Yor Regret is Too Late!

10

"You're insane, Papa! I can't do it! Forget drawing a pattern, I don't even know what it feels like to hold a tailor's pencil!"

Aileen’s voice screeched through the living room, cracking with suppressed hysteria. Her usually perfectly made-up face was now deathly pale, nearly matching the color of the sketch papers scattered across the marble table.

"Quiet, Aileen! Watch your voice!" Prasetya snapped, his tone low but laced with threat. "Grandfather Wijaya is already at the front gate. If he finds out we lied, not only will your scholarship be revoked, but the collaboration with Papa's company is over!"

The front door opened. The sound of heavy, measured footsteps echoed down the hallway. Wijaya Pratama walked in, dressed in a dark silk batik suit, his sandalwood cane tapping against the floor with a steady thud, thud, thud that sounded like a death knell in my ears.

I stood frozen behind a pillar, my hands still wet with soapy water from just finishing the dishes. Ratna, my mother, suddenly snatched my arm in a painful grip.

"Come with Mama," she hissed. She violently dragged me toward the living room, but not to welcome the guest. Instead, she shoved me behind the thick velvet drapes that separated the living room from Papa's study.

"Listen to me, Aria," Mother whispered right in my ear, her rose perfume smelling suffocating. "Aileen will sit at that table. You stand here, behind the curtain. You must whisper every detail, every line, and what technique she needs to draw if Grandfather Wijaya asks. If a single mistake comes out of your mouth, Papa won't hesitate to throw you out tonight. Do you understand?!"

I could only nod slowly, swallowing the bitter taste in my throat. Through a tiny slit in the drapes, I could see the silhouette of Aileen sitting and trembling in her chair.

*

"So, this is the genius 'Ai' that Asher is so proud of?"

Grandfather Wijaya’s voice was heavy and commanding. He didn't sit down; instead, he paced around the table, staring at Aileen as if peeling back every layer of lies on my twin's face.

"Y—yes, Grandfather. I only... tried to do my best for Asher," Aileen’s voice trembled violently.

Grandfather Wijaya placed a blank sheet of paper and a 2B pencil in front of Aileen. "That 'The Silent Heart' design was extraordinary. Especially the Hidden Rose Stitch technique on the collar. I want to see you draw the pattern now. Just a rough sketch—I want to see how your fingers dance across the paper."

I could see cold sweat pouring down the back of Aileen's neck. She held the pencil as if holding a grenade ready to explode.

"Aria... hurry..." Aileen whispered, barely audible, her lips barely moving.

I brought my mouth close to the slit in the drapes, my heart hammering so wildly it felt as if it would burst. "Draw a curved line from the top left corner, Aileen," I whispered as faintly as possible. "Make three overlapping layers like wilted petals. Don't press hard, just keep it light..."

Aileen began to move her pencil. Stiff. Completely stiff.

"Why are your hands shaking, beautiful girl?" Grandfather Wijaya asked, his tone calm yet lethal.

"I—I'm just a little nervous because you are here, Grandfather," Aileen countered quickly.

"Continue," Grandfather commanded.

"Shade the inner part with small, circular motions," I whispered again, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. It was agonizing to give instructions for a masterpiece born from my own tears, only for someone else to receive the praise. "Remember, the rose pattern must be hidden behind the folds of the vertical lines. That's the key."

Aileen followed my instructions. On the paper, a pattern began to form, though it was far from perfect. But at least, it looked like the same technique used on the winning gown.

Grandfather Wijaya fell silent for a long time. He leaned over, inspecting Aileen's pencil strokes with absolute precision. The room became so quiet that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like cannon fire.

"Interesting," Grandfather Wijaya murmured. He straightened his posture, his sharp eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses staring at the table, and then slowly... his gaze shifted.

Not toward Aileen. Not toward Papa or Mama, who stood tensed in the corner of the room.

But directly toward the velvet drapes where I was hiding.

"Your pencil strokes are decent, Aileen. But..." Grandfather Wijaya walked slowly, the sound of his cane now stopping right beside the curtain. "The sound of insects in this room is quite loud, isn't it? It sounds like someone is reciting a spell from behind this fabric."

My heart stopped beating. I held my breath, pressing my body against the cold wall behind me. I could smell the aroma of sandalwood from Grandfather Wijaya, who was now standing mere centimeters from my hiding spot.

"Grandfather, that... that might just be the sound of the wind from the window," Papa tried to interject, his voice sounding completely panicked.

"The wind cannot explain sewing techniques, Prasetya," Grandfather Wijaya retorted coldly.

He didn't wait for another answer. With a movement incredibly swift for a man his age, Grandfather Wijaya snatched the edge of the velvet drape and ripped it wide open.

The bright light of the living room immediately pierced my eyes. I froze, standing there trembling in my dull house clothes, my hands still red from dish soap. I saw the pure shock on the face of Asher, who had just entered the room, and the overwhelming rage on Papa's face.

Grandfather Wijaya looked me up and down, from head to toe. His sharp eyes seemed capable of piercing through my ribs to see the entire truth I had locked away.

"So..." Grandfather Wijaya offered a faint smile, the kind that made the hairs on my neck stand up. "Who is hiding here? Step out! Explain to me, why does this house's maid know more about the hidden rose than the designer herself?"