She stood at the edge of the VIP lounge, gripping a glass of chilled champagne. Across the dance floor, she saw him—Marko—laughing with someone who looked exactly like the girl Elena used to be before the heartbreak. A month ago, seeing him would have felt like a physical blow. Tonight, thanks to the thumping rhythm of Dara Bubamara’s anthem, she felt a strange, cold armor settling over her heart.
Elena closed her eyes and let the music take over. She imagined a digital eraser moving through her mind, scrubbing out the memories of their late-night arguments and his empty promises. The song was a command: forget. Forget the way he smelled like expensive tobacco and lies. Forget that she ever waited for a call that never came. Dara Bubamara - Amnezija
"Opet ista priča, ista amnezija..." the lyrics pulsed through the speakers. She stood at the edge of the VIP