𝓦𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾

Chapter IV

In a living room lit by soft ambient light, three men sat on a comfortable couch. Although their appearance could be considered ordinary, an aura of greatness surrounded them. It was John who broke the silence, his face showing sincere concern.

"Guys, have you noticed anything strange with Paul lately?"

George nodded. "Yes. At the last concert, he completely forgot the lyrics of 'Yesterday', his own composition! And in the studio, he's become distant, almost as if he's lost in another world."

Ringo, sitting at the other end of the couch, added, "He's not the same during our rehearsals. He constantly forgets the rhythms and seems distracted. And what about his lyrics? He's always been the first to come up with ideas, but now he struggles to remember the lyrics to our biggest hits!"

John sighed deeply, his fingers nervously playing with his wedding ring. "What worries me the most is the songwriting. He and I always havé been inseparable when it came to composing. But these days, he seems to have lost that spark."

Ringo placed his hand on John's arm, trying to comfort him. "We need to help him, John. The Beatles are the four of us. If one of us weakens, we need to support them."

George nodded, determined. "You're right, Ringo. We need to talk to Paul, understand what's happening to him and help him get through this. The Beatles are a family, and we won't leave any member behind."
***
The morning sun reflected off the immaculate walls of the famous EMI Studios. The three musicians had already started tuning their instruments, the air charged with palpable tension. Eyes turned toward the entrance as the door slowly opened to reveal Paul, carrying his bass as he had done so many times before. He took a step or two into the room, then stopped abruptly, sweeping his gaze over the familiar studio. A sudden glimmer of confusion shone in his eyes, and he furrowed his brows, his gaze catching on every detail.

"Where... where am I?" he murmured, his voice trembling with uncertainty.

John, George, and Ringo exchanged worried glances. John cautiously stepped forward, his face trying to establish eye contact.

"Paul, it's us. You're at EMI Studios, remember? We have a recording session scheduled today."

Paul stepped back, his eyes wide. "Who are you?" his voice rising in pitch. "I... I don't recognise this place, nor any of you!"

Panic was clearly visible in the musician's eyes. He carefully set down his bass, as if he were afraid of breaking it. Then, letting out a heart-wrenching scream, he turned and ran towards the exit, the studio doors slamming loudly behind him. The three men stood motionless, the silence of the studio only interrupted by the hum of amplifiers. George finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"What is happening to Paul?"

John leaned against the wall, his face pale. "I don't know, George. But we need to find out. Before whatever's happening to him completely destroys him."

Then the auburn-haired guitarist announced gravely, his voice tinged with seriousness:

"I think Paul is forgetting his life."