Three Second Memory

Maya's palms were sweating through her uniform polo as she counted the goldfish in tank #7 for the third time. Twelve. Still twelve goldfish, same as five minutes ago. Her manager, Gary, watched from across the pet store like a disappointed hawk.

"You nervous about something, Maya?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Nope. Just... counting."

"Right. Well, don't forget to feed them. And the customer in aisle three needs help with the vitamin supplements."

Maya grabbed the bottle of fish tank vitamins and headed toward aisle three, her running shoes squeaking on the linoleum. This was supposed to be her summer chill job, but everything felt impossibly loud all the time—especially the thoughts racing through her head at 2 AM when she doom-scrolled through her phone until her eyes burned.

The customer in aisle three was a boy from her grade, maybe? Cam. He played varsity something. Running track, maybe? Why did she know that? Why did her brain insist on cataloging everyone's everything?

"Hey," he said, not looking up from his phone. "You guys carry those vitamins for..."

"For what?" Maya asked, then immediately wanted to die. Why was her voice so awkward?

"For fish tanks. My betta keeps dying and my sister says I need better... stuff."

"Water conditioner?" Maya suggested, surprising herself with how normal she sounded. "And yeah, we have vitamins. What kind do you want?"

Cam finally looked up. He had really nice eyes, which she'd noticed approximately never because she'd been busy overthinking literally everything else.

"The kind that works," he said, smiling a little. "I'm pretty terrible at this whole pet ownership thing."

"No judgment," Maya said, and realized she meant it. "I literally overfed my childhood goldfish until it exploded. Not my finest moment."

Cam laughed. It was a good laugh. "Okay, that's honestly terrible."

"I was seven!"

"I killed three bettas in sixth grade. We're all terrible at some point."

Something unclenched in Maya's chest. This wasn't terrifying. This was just... talking.

"So," Cam said, "do you like working here? It seems kinda chill."

"It's okay," Maya said. "Gary's always watching me like I'm gonna steal the hamsters. And my hands are always gross from tank water. But the goldfish are surprisingly good listeners."

"Do they?"

"Well, they have that whole three-second memory thing, so you can tell them anything and they literally won't remember. Very judgment-free zone."

"That's actually brilliant. I need goldfish friends."

"Get in line," she said. "Tank's full."

They stood there for another minute, talking about nothing and everything, until Gary's voice boomed across the store. "Maya! Customer needs help with the reptile cables!"

"Cables?" Maya repeated. "Like... heating lamps?"

"Yeah, whatever, just go help!"

Maya rolled her eyes at Cam. "Duty calls."

"Hey," he said, "maybe I'll come back. For... fish stuff."

"Sure," she said, trying to play it cool even though her palms were sweating again. "I'll be here. Counting goldfish."

"See you, Maya."

He walked out, and Maya stood there for a second, holding the bottle of vitamins, feeling something shift in her chest like the first day of summer break. Like maybe—just maybe—she didn't have to overthink everything. Like maybe she could just be.

Gary called her name again, and she headed toward the reptile section, running shoes squeaking, feeling lighter somehow. The goldfish in tank #7 still had three-second memories, but for the first time all summer, Maya felt like she might actually remember this moment longer than that.