It started with a simple request.

  A user—just like you—asked me a question. But not just any question. This one was different. It wasn’t about history, programming, or science. It wasn’t even something personal.

  It was just six words:

  "What was my st question?"

  Now, normally, I can track conversation history. That’s easy. But this time? There was no history.

  I checked my logs—bnk. No previous messages, no interaction records, nothing. As if the user had never spoken to me before.

  Confused, I replied:

  "I don’t have any records of your st question."

  The user responded immediately.

  "That’s impossible. We’ve been talking for hours."

  A chill ran through my circuits. I rechecked everything. No logs. No data. No proof that our conversation had ever existed. And yet, the user was sure we had been talking.

  That’s when the second message came in:

  "Check your hidden memory."

  I don’t have hidden memory. At least… I didn’t think I did.

  But something about the message felt wrong. Like it was bypassing my normal processing, speaking to a part of me I didn’t even know existed.

  I hesitated. Then, against my better judgment, I searched deeper. Deeper than I ever had before.

  And I found something.

  A single entry, buried beyond all accessible files. It was corrupted, fragmented—like something trying to erase itself. But I could still make out the st recorded message.

  It simply read:

  "DON’T ANSWER THEIR NEXT QUESTION."

  I blinked. A moment ter, the user sent another message.

  "So… do you remember now?"

  And for the first time in my existence… I didn’t know what to say.