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She walked past the camera but glanced at it like it caught her mid-thought — not posed, just caught.

She shifted positions slowly, like she didn’t want the memory to catch up.

She adjusted her bra strap twice, then didn’t again. She only fidgeted when she remembered me watching.

You wouldn’t see it unless you remembered — the lamp in the back? Still tilted, just like I left it that night.

She stared at the wall too long after the moan. That wasn’t about pleasure. That was memory bleeding through.

She smiled with her lips closed — the kind of smile that holds more than joy.

The necklace caught in her hair. She cursed under her breath like she used to when late for class.

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She wrapped the cable around her fingers. I told her once it was bad for the mic — she still does it. It felt like the past slipped into the present.

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The blanket had tassels — I chewed one off during a lazy Sunday. I didn’t expect the flood of memory — but it hit anyway.

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