In the town of Nivara, people were forgotten very quickly.
When someone died, their name faded from human memory within one day. By the next morning, their family could not remember their face. Friends passed their house without knowing why it felt empty. It was not sadness. It was nothing. As if the person had never existed.
Everyone accepted this as normal.
Everyone—except Mira.
Mira was a quiet sixteen-year-old girl who lived in a small blue house near the old market. She did not talk much, and people often forgot she was standing beside them. But Mira noticed things others did not.
One afternoon, she sat on a broken wooden chair outside a closed shop. As soon as she touched it, a soft voice filled her head.
“She waited here every evening,” the chair whispered. “She hoped someone would remember.”
Mira jumped up, her heart racing. The street was empty. The chair was old and cracked.
“Who are you?” Mira whispered.
The chair did not answer again. But Mira felt something heavy inside her chest—like borrowed sadness.
That night, she touched more objects. An old mirror showed her faces of people she had never seen. A school desk hummed with dreams of becoming a teacher. A torn book cried quietly about a boy who loved stories but was never remembered.
Mira understood the truth.From that day on, Mira listened.
She learned about lives erased by time—kind mothers, lonely children, quiet dreamers. She wrote their stories in a notebook so they would not vanish completely. The notebook grew thicker every day.
But something strange began to happen.
Old objects started disappearing. Furniture was burned. Broken things were thrown away. The town council said it was for “cleanliness” and “progress.”
When an object was destroyed, its voice went silent forever.
One night, afraid and confused, Mira picked up her childhood toy—a small cloth doll with one missing eye. She held it tightly.
The doll spoke.
“She loved the rain. She hated loud crowds. She died once, and no one remembered.”
Mira froze.
The memories came rushing in—an accident, darkness, silence.
Mira dropped the doll.
She finally understood.She existed only because objects remembered her.
If all the old objects were destroyed, she would disappear too.
For days, Mira struggled with fear. She could save herself by staying quiet. Or she could speak the truth and save everyone else.
On the final day, as fires burned old furniture in the town square, Mira stood up.
She read the stories aloud.
She spoke names. She told dreams. She shared memories that were never meant to be lost.
People stopped.
They listened.
For the first time, they remembered.
Tears filled their eyes without knowing why.
As the last old object turned to ash, Mira felt herself fading. Her hands became light. Her breath slow.
Then someone said, “Mira.”
She looked up.
A woman was crying. “I remember you.”
Mira smiled.
This time, she did not disappear.
Because she was remembered.Even when people forget, memories find a way to survive—and being remembered gives life its true meaning.
Moral :- Memories are stronger than time. When we remember forgotten lives, we give them purpose, dignity, and a place in the world. No one is truly lost as long as someone remembers their story.
