Frei didn't know what was real anymore.
Not after the sketchbook. Not after the document on his computer that typed itself. Not after the reflection in the window...his own face, grinning back at him like it knew something he didn't.
He hadn't left the apartment in two days.
He barely ate. Slept in fragments. Every time he blinked, he feared waking up in a different version of his life.
The world felt thinner now, like cheap paper soaked in rain—ready to tear.
~The Email
The message arrived at 3:33 a.m.
From: naomi_k8@protonmail.com
Subject: "Do you remember me?":
I was hoping you would have forgotten.
But I saw your name again. And I thought—maybe it's time.
I'll be in Yoyogi Park tomorrow. 4PM. The bench near the broken fountain.
If you remember me, come.
~N
Frei stared at the screen, blinking.
The name Naomi tugged at something inside his chest, but no clear face came to mind. No memories. Just... a feeling. A weight. As if her name had been scrubbed clean from the attic of his mind, but the dust remained.
He typed a reply.
Deleted it.
Closed the laptop.
And decided to go.
*at the park*
The air was thick with static.
Crows watched from branches like they were listening in.
Frei reached the bench at exactly 4:00 p.m.
She was already there.
Naomi.
And the moment he saw her, his brain buckled under pressure like a dam cracking. Flash images hit him at once:
• Her sleeping beside him in the yellow apartment.
• The fight in the ramen shop.
• Laughing under umbrellas in a summer storm.
• Blood. A scream. A door slamming shut.
But none of it made sense.
There was no yellow apartment.
He'd never lived with anyone.
He was sure of it... wasn't he?
She stood when he approached. Her face was older than the images in his head. Tired, but sharp. She studied him like she was afraid of what she'd see.
"Frei," she said. "You look exactly the same."
He sat down slowly.
"You're Naomi."
"I was," she replied. "To you. Once."
There was a long silence between them.
He broke it.
"I don't remember you. But I think I do. That doesn't make sense."
She nodded. "That's what they do. They leave fragments so you don't go looking too deep."
"They?"
She stared at the fountain.
"It doesn't matter yet. What matters is... you're waking up again. That's rare. Most versions of you don't get this far."
His stomach turned cold.
"What do you mean versions?"
Naomi turned to him. Her voice quiet, controlled.
"Have you started seeing text? Glitches? Repeated moments?"
Frei nodded slowly.
"Have you ever dreamed of being written?"
He stared at her.
"I-"
"Then you need to understand something," she said, leaning closer. "There are parts of you that were put in... and parts that were never allowed to form. They wrote you broken. It's easier that way. Easier to control."
He laughed but it cracked halfway through.
"Wrote me?"
Naomi opened her purse and handed him a small, battered photograph.
In it, they were smiling together, standing in front of a narrow bookstore with no sign. But it wasn't the image that scared him.
It was what was written on the back.
"Draft 5.2 still unstable. Memory loop triggers: Naomi. Bookstore. Strings."
His vision swam. He clutched the bench.
"Who wrote that?" he whispered.
"I don't know," Naomi said. "But I found it in a file labeled Xznx.l, just like you."
She stood.
"I'm not supposed to interfere. I shouldn't even exist anymore. But something's wrong this time, Frei. You're going deeper than you should."
He tried to stand, but the world spun. The trees bent. The sun flickered like a faulty bulb.
And then Naomi said one last thing before walking away:
"Don't trust the man in the mirror. He's not you. He's the version that obeyed."
*Home*
Frei stumbled into his apartment, drenched in sweat.
His sketchbook was on the floor. Open.
A new drawing: Naomi. But this time, she was being erased. Faint red strokes were crossing her face out, like someone was deleting her page-by-page.
Beneath it:
"She wasn't supposed to survive Draft 3."
And just below that, in fresh ink:
"You were never meant to find her."
Frei backed away from the book.
The mirror across the room reflected him again—only this time, the reflection tilted its head.
And smiled.
YOU ARE READING
Factured Strings
Mystery / ThrillerFrei, a tall, reclusive man living in modern Tokyo, battles with depression and dissociation. As his life spirals into surreal events and strange encounters, he begins to uncover disturbing truths about himself, memory, and reality. Slowly, he reali...
