The Truth Between Us

Chapter Four: Old Memories

Alina‘s POV

I should have known better than to spend the afternoon driving around Westbridge.

There were easier ways to occupy myself. I could have stayed in my apartment, unpacked the rest of my things, answered emails, or even visited my mother again. Instead, I got into my car with no real destination and started driving. Maybe I wanted to see what had changed. Maybe I wanted to prove to myself that the city no longer had any hold over me. Or maybe, somewhere beneath all those reasonable explanations, I wanted to know whether the places I remembered would still feel the same. I didn’t have to drive for long to get my answer.

The first place I saw was the café. I slowed down without meaning to. It sat on the corner of a quiet street, exactly where it had always been, with its wide windows and little tables outside. The sign had been replaced, and the chairs looked newer, but the building itself was unmistakable. I had spent countless afternoons there. Usually with Talia. Sometimes alone. But mostly with Asher. I parked across the street and stared through the windshield.

One memory came back before I could stop it. Asher sitting across from me, stealing the whipped cream from my drink while insisting he was only helping me finish it. I had been furious. He had laughed. I had threatened to leave. He had reached across the table and pushed my bag away from me.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

I remembered rolling my eyes. I remembered smiling. I remembered how easy everything had felt. My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. I looked away. That girl was gone. I had to remind myself of that. The girl who had sat in this café and laughed with him at twenty did not exist anymore.

I was twenty-six now. I had lived an entirely different life. I had learned how to leave people behind. I had learned how to survive without explanations. And most importantly, I had learned not to confuse memories with reality.

I started the car again. The next stop was the university. I hadn’t planned on going there either. Apparently, Westbridge had other plans for me. I parked a few streets away and walked toward the old campus. Students moved around me, laughing and rushing between buildings. For a second, I felt like I had stepped backward in time. I could almost see myself walking through the same courtyard with a stack of books against my chest while Talia complained about an upcoming exam. And then there was Asher.

Always Asher. He had been impossible to miss back then. Confident without trying too hard, irritating whenever he wanted to be, and somehow always appearing wherever I was. I remembered the first time he had waited outside one of my classes. He had been leaning against the wall, holding two cups of coffee.

“You’re late,” I had told him. He had looked at his watch.

“I’ve been here for twenty minutes.”

“You could have left.”

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.”

I had smiled. I hated that I remembered the exact expression on his face when he said it. I walked faster. The university had changed in small ways, but the memories had not. I passed the library where we used to study. The bench where he once fell asleep while pretending to help me prepare for an exam. The little bookstore across the road where he bought me a novel after I complained that I had nothing to read during the holidays. I stopped outside it. My chest tightened.

Six years ago, I had stood in that exact spot with a book in my hands while Asher argued that I should choose something less depressing.

“You’re the one who picked it.”

“You liked the cover.”

“You said it was good.”

“I lied.”

I had laughed so hard that people nearby had turned to look at us. I shook my head now.

“Enough.”

The word escaped quietly. A woman walking past glanced at me. I smiled awkwardly and continued walking. This was exactly what I had been trying to avoid. Every corner had a memory. Every street seemed to know my name.

I returned to my car and drove again. This time, I headed toward the small park near the edge of the city. There was a bench there that had once been ours. Not officially. Asher had never called it that. But we had spent enough evenings there for me to think of it that way. It was where he had taken me on my twentieth birthday after pretending all day that he had forgotten. I had been genuinely annoyed. Then he had shown up at my apartment that evening and told me to get in the car. He refused to tell me where we were going. When we arrived, there were lights hanging from the trees and a small table covered with food. Nothing extravagant. Nothing that would have impressed the people at the Prescott estate.

It had been perfect.

I sat on the bench now. The park was quieter than I remembered. The lights were gone. The table was gone. But the bench remained. I ran my fingers over the edge of it. For a moment, I could almost hear his voice.

“Happy birthday, trouble.”

I smiled before I could stop myself. Then the smile disappeared. That was the problem with memories. They didn’t ask permission before making you happy. They didn’t care what happened afterward. They simply appeared, beautiful and painful at the same time. I leaned back against the bench and closed my eyes. I remembered the way he had looked at me that night. The way he had told me he wanted to see me happy. The way I had believed him. The way I had believed everything.

My eyes opened. I couldn’t stay there. I stood and walked back to the car. By the time I reached my apartment, evening had settled over Westbridge. I carried a cup of coffee to the window and watched the city lights appear one by one.

Talia had been right. Coming back wasn’t as simple as I had made it sound. I had spent six years building a life where Asher existed only as a closed chapter. Now Westbridge had opened the book again. I hated that I could still remember his laugh. I hated that I remembered his favorite drink. I hated that I knew which side of the bed he preferred whenever he stayed over at the estate. I hated that some part of me still remembered what it felt like to be loved by him. But memories were not proof that anything remained. People changed. Six years could turn strangers into completely different versions of themselves. Maybe

Asher had changed. Maybe he was nothing like the boy I remembered. Maybe he had forgotten me. That thought should have made things easier. Instead, it hurt more than I expected.

I turned away from the window.

“No.”

I said it firmly this time.

“The person I left behind doesn’t exist anymore.”

I needed to believe that. Because if he had changed, then I had nothing to miss.

And if he hadn’t…

I stopped myself before I could finish the thought. My phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up.

A message from Talia.

Talia: How’s your first official day of being back?

I stared at the message before replying.

Me: I went around the city.

Her response came quickly.

Talia: That’s suspicious.

I smiled.

Me: Why?

Talia: Because you hate driving around without a reason.

I hesitated.

Then I typed:

Me: I wanted to see what had changed.

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Then:

Talia: And?

I looked out the window. The city was glowing beneath the evening sky. I thought about the café. The university. The bookstore. The park. All those places where I had once been someone else’s girl, someone’s best friend, someone’s daughter. Places where I had laughed without worrying about tomorrow. Places where Asher had existed in every part of my life. I finally replied.

Me: Not enough.

Talia didn’t respond immediately. For once, she seemed to understand. I placed my phone down and walked back to the window. Westbridge had changed. The buildings were different. The streets were busier. New businesses had replaced old ones. But the memories remained exactly where I had left them. And that frightened me more than I wanted to admit.

Because tomorrow, I would have to leave my apartment again. And eventually, I would have to face the one thing I had spent the entire day avoiding. Asher. I told myself I wasn’t afraid of seeing him. I told myself I didn’t care what he looked like now, what he had become, or whether he remembered me. I told myself that the person I had left behind no longer existed.

But deep down, I knew there was only one way to find out. I would have to see him.