"Opet ista priča, ista amnezija..." the lyrics pulsed through the speakers.

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.

She stepped onto the dance floor, moving into the thick of the crowd. As the chorus peaked, she caught Marko’s eye. He froze, his smile faltering as he realized she wasn't hiding in a corner or crying in the bathroom. She looked through him as if he were made of glass—clear, fragile, and utterly invisible.

The neon lights of the Belgrade club blurred into long, jagged streaks of violet and gold as the bass from "Amnezija" kicked in. For Elena, the song wasn't just a hit; it was a survival strategy.