Gemotions

He strolled into her bookstore, browsing the shelves. A sense of unease gnawed at her as he approached the counter, a feeling she couldn't quite name. Then he looked up, their eyes meeting. "Excuse me," he said, his tone polite, "do you… do you know where I might find a good biography on Winston Churchill?"

Her breath hitched. It was the same voice, the same way of leaning forward when he spoke. But the look in his eyes was completely empty, the memory bank was clearly blank. "It's… it's me, Alex," she stammered, the words catching in her throat. "From the boarding school? We were inseparable."

He frowned, tilting his head. "I don't remember any boarding school." His gaze flickered around the room, then back to her. A flicker of something, maybe embarrassment, crossed his features. She felt a sharp, sudden pain behind her eyes. He had no clue.