Happy Memories: A Could-Be Story for Black Mirror Season 8

A Story by Dhrubo Neel

After removing the device from Hasan Ahmed’s head, the man smiled warmly and asked,
“Have you ever eaten durian fruit?”

Fifty-five-year-old Hasan replied,
“I had some just a few days ago. My wife’s elder brother brought it from Malaysia last month. Tastes a bit like custard.”

The doctor smiled triumphantly.

“Now you understand what memory really is?”

“What do you mean?”

“You never ate durian. Your wife doesn’t even have an elder brother. We implanted these memories into your brain.”

“What!”

Without arguing further, Hasan took the payment envelope and returned home.
Hasan Ahmed worked as an accountant for a tiles company. Judging by the weight of the envelope, he guessed it contained about five thousand takas.

He sat silently on the veranda, then mustered up the courage to ask his wife,
“Do you have an elder brother named Jamal living in Malaysia? Did he ever bring us durian fruit?”

Nahida didn’t answer.
Annoyed, Hasan called his younger sister abroad. He also summoned his eldest daughter.

“Zara, have you ever eaten durian?”

“No, Baba, it smells like rotten onions. Tried it once a long time ago.”

A Could-be story of Black Mirror Season 8

“Your eldest uncle…?”

“Where did I get an eldest uncle from? My aunt lives in Portugal, and I haven’t even seen her face in years.”

“Oh, right.”

Hasan Ahmed realized it was all a trick of memory.
True or false, memories felt real.
No matter what he told himself, he couldn’t shake the taste of durian from his mind. In fact, to him, it now tasted somewhat like cheese.

But Hasan also felt guilty. His wife hadn’t been paid for two months at her office. His eldest daughter earned a little through tutoring, but his younger son still had a long way to go in his studies. In such hardship, no one in their family could afford expensive fruits. Yet there he was, carrying the taste of a luxury fruit inside his head!

Hasan had heard from a friend about a newly opened foreign clinic in Gulshan.
Apparently, they dealt with the brain. His friend claimed to have earned a fortune — around a million takas — by going there.
In exchange for what? Hasan didn’t know. His friend only hinted that the clinic bought and sold memories.

Following his friend’s advice, Hasan had visited the clinic a few times for preliminary tests.
Today was the final test.
Today, the doctors had implanted the taste of an unfamiliar fruit into his mind.

The next day, Hasan didn’t even go to the office.
He went straight to the clinic.

The name of the place was odd—
“Dr. Soumitra Pattern’s Memory Cleansing and Transplant Clinic.”
Hasan knew that “cleansing” meant washing away.

“Come in, come in! Mr. Hasan! Let’s explain everything.”

He sank into a sofa as soft as cotton.

If you like Black Mirror series. You will like this story

“Our clients are extremely wealthy. But they all have the same problem—no good memories.
They spend their days worrying about money. They’ve lost all their happy memories from the past.
If someone’s mind is swirling with the stress of twenty companies, how could there be any room left for joy?
Our job is to sell them memories.
The memory of eating durian was a sample, borrowed from someone else, just to show you how it works.
We scanned your brain, Mr. Hasan, and found it overflowing with delightful memories from your childhood.
And those joyful memories…”

“You want to buy them?”

“Exactly.
You’ll sell a few beautiful memories to someone else.
Payment will depend on the quality of the memory.
Each memory will fetch at least six figures.”

In Hasan Ahmed’s mind, the number 1 leaped up, followed by five zeros.
Six figures meant a lakh — a hundred thousand takas!

The smiling man continued,
“One thing though, the memory you sell will completely disappear from your brain.
Poof — gone.
But it’s the past after all. What’s the loss?”

“Right. No point keeping memories. Now, tell me—what’s the calculation? Which memory earns how much?”

“Once we activate the device, you’ll close your eyes.
The first three happy memories that you think of consecutively — those will be transferred to the client.
Don’t worry about the money.
As I said, it’ll be at least a lakh per memory.”

“I once kicked a referee in the stomach during a football match in school.
What good will it do your client if he remembers that?”

“That’s just how it works.
But don’t worry. The client doesn’t want violent memories. They want pure, joyful ones.”

“Alright.”

Hasan Ahmed thought,
If he sold a few memories, it wouldn’t hurt.
He could use the money for his son’s semester fees, his daughter’s wedding, his DPS savings at the bank…
But which memories would he part with?

“Let’s put the cap on.
We’ll be able to detect the memories suitable for the client.”

Without wasting time, the doctor placed a helmet-like cap on Hasan’s head. Hasan closed his eyes.

Perhaps the device itself unlocked the chest of memories.
In his mind, Hasan clearly saw his childhood self.

The first memory came rushing in—
Hasan, covered head-to-toe in mud, had just finished playing football in a flooded field.
The sky was heavy with monsoon clouds. Rain could come pouring any moment.
His mother was cooking on a clay stove, struggling to light damp firewood.
She scolded him a little, then filled a brass bowl with water and washed his arms and legs.

The doctor’s voice buzzed in his ear,
“Wonderful! Perfect! Just what we need.”

The second memory began—
Hasan and his father were repairing a tailorbird’s nest in a wildflower bush.
A chick had fallen out in the rain and was crying on the ground.
His father gently placed it back into Hasan’s tiny hands, and Hasan tucked it back into the nest.

“Keep thinking! Keep thinking!”

Suddenly, the third memory arrived—
A quiet night in the village.
A distant owl hooted.
Father was away in the city.
Young Hasan lay on his bed, staring at the small kitchen behind the house.
The fire’s orange glow flickered against his mother’s face as she stared silently into the flames.
The smell of small fish curry and water spinach stew wafted into his nose.

“Brilliant! That’s a million-dollar memory!” the doctor exclaimed.

But what happened next shocked everyone.
Hasan yanked off the helmet in one swift motion and stormed out of the clinic.
Long strides took him straight to the main road.

The traffic was horrendous.
He climbed onto a local bus and grabbed a handrail to stand.
Although financial worries had long weighed down his heart, he now felt like the richest man alive.

Around him, passengers shouted angrily.
The bus driver argued with honking cars.
Noise blared from all directions.

But at the corner of Hasan’s lips, there was a small, peaceful smile.
He had realized something:
The treasure chest inside his mind — full of memories — was priceless.
He could never part with it.

The bus moved slowly through the jam.
Hasan was lost in his memories.
In his mind’s eye, he was walking through muddy village paths in the rain.
A canal shimmered in the distance.
Beyond it, a bamboo thicket.
Young Hasan Ahmed, wearing half-pants, raced through the downpour to pluck wild fruits from the bushes.

Black mirror season 8

Contact:

dhrubonil@yahoo.com, +8801976324725

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