They echoed through corridors, where light fractured and bent, where whispers became lost in the ripple of time. She walked the path, left foot after right, left foot after right, the cadence unbroken.
"Do you remember when," she would begin, as if the question wasn't redundant, as if it didn't hang like vapor in the air. "The echoes here," she said, voice wavering. "The echoes here," they would say, as though it was a chorus inside her skull, a chorus made of longing and shadows.
The corridor stretched endlessly, waves of sound washing over her, blending reality with the surreal. Over and over, she stepped, a rhythm born of echoes yet untold. "Do you remember when," she would begin again, and the loop would swallow her whole, leaving the question hanging like a forgotten promise.