Chapter 4 – Unspoken
Chapter 4 – Unspoken
Saturday morning came too quickly.
Reyhan hated weekends. Not because he didn’t enjoy free time—he simply didn’t know what to do with it. Without meetings, decisions, or fires to extinguish, he was left alone with his thoughts.
And that... was dangerous.
He stood at his kitchen counter in a sleek penthouse overlooking the Jakarta skyline, coffee mug in hand, dressed in his usual black joggers and a plain white shirt. The man still looked like a walking CEO even in off-duty clothes.
He tapped his finger against the edge of his cup, eyes glazed over.
Nadira remembered.
Not everything, not yet—but enough. Enough to shake him.
He hadn’t thought about that day in years. About the orphanage. The cake. The laugh that had felt like sunlight in the middle of a gray childhood.
His childhood had been one of silence and rules. His father had built a business and a wall around his family at the same time. Discipline had been love. Achievement had been survival. Reyhan had grown up not knowing how to cry, only how to win.
But that girl...
That little girl with glasses and scraped knees, who told him he was terrible at board games and gave him her last orange candy.
She had made him feel something he never forgot.
And now she sat across from him every day, completely unaware of the space she’d once occupied in his memory—until now.
---
Meanwhile – Nadira’s Apartment
Nadira stared at her ceiling with a cold cup of tea beside her bed, her laptop open but forgotten.
Reyhan remembered her.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
The orphanage had been a distant part of her life, a quiet chapter she rarely opened. It was filled with memories she’d wrapped in thick layers of emotional bubble wrap—too fragile to touch, too precious to throw away.
But that boy...
The one who sat quietly in the corner during group activities, who didn’t know how to talk to other children but handed her his birthday cake without saying a word—he had made her feel seen.
She never imagined he would grow up to be Reyhan Azhari.
And now, she worked for him.
Worked beside him.
And something was beginning to shift.
She wasn’t ready for it.
---
Monday – Office Floor, 6:59 a.m.
Nadira arrived as usual, punctual and polished. Her beige blazer was replaced with a navy one today, a small variation—but Reyhan noticed.
He always noticed.
She found a folder waiting on her desk.
A note sat atop it, in Reyhan’s distinct handwriting.
“Clear your schedule at 9:00 a.m. We’re going somewhere.”
She stared at it for a moment, her brow furrowed.
Reyhan didn’t go anywhere unless necessary. And he certainly didn’t invite people unless it was for strategy meetings or investor visits.
At 8:55, he emerged from his office, dressed in a slate-gray suit, no tie. Casual for him. His eyes met hers with unreadable intensity.
“Ready?”
She stood. “I didn’t know where we were going.”
“You didn’t need to.”
No car was waiting outside—not the company Lexus or his usual private driver. Instead, Reyhan unlocked the door to a black Range Rover parked in the executive lot.
“You drive?” Nadira asked, mildly surprised.
“Only when I need to think.”
The ride was quiet at first. Jakarta’s streets bustled around them, but inside the car, the air was charged.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“You’ll see.”
She hated vague answers. But somehow, coming from him, it felt less dismissive and more... intentional.
After 45 minutes of winding through South Jakarta, the car pulled into a narrow street lined with old trees and peeling fences.
It was quiet. Humble.
Familiar.
Nadira stiffened.
Reyhan parked and got out without a word. She followed.
They stood in front of a small, well-kept building with a faded sign.
CAHAYA KECIL ORPHANAGE
Her breath hitched.
“Why... why are we here?”
“I wanted to see it again,” he said, his voice quiet. “With you.”
The gates were still painted blue—chipped in places but unmistakable. The sound of children’s laughter floated from the back garden. A woman in her sixties opened the front door, her eyes widening.
“Reyhan?” she gasped. “Is it really you?”
“Aunt Yani,” he said, smiling—smiling, an expression Nadira had almost never seen on him. He hugged the woman, and Nadira stood there, stunned.
He turned toward her. “Nadira... this is the woman who used to chase me around with a wooden spoon when I refused to eat vegetables.”
Aunt Yani laughed. “You’ve grown so tall—and so serious! But you were always stubborn. And you!” She turned to Nadira, eyes warm with recognition. “My little bookworm... I used to find you sleeping in the library.”
Nadira blinked. “You remember me?”
“Of course. You two used to sit under the mango tree and argue about who won at checkers.”
Reyhan gave Nadira a look. “Still a terrible loser.”
“I let you win once,” she said, smirking.
They toured the orphanage, now renovated in parts thanks to donations. Reyhan stopped beside the old tree where a wooden bench still stood.
“I used to think this was the whole world,” he murmured. “This bench. That tree. The sound of laughter from kids who had no idea how hard life could be yet.”
She sat beside him. “It was the safest place I knew.”
A long pause.
Then his voice dropped, quieter. “I never forgot you, Nadira.”
She turned, eyes searching his. “You didn’t even know my name back then.”
“I remembered the girl with the loud laugh and big glasses who gave me half her candy and didn’t treat me like a charity case.”
A gust of wind rustled the branches above.
She said nothing.
“You made me feel... human.”
Her heart clenched.
“I came back once, you know. Maybe a year later. I looked for you.”
“I’d already been moved to foster care.”
He nodded. “I wondered if I made you up. Sometimes... memories get distorted.”
She looked at him. “I remember you too.”
He didn’t move, but she saw the relief in his shoulders.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked softly.
“Because I need to know if you’re still that girl.”
She swallowed. “And if I’m not?”
“Then I’ll have to learn who you’ve become.”
To be continued.....