The Forgotten Frame

It was one of those evenings that felt heavier than usual.
The kind where the air outside carries a stillness not peace, but a warning.
I wasn’t planning to stop by that store. I was just looking for shelter from the rain.
The bell above the door gave a dull chime as I stepped inside.
A sleepy voice from behind the counter mumbled, “Closing in five, boss.”
I nodded absently. I didn’t need anything… or at least, that’s what I thought.
I took slow steps between the aisles, running fingers over dusty shelves filled with containers, jars, bottles.
Everything was ordinary…
Until I reached aisle 17.
It wasn’t labeled.
No section tag. No price tags either.
Just a cold LED strip flickering above, like a heartbeat on life support.
My feet hesitated but something deeper pulled me in.
The shelves were too perfect. Every jar was placed like it had a role, a direction.
It didn’t feel like a store shelf.
It felt like a set… waiting for its actor.
It was half-crushed, sealed roughly with black tape, and covered in old shipping labels.
I leaned in to read one And froze.
It had my name.
My full name.
I looked around.
Empty store. No footsteps.
No cameras I could spot.
Inside…
was something that shouldn’t exist.
Old polaroid photos.
Of me.
At first glance, they felt like stills from a hidden camera:
Me standing alone at bus stops.
Me staring into my phone at 2:47 AM.
Even one of me sitting in my own bedroom from the corner…
A corner where no one was.
Another I was on the balcony, legs hanging off the edge, lost in the night.
A cup of tea untouched.
Eyes fixed on nothing.
Maybe missing her. Maybe missing myself.
Each frame wasn’t just an image.
It was a memory I had tried to forget.
But someone remembered.
Someone preserved them.
And kept them.
Safe. Hidden.
Until now.
I looked up from the photos.
Still no one there.
Just silence thick, pressing against my skin.
But in that silence…
I felt watched.
Not by someone outside
But by the memories I had buried inside.
And then, I saw it
A camera.
Vintage. Loaded.
Pointed directly at me.
Red light blinking.
Click.
One more photo added to the story.
I dropped the envelope. Backed away.
But I knew somehow
I wasn’t just in the shop anymore.

But fate has a funny way of guiding you where you don’t belong.

That’s when I noticed the box at the end.

My hands were trembling, but I crouched and opened the box anyway.

Then I found a note tucked under the last photo:

"You shouldn’t have come here."

I was inside a story I never signed up for.

Maybe some frames were never meant to be taken…
…and some moments were never ours to keep.
But once captured they never let you go.