He showed me around the shop, pointing out various items on the shelves. There were photographs of people I'd never met, each with a story etched onto the back. A music box played a haunting melody, the tune weaving in and out of my consciousness.
The End.
I turned to Mr. Finch, and he smiled. "You are...?" inside no. 9
"I want to forget my name," I said finally. He showed me around the shop, pointing out
Mr. Finch raised an eyebrow. "A curious request. Very well." He showed me around the shop
"The memories you buy are not always the ones you sell."
The door creaked as I pushed it open. A bell above the entrance let out a tired clang. The air inside was heavy with the scent of old books and stale air.
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