?Chapter 138:


    She opened the sketchbook again to find a new drawing of herself, captured with the same warm smile as before. In a surge of anger, she tore the page into shreds.


    Yet, on the third day, the sketchbook was there again.


    And on the fourth, it returned once more.


    This pattern persisted for three long months.


    Initially, Dani’s fury was palpable, but gradually, she became desensitized, her resistance waning. Eventually, she started to engage with the sketchbook, using it as an outlet for her pent-up emotions by sketching her own frustrations and sorrows onto its pages. It was a three-month journey.


    After those months, Dani posed a question within its pages.


    “Who are you?”


    The following day, the sketchbook was back in its usual spot, but this time it contained a sketch of a boy’s profile, distinguished by a small, nearly hidden beauty mark near his eye.


    Through their shared drawings, they arranged a meeting.


    The next day, Dani spent the entire day at the swing set, waiting, but no one appeared. Summer faded into fall.


    Fall gave way to the chill of winter.


    Dani maintained her vigil for a full year.


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    A yearter, she began to speak again and returned to her studies. The sketch of the boy’s face became her treasured keepsake, securely stored in a safe in her room.


    On her first day back at school, a new student joined the ss.


    The boy confidently swung open the ssroom door, stepping in. He stood there, bathed in the gentle morning sunlight, exuding a poised and polished presence.


    “Hello, everyone. I’m Alexander Bet.”


    Once, Dani had asked Alexander about it.


    “Are you the boy from those sketches?”


    Alexander’s lips tightened, and he responded dismissively, “Why dredge up the past now?”


    To Dani, his evasion felt like a tacit admission. If it were false, surely Alexander’s forthright nature would have spurred a direct denial.


    Yet, over time, she harbored doubts.


    The boy from her past, who had filled that sketchbook with warmth and kindness, seemed entirely unlike Alexander, who was often detached and aloof. How could they be the same person?


    She struggled to reconcile the two images.


    Eventually, she ceased trying to piece it together, but asionally, her eyes would drift to the barely noticeable spot near Alexander’s eye, where a mole had once been.


    Alexander had once exined he had it removed because it made him look less masculine.


    She had epted his reasoning without question.


    How could Alexander, with his pride and arrogance, fabricate such a tale?


    Yet, now, as his dismissive words echoed, her old uncertainties reawakened.


    “Are you really the boy I made that promise to beneath the tree hollow all those years ago?” she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of skepticism.


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