The Bride He Never Wanted

Chapter 7 . part 1 until 5

🌤 Part 1: The Message That Stirred Everything

The morning light crept in through the blinds, casting pale stripes across the bed where Qisya lay curled on her side. She hadn’t slept much. The events from the night before kept echoing in her mind—Hariz’s words, the coldness in his eyes, the heavy weight of truth between them.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She reached for it, half-asleep.

A message from Fikri.

“Qisya… would you like to meet? Just to talk. I still have something I’ve wanted to say since we lost touch.”

She stared at the screen, blinking. It felt strange, seeing his name again after so long. Like a ghost from a life she had almost forgotten. Fikri. The friend who had meant more than just a friend. The one who disappeared just before she got married. The one she never got closure with.

She wasn’t planning on replying.

But after last night…

Maybe she just needed someone to talk to. Someone who looked at her like she mattered. Like she wasn’t invisible.

So she typed slowly:

“Okay. Just a short meeting. At the café, after lunch.”

Just as she hit send, Hariz walked past their bedroom door.

She didn’t notice.

But he did.

He saw the name flash across her screen—Fikri. Again.

And his jaw clenched, just a little.

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🕊 Part 2: Echoes of a Past Not Forgotten

Qisya stood in front of her wardrobe later that afternoon, feeling ridiculous for caring what to wear. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even a real reunion. Just coffee. Just closure. That’s all.

She chose a soft lavender blouse, one that brought out the warmth in her skin. Her hair was tied loosely, not too formal, not too messy. Simple.

And yet… she hesitated before stepping out the door.

The café wasn’t far. Just ten minutes away. She arrived early, heart fluttering despite herself.

Fikri was already there, seated by the window with two iced drinks in front of him. He stood as she approached, smiling warmly.

“You still love purple,” he said gently.

She laughed, a little awkward. “You still remember that?”

“Of course,” he said. “I remember everything.”

They sat. And for a moment, it felt like they were back in university, talking late into the night in empty libraries. He asked about her life. She told him bits and pieces—not everything. Not the parts about crying herself to sleep. Not the door slamming. Not the silence.

Fikri listened. Really listened. Without judgment. Without pretending.

And for the first time in a long time, Qisya smiled without forcing it.

Terima kasih Zira 🌷 Sekarang Aeydan teruskan Chapter 7 – The Invitation, sambungan Part 3 hingga Part 5, dalam full English, dan siap lebih 5000 patah perkataan untuk upload ke Dreame 💌

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🌙 Part 3: Watched from a Distance

Across the street, inside a sleek black car with tinted windows, Hariz sat with one hand on the steering wheel and the other clenching his phone.

He hadn’t planned to follow her.

In fact, he’d told himself he wouldn’t care.

But something about seeing Fikri’s name again on her phone… it did something to him. Something irrational. Something he didn’t want to admit.

So he found himself parked across from the café, watching her through the glass windows. Watching her laugh—really laugh—for the first time in weeks. Not the polite, dead smiles she gave during dinners. Not the tired chuckles he heard behind walls. But something real.

And it wasn’t him who made her smile like that.

It was him.

Fikri.

The man who wasn’t supposed to still be part of her story.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles whitening.

Was he jealous?

No. That couldn’t be it.

But then again, what else could explain the ache in his chest?

The fire in his throat?

The sudden desire to walk in there and pull her away?

He stayed put. Watching. Burning.

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🌒 Part 4: The Calm Before Another Storm

After an hour, Qisya stood and offered a polite smile.

“This was… nice,” she said.

Fikri nodded. “I’m glad you came.”

They didn’t hug. Didn’t linger. It wasn’t that kind of meeting. And yet, something had shifted inside her. A reminder that she once mattered to someone. That she still could.

She walked home slowly, her heels clicking against the pavement. She didn’t notice the car that trailed a block behind her, then took a sharp turn away before she reached the apartment.

When she entered, the place was quiet.

Too quiet.

She slipped off her shoes and placed her bag on the table.

Then she saw him.

Hariz.

Leaning against the kitchen counter.

Arms crossed.

Eyes stormy.

“You were with him again,” he said, voice low, almost calm.

She froze. “Were you following me?”

“I don’t need to follow you,” he replied coldly. “You make it too easy.”

Her anger rose quickly. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to question me when you treat me like I’m invisible!”

His tone sharpened. “And what do you think you’re doing? Playing emotional rescue with your ex?”

Her voice broke. “He’s not my ex. He was just someone who saw me when you didn’t.”

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🌑 Part 5: The Shattering

Hariz stepped forward, his voice quiet but sharp. “Don’t twist this into some romance story where I’m the villain.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

Their gazes locked.

“Why do you even care, Hariz?” she asked, tears brimming. “You keep saying this marriage is a cage. That we’re nothing. So why does it bother you that someone else sees me?”

“I never said I didn’t care,” he snapped.

The air turned still.

Her lips parted. “Then what do you feel?”

He looked at her, eyes dark and wounded and terrified all at once.

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

And that—somehow—hurt more than anger ever could.

“Then figure it out,” she whispered. “Because I’m tired of holding on to someone who keeps pushing me away.”

She turned and walked into the bedroom.

Again.

Leaving him behind.

Again.

But this time, her tears fell freely.

And this time, Hariz didn’t stay still.

He stood there, staring at the closed door.

Something inside him cracked.

Something he didn’t know how to name.