Chapter 39 Breaking Wynter #4
Cahya raised an eyebrow but didn’t question me. He flipped through the pages, his expression softening as he took in each moment, each piece of Wyn’s life that I had so carefully preserved.
“You’ve been working on this for a while,” he said, his voice quiet.
“Since I was sixteen,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around myself. “I didn’t think I’d ever give it to him, but…I need him to have it. Even if he never forgives me, even if this doesn’t change anything, he needs to know how much he matters.”
Cahya closed the scrapbook gently, turning to me with a small, almost sad smile. “You really love him, don’t you?”
I nodded, my throat tightening.
“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.
My chest tightened as I turned page after page, each one a reflection of my life through her eyes. Every milestone, every quiet moment, every victory I’d forgotten about—it was all here.
But when I reached the last page, I stopped.
I stared at it, my breath catching in my throat.
I couldn’t keep looking. I couldn’t bear to.
The weight of everything I’d just seen, the sheer effort she had poured into this scrapbook, was already overwhelming.
It contradicted her actions. How could the same person who broke my trust do all this… for me?
My hands shook as I closed the book, the words on the final page left unread. I couldn’t look anymore. I couldn’t process it—not here, not now.
I set the scrapbook down on the bench beside me, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. My head hung low, and my chest felt tight, like it was holding too much.
She had made this for me. She had been making it for years. And I didn’t know how to feel about that.
For the first time in weeks, I didn’t feel angry. I didn’t feel betrayed. All I felt was the weight of her care, her sincerity shook the ground beneath me, pressing against me, and I didn’t know what to do with it.
I needed time. Time to breathe. Time to figure out what this meant.
YESOH’s POV
Remi, Sydney, and I had gone out to a particularly fancy five-star restaurant called Gino’s for the night.
It was cozy as it had a burning fireplace, its soft lighting and muted lull of conversation which was a welcome contrast to the cold New York night outside.
I sat at the small table, nervously fiddling with the edge of the linen napkin in my lap.
Remi and Sydney were across from me, their faces lit with excitement I didn’t quite feel in myself.
Sydney wore a cozy red sweater and matching bows, Remi a black slip dress and lavish gold earrings and array of bracelets.
My performance for the ballet was the very next day and my stomach bubbled with apprehension and excitement.
“To our blushing, very deserving lead!” Sydney said suddenly, raising her glass of sparkling water. Her smile was wide and genuine, the kind that always made me feel like everything might be okay, even when it wasn’t.
“To the lead!” Remi echoed, clinking her glass against Sydney’s before turning to me. “Oh I genuinely might cry, Soh, you’ve come such a long way.”
I managed a small smile, lifting my own glass half-heartedly. “Thanks, guys.”
Sydney wasn’t satisfied with my lukewarm reaction. She leaned across the table, her brows furrowed. “Come on, this is major. You worked your ass off for this, and you did it. Why aren’t you more excited?”
“I am,” I said quickly, but the words felt hollow even to me.
Remi rolled her eyes, setting her glass down with a sigh. “You’re thinking about Wynter, aren’t you?”
I hesitated, my throat tightening, before I nodded.
Sydney exchanged a look with Remi, then reached under the table and pulled out a small, pale blue gift box with a white ribbon. My eyes widened as she placed it in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, blinking at the unmistakable Tiffany’s packaging.
“Open it,” Remi said, her lips curling into a sly smile.
I hesitated before carefully untying the ribbon and lifting the lid. Inside were a pair of delicate diamond stud earrings and a simple, elegant silver bracelet. My breath caught in my throat as I stared at them, my fingers brushing over the polished surface.
“I know you always tell me not to spoil you, that you don’t want anything and whatnot but please, best friend, silver glitters on you. It’d be a crime to reject them, you earned these,” Sydney said, her voice softer now. “They’re for you. For everything you’ve accomplished.”
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly. “God, Syd, you didn’t have to—”
“Of course we did,” Remi interrupted. “We put our coins together for you, you deserve it. And honestly, we wanted to see you smile, that beautiful smile.”
I laughed weakly, still clutching the box. “Thank you. Really.”
“But seriously,” Remi said, leaning forward, “have you talked to Wynter? Did he respond to the scrapbook?”
The question was like a punch to the gut. I swallowed hard, setting the box down carefully before meeting her gaze.
“No,” I said quietly, swallowing hard. “He never contacted me. Never said anything.”
Sydney’s face fell, her brows knitting together in concern. “He didn’t even call?”
I shook my head, my throat tightening again. “Nothing. I guess…I guess it didn’t matter to him. Or maybe it wasn’t enough.”
Remi opened her mouth to respond, but I held up a hand to stop her. “It’s fine,” I assured them quickly, forcing a small smile. “I think…I think it’s over between us now.”
Sydney frowned. “Are you sure? He’s probably just processing. You know how guys can be—they need time to get out of their own heads.”
“It’s been long enough,” I deadpanned, my voice trying its best to remain steady. “If he wanted to reach out, he would’ve by now.”
The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of my words settling between us.
I glanced down at the bracelet again, the silver catching the soft light.
“I’ll learn to let it go,” I said finally.
“I’ll make peace with this reality that my dream is over now.
I will learn to care about him from afar, just like I always did.
That’s how it started, anyway and apparently that’s how it’s gonna end too. ”
Sydney reached across the table, placing her hand over mine. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she said gently. “I love you, I will always stand by you. Who needs stupid boys when you have your girlfriends, hm?”
Remi nodded, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “We’re here for you, Yesoh. Always. Hell, I’ll even swear off boys for as long as you will, I’ll go celibate with you or whatever borderline cultish declaration of our friendship and solidarity I can fathom.”
I chuckled at that and managed a small, grateful smile, the tears threatening to spill over. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.”
“So what season of Sex and the City are you on?” Remi asked me.
“The one where Carrie can’t let go of Big and accept that she’s getting too comfortable in a cycle of toxic relationships,” I responded as the waitress brought over our food—my prawns, Sydney’s lava cake, Remi’s alfredo.
“Girl, that could damn well be any season, she never healed from that man!” Sydney pointed out.
“True. I’m on season three.” I snorted a laugh. “Who’s who from the show between us?”
“Well, Sydney is definitely Charlotte. That’s not even debatable,” Remi declared, and I clapped.
“Oh, exactly, and if you call me Carrie Bradshaw I’ll never forgive you.” I held her gaze and she glanced down guiltily.
“Well, she didn’t say it, you did, and if the shoe fits,” Sydney said with a mouthful of lava cake.
“I’ll take that as me having phenomenal taste in shoes and clothing. You should’ve gifted me a pair of Manolos instead,” I commented. “Remi if you dye your hair red, you’d be the perfect Miranda.”
We spent the rest of the evening chatting on about this and that, and somewhere along the line I realized how incredibly grateful I am to have the kind of company that I do. With good food and even better friends I was blessed beyond words.
Wynter may have been gone, but my Sydney, and now my Remi too, would always stay, even when I acted like I belonged in the psych ward.
We sat there in the quiet hum of the restaurant, their presence grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in weeks. Maybe Wynter wouldn’t come back. Maybe he never would. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe again.