Coffee, Lies and My Student's Dad

Chapter 13: Fractured Sanctuary

Elara Dwijaya

The heavy wooden door clicked shut, severing the connection to the noisy world below.

Silence rushed in instantly, thick and muffled by the plush carpet, replacing the chaotic hiss of the espresso machine and the chatter of the lunch crowd. It felt like stepping into a decompression chamber. The air here was different—cooler, still, and scented with a faint trace of cedar and vanilla.

Dio moved ahead. His broad back acted as a visual shield, blocking out the memory of the street, the heat, and the humiliation. He didn't turn around. He didn't ask questions. He simply led the way up the stairs with a steady, grounding presence.

Saskia gripped my arm from behind. Her fingers dug into my bicep, a silent promise that she would catch me if my legs decided to give out again.

"Watch your step," Dio’s voice rumbled low, bouncing softly off the walls.

We reached the landing. The grey living room welcomed me back. It was the same space I had visited just yesterday—warm, curated, safe—but the context had shifted violently. Yesterday, I was a guest. Today, I was a refugee.

Dio gestured toward the charcoal sofa with a tilt of his chin.

"Sit. Make yourself at home."

Gravity took over. My body collapsed onto the cushions, the tension in my spine snapping the moment I stopped moving.

Dio didn't hover. He moved with efficient, purposeful strides toward the open kitchen.

Clink.

Glass hit stone. The refrigerator door suctioned open and shut.

He returned seconds later with two bottles of cold mineral water and a box of tissues. He placed them on the coffee table, the condensation from the bottles leaving small, wet rings on the wood. Then, he took a step back.

His gaze drifted to the bookshelf, deliberately avoiding my face. He was giving me the dignity of not being watched while I fell apart.

"Drink first. Breathe second," he instructed gently.

My hand shook as I reached for the bottle. The cap had already been cracked open—a microscopic detail of care that made my throat tighten all over again.

"Thank you," I whispered. The sound was barely a scrap of air.

Saskia sat beside me. She yanked a handful of tissues from the box, her movements aggressive but her touch gentle as she dabbed at my wet cheeks.

"Stop crying, Ela. You’re going to flood the apartment."

A broken, watery laugh escaped me.

Creak.

The sound came from the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

"Daddy? Do we have guests again?"

The voice was small, high-pitched, and terrifyingly familiar.

Lyra stood in the hallway entrance. She was wearing cloud-patterned pajamas, her hair a messy halo of sleep. One hand rubbed her eye, while the other dragged the giant brown teddy bear, Bobo, across the floorboards.

Her sleepy expression vanished the moment she saw us.

"Ms. Ela!"

She took two running steps forward, beaming. Then she stopped.

The smile slid off her face. Her large gray eyes widened, locking onto my red nose, swollen eyelids, and the tear tracks mapping my misery.

"Teacher... why are you crying?"

The question was a whisper, filled with a pure, unadulterated fear. It was the look of a child watching their hero bleed.

Panic spiked in my chest. I couldn't let her see this. I raised a hand to shield my face, frantically wiping at my cheeks, but the damage was done.

Dio stiffened. He took a half-step forward, his mouth opening to formulate an explanation, but he was too slow.

"Ah! That!"

Saskia’s voice boomed through the room, shattering the tension.

She jumped up, striking a dramatic pose with her hands on her hips. Her face was a mask of exaggerated seriousness.

"You won't believe it, Lyra. We were on the road just now, and suddenly... a monster truck drove by!"

Lyra blinked, her confusion momentarily overriding her fear.

"A... monster truck?"

"Huge! Enormous!" Saskia threw her arms wide.

"And it was carrying a mountain of dust! Whoosh! The wind blew all the dust right into Ms. Ela’s eyes. That’s why they’re red and puffy. It stings like crazy!"

Silence hung in the room for two seconds.

I glanced at Dio. He was massaging the bridge of his nose, his lips pressed together in a thin line to suppress a smile. He looked like a man in physical pain from holding back laughter.

Lyra, however, nodded solemnly. The fear in her eyes melted into profound sympathy.

"Poor Ms. Ela..."

She walked over to the sofa. With great ceremony, she lifted the giant teddy bear and shoved it into my lap.

"Borrow Bobo, okay? When I’m sad or hurt, I hug him and it feels better. The dust will go away."

My defenses crumbled.

I buried my face in the bear’s soft fur. It smelled of baby detergent and innocence. Fresh tears pricked my eyes, but this time, they weren't from pain. They were from gratitude.

"Thank you, sweetie," I mumbled into the fur.

"Bobo is helping already."

Dio crouched down, bringing himself to Lyra’s eye level. He smoothed her messy hair back.

"Lyra, can you be a nurse for a bit? Watch over Ms. Ela while she heals?"

"Aye aye, Captain!" Lyra saluted, then scrambled up onto the sofa next to me, patting my arm with a rhythmic, comforting motion.

Dio stood up. He looked at Saskia, then briefly at me. His dark eyes were soft, offering a silent sanctuary.

"Ms. Saskia. Let's head downstairs. I need coffee. I suspect you do too."

• • •

POV: Saskia Putri

The metal stairs vibrated under my boots as I followed Dio’s broad back down to the cafe.

Internally, I was doing a victory lap. Finally. A chance to corner the suspect without Elara playing defense.

The cafe was still buzzing, though the lunch rush had thinned out. We headed straight for the bar.

"Whoa, the Boss descends from the heavens!"

The shaggy-haired barista grinned at us, waving a dirty rag like a flag of surrender. His eyes darted past us to the empty staircase.

"Where’s the pretty teacher? Did you lock her in the tower? Or is she—"

I hit him with the Look. The one I reserved for students who tried to eat glue in the back row.

"She is resting. If you make one loud noise, I will personally tape your mouth shut with duct tape."

The barista swallowed hard. His grin wilted.

"Understood, Ma'am. Scary. Got it."

Dio let out a low chuckle. He moved behind the bar, taking command of the espresso machine with the ease of a pilot entering a cockpit.

"Dimas, check the milk inventory in the back. Now."

"On it, Boss! Vanishing!" Dimas sprinted toward the kitchen curtain like his life depended on it.

We were alone.

I hopped onto a bar stool, propping my chin on my hands. I watched Dio work. He didn't just make coffee; he engineered it. He purged the steam wand, leveled the grounds, and locked the portafilter with a fluid, muscular grace that was honestly a little distracting.

"What are you drinking?" he asked, not looking up.

"Something strong. I need to be awake to guard the fortress."

Dio nodded.

Hiss.

The steam wand screamed softly. The rich aroma of dark roast filled the space between us.

Time to work.

"You’re very kind, Mr. Dio," I started, keeping my tone casual.

"Taking in strays. Letting a crying woman hide in your VIP section."

Dio poured the steamed milk. His wrist moved in small, precise circles.

"Basic humanity, Ms. Saskia. Besides, she’s Lyra’s teacher."

Diplomatic. Boring.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Just because she’s a teacher? Because when I saw you look at her earlier... you looked like you wanted to punch a wall. Or a person."

The pitcher in his hand froze. Just for a microsecond.

Dio looked up. His dark eyes met mine. There was a flicker of something there—guilt? panic?—before he masked it with his usual stoic expression.

"You have an active imagination," he deflected, placing the cup in front of me.

The latte art was a perfect heart. I raised an eyebrow.

"Do I?" I took a sip.

"By the way, do you have a type?"

Dio frowned, wiping down the counter with unnecessary vigor.

"Why the sudden interview?"

"Curiosity. I’m a matchmaker in my spare time," I lied smoothly.

"I was wondering... does a woman who is gentle, maternal, but currently very fragile and in desperate need of a shield fit your criteria?"

Clatter.

The teaspoon Dio was holding slipped from his fingers and hit the stainless steel counter with a loud ring.

He coughed, a violent, hacking sound. A flush crept up his neck, turning his ears a distinct shade of red.

"That is... a very specific question," he choked out, avoiding my gaze entirely. He picked up the spoon, his movements suddenly clumsy.

"I... I don't think about dating. My focus is Lyra. And the business."

I hid my smirk behind the coffee cup.

Gotcha.

His body language was screaming what his mouth refused to admit. The man was compromised.

"Is that so? Shame," I drawled.

"Because Elara is single. And right now, she needs something solid to lean on. Someone... sturdy."

I let my gaze linger on his shoulders.

Dio cleared his throat loudly. He turned his back to me, fiddling with a stack of cups that were already perfectly aligned.

"I’ll make a hot chocolate for Elara. She probably needs the sugar."

Running away. Classic.

I swirled my coffee, watching his retreat. Don't worry, Elara. I’ve vetted the candidate. He passed the stress test.

• • •

POV: Elara Dwijaya

The mirror in the guest bathroom was merciless.

The woman staring back looked like a wreckage. Mascara had run down my cheeks in jagged black rivers. My nose was red, my eyelids puffy and swollen.

I looked exactly like what I was: a woman who had been sold.

I turned on the tap. I splashed cold water onto my face, scrubbing away the evidence of my breakdown. The water was shocking, numbing the heat in my skin, but it couldn't numb the ache in my chest.

"Pull it together, Elara," I whispered to the reflection.

"You are not a victim."

I dried my face with a plush hand towel that smelled of lavender.

Deep breath. In. Out.

I unlocked the door.

In the living room, Lyra was still at her post. She sat on the sofa, legs swinging, guarding the empty space where I had been.

"Are your eyes better, Teacher?" she chirped.

I sat down, pulling the giant bear back into my lap.

"Much better, sweetie. Bobo worked his magic."

Heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Dio appeared, carrying a wooden tray. The scent of rich cocoa wafted into the room. Saskia followed him, wearing a smirk that suggested she knew secrets she wasn't sharing.

Dio set the tray on the coffee table. A steaming mug of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows for me, and a juice box for Lyra.

"Drink," Dio commanded gently.

"Sugar helps with the shock."

He didn't sit. He stood near the window, hands in his pockets, maintaining a respectful distance. It was a protective stance, like a sentry guarding the perimeter.

"Thank you, Dio. I’m sorry for... everything."

"Stop apologizing," Saskia cut in, dropping onto the sofa beside me.

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Dio nodded.

"She’s right. You’re safe here. No one is chasing you."

Safe.

The word settled in my bones. But safety here was temporary. The sun would set, the cafe would close, and reality would come knocking.

I wrapped my hands around the warm mug. The heat seeped into my cold palms.

I looked at Saskia. My resolve hardened. I couldn't go back to Brawijaya Street. I couldn't face my mother’s disappointment or my father’s silence. Not tonight.

"Kia," I said. My voice was raspy but steady.

"Yeah?"

"I’m not going home."

The room went still. Even Lyra seemed to sense the shift in tone, stopping her swinging legs.

"I can't face them. I need to go somewhere else."

Saskia nodded slowly.

"Okay. My place?"

I shook my head.

"That’s the first place they’ll look. Mother knows where you live. I need somewhere off their radar."

A name surfaced in my mind. The black sheep. The one who got away. The only person who understood exactly what it felt like to be sold for the family name.

"Take me to 'Depok'," I whispered.

"Take me to my sister's home."