It is still he said. Like standing between thoughts.

Does it hurt she asked.

Not the way staying did he replied.

She felt that settle deep.

As days passed his edges softened. His voice echoed faintly. Sometimes when she blinked he seemed farther away.

You are fading she said quietly.

Yes he replied.

Fear rose slow and heavy. Why.

Because you are learning how to carry me without holding me he said gently.

The truth struck hard. She had felt it. The mornings when her chest no longer locked. The moments when memory did not steal her breath.

I do not want to forget you she said.

You will not he replied. You will remember me without needing me.

The final night arrived quietly. The air felt suspended. Even the building seemed to listen.

She knew before she saw him. He stood near the door watching her with a softness that hurt.

It is time she said.

He nodded. Yes.

She crossed the room and reached for him knowing the outcome. Her hands passed through his arms cold like deep water. She pressed her forehead to where his chest should have been and breathed.

Say my name she whispered.

Hannah Louise Porter he said. The distance in it reopened something she had nearly sealed.

Tears came freely. Say it like you used to she begged.

He shook his head. If I do I will stay.

And if you stay.

You will stop living he said. And I will forget who I was.

The choice rested between them intimate and cruel. She understood then that love sometimes meant allowing absence to remain.

Go she said.

He hesitated only a moment. Then the light shifted and he was gone.

The room warmed slowly. Sound returned. The city continued outside.

She stood alone among boxes and folded curtains.

Later she would lock the door and leave the key behind. Later she would step into a morning that did not know his name.

For now she whispered Peter Jonathan Hale into the quiet and remembered him less in the only way that let her live.