The Stranger Who Became My Boss

Year 2008 My name is Namira Adhza, and I work as a telemarketer for one of the country's well-known accounting software companies. My job is simple enough: I call companies from a prepared list and introduce our accounting software. If the person in charge shows interest, I send them an email and arrange for one of our sales representatives to visit and give a full presentation. I don't particularly enjoy this job. It's only a stepping stone while I save enough money to go to college. Most of my days are spent talking to strangers, trying to sell software that gets rejected far more often than it's accepted. Sometimes, the constant rejection leaves me exhausted, chipping away at my confidence one call at a time. But every morning, all of that disappears the moment I see him—on that bridge. Let's call him Mister X. I never learned his real name. We crossed paths every weekday after getting off the TransJakarta bus—everyone simply called it the Busway back then. At first, he was just another commuter rushing across the pedestrian bridge like everyone else. People hurried for different reasons. Single men were probably late because they were still used to their mothers taking care of everything. Married women who worked had to prepare breakfast, pack lunches, and get their children and husbands ready before leaving home. Others simply lived too far away. I was no different—always rushing, always running late because home was so far away. Actually, I belonged to a rather uncommon category: a twenty-year-old single woman who was always late simply because of the commute. It sounded strange when you thought about it. My home and office were both located in Central Jakarta, yet getting there meant traveling nearly eleven kilometers. By Busway, the most efficient public transportation available at the time, the journey still took more than two hours. Only recently did I realize something—Mister X was incredibly handsome. His naturally curly hair was cut short and neatly styled, though the curls were still impossible to hide. Thick black rectangular glasses framed his face perfectly, complementing his strong, masculine features. He had deep-set eyes beneath thick eyebrows. His lips weren't especially full or thin, his nose neither particularly sharp nor flat. Nothing about his features stood out on its own, yet together they created a face that felt effortlessly perfect. He was around 180 centimeters tall. From Monday to Thursday, he dressed in crisp office attire—a long-sleeved shirt, tailored trousers, and polished leather shoes. Fridays were different. He wore a collared polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers. The only thing that never changed was the large messenger bag slung over one shoulder. While most men carried backpacks, he always chose that same messenger bag. Among all the attractive men I passed on that bridge every morning, he was the most handsome—well, at least to me. I know beauty is subjective. Maybe he just happened to be exactly my type. To Mister X, though, I was probably nothing more than another ordinary young woman hurrying to work every morning. There was nothing remarkable about me: an average face, a medium-sized nose, a broad forehead, a defined jawline, and hair that was never particularly pretty because I always tied it into a ponytail. It was the most practical hairstyle for someone like me—a girl from a lower-middle-class family who relied on public transportation. Wearing my hair down would've been a disaster once the wind caught it. Besides, my hair was unbelievably thick—almost as stubborn as I was. At least, that's what my mother always said. "Namira, you're the most stubborn child I've ever raised." Whenever we crossed paths, we always approached from opposite directions. I came from the left after getting off the Busway, climbing the pedestrian bridge to reach the opposite side of the street. He must have been doing the exact opposite, though I never really knew where he came from. For one—maybe two seconds—we passed each other right in the middle of the bridge. And in those brief seconds, I could always catch the faint scent of his cologne. For over a month, I admired him from afar. He never noticed—or at least, I didn't think he did. As an introvert, I was perfectly content with things staying exactly as they were. I had no intention of making the slightest move. Seeing him for a few seconds every morning was enough—more than enough. But recently, I had the strange feeling he realized I was watching him. Like today. While I was quietly admiring his face, he suddenly turned toward me. Usually, he looked straight ahead, always in a hurry. Startled, I immediately looked away, pretending nothing had happened. Day after day, the routine remained the same. I'd steal glances at him, and the moment he noticed, I'd quickly avert my eyes. Before I knew it, six months had passed. For six whole months, I'd been carrying on a secret relationship—not with him, but with my own imagination. For someone like me, there was no greater luxury than secretly admiring a handsome man from afar. An ordinary woman from a struggling family ending up beside someone like him belonged only in dreams. So every morning, simply seeing him was enough. Then one day, after six months of silently watching him, our eyes met—not for a fleeting second, but for longer than ever before. I froze, embarrassed, desperately trying to look away. But before I could, he lowered his head and smiled—a small, shy smile, hidden beneath his lowered gaze. Goodness... it was the sweetest smile I'd ever seen. Without realizing it, I smiled too and lowered my head. That was the closest we ever came—no conversations, no introductions, just quiet smiles exchanged with lowered eyes. And somehow, that became our routine for an entire year. Tomorrow would be the last time. My office was relocating to Sawah Besar, and I would no longer get off at Karet Tengsin Station. We would never cross paths again. So today, I decided to do something I had never dared to do before—a farewell gift, the bravest thing I had ever done. I stepped off the Busway and headed toward the pedestrian bridge. Then I looked to my right. There he was. It was Friday, and he looked especially handsome in his casual clothes. I slowed my pace, staring at him with every ounce of courage I'd been building since dawn. There had always been an unspoken rule between us—one we had somehow created without ever speaking a single word. I was always the one who looked first. Only after I looked away would he look at me. That was how it had always been, every morning, for an entire year. But today, I was going to break that silent promise. The moment his eyes met mine, I should have looked away. I didn't. I kept looking at him. His expression shifted with surprise, yet he continued looking back. And I, for the first time in my life, was finally going to be brave—just once, just for him, for my Mister X. We continued staring at each other. Confusion lingered in his eyes, probably wondering why I'd broken the silent routine we'd shared for so long. I held his gaze. I wasn't going to lose my nerve. I'd practiced this since before sunrise. Just five seconds—I could do five seconds. Then I did it. I smiled—the sweetest smile I could possibly manage. For five unbearably long seconds, I fought my embarrassment and smiled directly at him. To my surprise, he stopped walking completely. By then, we were close enough to see each other's faces clearly. And that was when I noticed it—a tiny mole on his left cheek. I gave him a small nod—a greeting and a goodbye. He remained frozen in place. People behind him bumped into his back, annoyed that he'd stopped so suddenly in the middle of the bridge. Maybe he was simply shocked that I'd smiled at him. The moment my five seconds were over, I walked past him. The instant I reached the first step of the stairs, I ran—as fast as I could—leaving Mister X behind. I never had the courage to look back. Was he still standing there? Still surprised? Or had he already forgotten me? I didn't know. And perhaps, I never would. All I knew was that I'd finally done it—for the very last time. Goodbye, Mister X. The man whose name I never even knew. *** Year 2018 "Namira! Are you kidding me? Look what time it is! Every end of the month you complain about having your meal allowance deducted, yet you're still late almost every day!" That was Ms. Ida, my supervisor. She was strict, loud, and terrifying at first glance, but underneath all that, she was actually a kind person. Unfortunately, her mouth tended to move faster than her brain. I hadn't even clocked in with my fingerprint yet, and she'd already blocked the office entrance just to scold me. "Move, Ms. Ida! I've only got five minutes left. That's a whole day's meal allowance on the line!" I gently pushed her aside. "Made it! You've still got two minutes. You're not late." "Exactly why you should stop showing up at the last second," she grumbled, even after we were both back at our desks. "Oh, come on, Ms. Ida. It's already hot enough outside. The least you could do is welcome me with a glass of iced tea instead of a lecture." She clicked her tongue. "What a brat. Instead of listening to your supervisor, you're asking me to make you iced tea? Hurry up and finish entering everyone's overtime records." I had resigned from the accounting software company six years ago, shortly after earning my bachelor's degree in Accounting. Once I graduated, I applied to several companies and was eventually hired here. For the past six years, I'd been working as a Payroll Administrator. My responsibilities were straightforward: entering payroll data, calculating overtime, recording attendance, and helping the Human Resources team with whatever they needed—even when it technically wasn't part of my job description. I never minded. This nonprofit magazine company felt more like a family than a workplace. The salary met the city's standard wage, the environment was comfortable, and before I knew it, six years had quietly slipped by. During those years, Ms. Ida had remained my supervisor. At first, we didn't get along very well. She was intimidating, blunt, and incredibly stingy when it came to sharing knowledge. But as time passed and we got to know each other better, we somehow became close friends. People really were right. You can't care about someone you don't know. Beneath all her rough edges, she turned out to be one of the warmest people I'd ever met. Whenever I made a mistake, she'd defend me in front of our boss. And despite all her complaining... She was never stingy with food. She was a married woman who cooked every day, while I was just a boarding-house girl surviving on convenience-store meals. My parents had long since moved back to my mother's hometown after selling our house in Central Jakarta during a difficult time. My father had been seriously ill back then, but thankfully he had recovered. Maybe the fresh countryside air had done him good. "Nam." Ms. Ida suddenly lowered her voice. "Get yourself ready. We're getting a new General Manager." I looked up from my computer. "He's replacing Mr. Bimo after his retirement. I heard he's still pretty young... and kind of strict. Tomorrow morning he'll have his first meeting with the HR team, so make sure all the employee reports are completely updated. If you have to work overtime tonight, then do it." She pointed a finger at me. "It'd be embarrassing if our very first meeting with the new boss turned into a disaster." "I'm used to strict bosses." She frowned. "What do you mean, 'used to them'?" "I've survived working with one for six years." I smiled innocently. Her eyes narrowed. "Were you just talking about me?" I laughed. "You little brat!" she snapped. "Get back to work!" She always called me names like that, even though I wasn't exactly the youngest employee anymore. Our Human Resources department consisted of only the two of us. Ms. Ida handled management, while I took care of payroll. Besides that, I prepared whatever reports she needed—from employee records and personal documents to attendance reports and salary data. Before we realized it, the office clock was already approaching eight in the evening. We were still working overtime. I'd told her she didn't have to stay with me, but she'd refused to leave. Only one report remained—the employee salary index. I actually felt guilty. Her children were probably waiting for her at home by now. But that's just how Ms. Ida was. She never believed a supervisor should simply take credit for their team's work without understanding it. If I prepared a report, she'd stay until she understood every page of it. According to her, that's what a good leader should do. "We're done," I said, stretching my arms. "Let's go home. It's getting late. I've already emailed the report and uploaded everything to the server. You can just open it tomorrow during the meeting." She stood and grabbed her bag. "Alright. Want to grab some meatballs first? My treat." Now that was my favorite version of Ms. Ida—the generous one, especially when she offered to buy the delicious meatballs from the stall across the office. The next morning... "Morning, Ms. Ida." She was already at her desk. And she was wearing makeup. I blinked. She never wore makeup. Not even powder. Apparently, meeting the new General Manager was a very serious occasion. "I've been nervous all morning," she admitted. "I was afraid you'd be late. I'd never be able to show my face if that happened." "But I'm here on time." I grinned. "And who's this beautiful woman sitting at your desk? I almost didn't recognize you." She rolled her eyes. "You'd better make this a daily habit." "No thanks." I picked up my bag. "Today's a special occasion." "You should do it every day if you don't want your meal allowance deducted." "I'll think about it." "Come on. Let's head to the meeting room." Together we prepared everything. We switched on the projector, lowered the screen, adjusted the air conditioner, and powered up both the meeting-room laptop and my own. The presentation would be run from the meeting-room computer, while all our files were safely stored on the company's password-protected server. Just in case the network failed, I had already saved backup copies on my laptop. "Everything ready?" Ms. Ida asked. I couldn't resist teasing her. "Careful, Ms. Ida. You almost called me by my nickname again. Please address me properly as Mrs. Namira." She glared at me. "You're impossible." Then she muttered, "Little brat." The more nervous she became, the more I wanted to tease her. I walked over and gently squeezed her shoulders. "Relax. You've always been smart and hardworking. If you handled presentations with Mr. Bimo just fine, you'll survive one meeting with a thirty-something boss." She sighed. "He's still the General Manager." "Then you'll impress him." I took my seat beside the projector screen, making sure both laptops were positioned close together in case I needed to switch files quickly. A few moments later, footsteps echoed through the hallway, making Ms. Ida visibly stiffen. I smiled, trying to reassure her. Since my back was facing the entrance, I couldn't see who had walked in, but then several familiar voices filled the room—Mr. Bimo, Lastri, his assistant, and finally the new General Manager. "Good morning, everyone," Mr. Bimo greeted us warmly, and we all stood. "Good morning, Sir." After nearly thirty years with this nonprofit publishing company—starting as a journalist, becoming Editor-in-Chief, and eventually General Manager—Mr. Bimo had earned everyone's respect. No wonder Ms. Ida worried that his replacement wouldn't be half the leader he was. "As all of you know," Mr. Bimo began, smiling, "it's finally time for me to retire and spend more time with my grandchildren." He gestured toward the man standing near the door. "So from today onward, Mr. Gio will be taking over my position." Then he smiled proudly. "Mr. Gio, would you like to introduce yourself?" "Good morning, everyone." The moment I turned toward the voice... My breath caught, and I nearly fell out of my chair as time seemed to stop. In an instant, I was no longer standing in this meeting room—I was back on that pedestrian bridge ten years ago, the timid girl who had spent five precious seconds smiling at a stranger. For the very first time, I saw him smile again, not just at me, but at everyone in the room. So... his name was Mr. Gio. Mr. Gio... I'm Namira.