Two weeks of waiting felt different from an ordinary two weeks.
A new rhythm had formed between us—not agreed upon, never discussed, simply appearing on its own like a habit born from unplanned closeness. Damian started leaving little notes on my desk whenever he left before I did. Not letters, not long messages—just one or two lines about practical things. *Mr. Hendra asked about the third document. It's in the right drawer.* Or: *Mrs. Sari isn't coming in today. There's food in the fridge.*
Small. Meaningless to anyone else who read them.
But every time I found one on my desk, something stirred in my chest that I could no longer pretend I didn't feel.
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On Wednesday afternoon, I got a call from an unfamiliar number.
I answered with only half my attention—the other half was still
