“He taught me the very meaning of the word,” I assured him.
He sighed, tucking the scrapbook under his arm. “Jesus. I’ll make sure he gets it,” he said. “But you know I can’t promise anything.”
“I know,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He hesitated for a moment, then placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing,” he said softly. “I’m proud.”
I watched him leave, the scrapbook in his hands, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a small flicker of hope. Maybe it wouldn’t fix everything. Maybe it wouldn’t fix anything. But at least now, Wyn would know.
Wynter’s POV
The rink was nearly empty, the echoes of skates on ice fading into the hum of the zamboni as it made its slow, deliberate rounds. I stood near the boards, watching the machine smooth the ice into a perfect surface, but my mind wasn’t on the rink. My thoughts were tangled, heavy, circling back to the same place they always did lately.
The sound of footsteps pulled me back, and I turned to see Cahya walking in, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. He looked out of place in this world, like he always did, but the familiarity of his presence was still grounding.
“Cahya,” I said, trying to inject some surprise into my tone. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged, but the way his gaze didn’t quite meet mine told me this wasn’t just a casual visit. “Thought I’d drop by. See how you’re doing.”
I didn’t answer. We both knew how I was doing.
Cahya pulled a worn, thick book from under his arm. I frowned as he held it out to me. “What’s that?”
“It’s from Yesoh,” he said simply.
The mention of her name was enough to make my stomach tighten. My eyes dropped to the book in his hands. It looked old, the edges frayed as if it had been handled too many times to count.
“I don’t want it,” I said quickly, stepping back.
Cahya sighed, his expression shifting from casual to serious. “Don’t be stubborn, Wyn. Just take it. You don’t even have to read it right now, but you need to have it.”
I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest as I looked between him and the book.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice quieter now.
“It’s a scrapbook,” he said. “She’s been working on it since she was sixteen. It’s…it’s everything about you.”
I froze, my throat tightening.
Cahya stepped closer, holding it out again. “She didn’t make this shit overnight to fix things. She made it slowly over time because she’s always cared about you, even before you realized it. Just take it, Wyn. You don’t have to do anything else.”
Reluctantly, I reached out and took the scrapbook from his hands. It felt heavier than it should have, the weight of it pressing against my chest.
Cahya stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m not saying you have to forgive her,” he said, his voice softer now. “But you should know…these feelings she has for you? They’re not a charade, they’re the truest thing I’ve seen in a while.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the edges of the scrapbook. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Firstly, because no one scares me more than my baby sister and what she wants I have to do. But also because I know you,” he said, his tone firm. “And I know her. She’s not perfect, Wyn, but neither the fuck are you. Just…think about it, okay?”
I didn’t answer. Cahya lingered for a moment longer before turning and walking away, leaving me alone with the weight of the book in my hands.
I sat on one of the benches by the boards, staring at the worn cover of the scrapbook. My hands trembled as I opened it to the first page.
A photo of me at fifteen stared back, braces still on my teeth, a medal hanging around my neck. Beneath it, in her handwriting, she had written: Wynter’s first medal. The beginning of everything.
I flipped to the next page. It was filled with clippings and photos—my first senior win, the first time I landed a triple axel, candid shots of me laughing with Cahya and Soleh after practice. Each page was meticulously arranged, every moment captured with such striking precision.
I turned another page and froze. It was a photo of me and Sydney holding ice cream cones, taken after a long practice. I didn’t even remember the photo being taken, but there it was, and beneath it, she had written: The moments that matter most.
