Chapter seventy five

Alina sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers tracing the delicate patterns of the bedspread as she tried to make sense of her feelings. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow in the room, but Alina felt anything but warm. Her thoughts were a tangled mess, and she couldn't shake the unease that had settled in her chest.

The scrapbook lay open on her lap, its pages filled with memories she couldn't remember. Pictures, notes, and doodles—pieces of a life that felt foreign yet familiar. Evan's name appeared frequently, accompanied by hearts and affectionate scribbles. According to this book, Evan was the love of her life. But her heart beat for Marcus, not Evan. Every time she thought of Marcus, a fluttering sensation filled her, something she didn't feel when looking at Evan's pictures.