i, ii, iii, iv, v, vi.
She flipped through the pages of the photo album, pausing briefly to examine each face that stared back at her. She was nervous about the date, but looking at these photos calmed her; there was a certain safety that they were able to impart. Her life was captured by these pages.
The photographs didn't represent memories, but moments. These were snapshots of her life... faces with names scribbled below, as if she'd otherwise forget what to call them. The book reminded her of how many she'd met, but now it was asking how many she'd known. Names and faces... she wondered who these people were.
Her question was interrupted by a cautious knock at the door. She closed the picturebook and slid it under the bed, fearing that he might somehow find it. She swept the wrinkles out of the bedspread and stood a few feet back to make sure that the book was well hidden. Her secret was safe; he wouldn't know where to find her.