Mr. Tony, please inform them that I need another forty-eight hours to fix our problem. Thank you.
Message sent. 08:45 AM. Western Indonesia Time.
Less than two and a half hours after leaving Carl's house near Karimun Jawa, my butler and I arrived at the international airport in Semarang. Carl's speedboat really helped cut down our sea travel time. Standard design, but sturdy and stable as it sailed through the waters at 40 knots or 74 km/h. If we had taken a regular passenger ferry, there would have been no way to beat the time, as their average speed is only 20 knots or 37 km/h.
We didn't dock at the commercial harbor in Central Java's capital city. Instead, we landed at a location owned by one of Carl's acquaintances, not far from the airport. Fifteen minutes by taxi, and we were already at the airport, code SRG.
At nine in the morning, we took off from the City of Herbal Medicine toward the City of Monas. One hour in the air, arriving at Terminal 2 of the airport with code CGK. A one-hour transit, then another nine hours in the sky heading to DXB (Dubai). We took economy class to avoid drawing too much attention. I sat by the window, and Murdani sat beside me.
To speed up time, after enjoying the takeoff view and reaching ten thousand meters in altitude, I closed my eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
***
I woke up on the carpet of a bedroom. Pink walls, decorated with sakura tree wallpaper. A canopy bed with gray drapes. A light-yellow dressing table. A brown wooden study desk, with a framed photo placed on top. The picture was of Rachel and me, with her hugging me from behind. We both smiled happily. Then, my eyes were drawn to a calendar in the corner of the desk. Three days before the date, month, and year when my relationship with Rachel ended through a letter.
Wait. This is... Rachel's room. But why am I here? Suddenly, I heard an argument outside the room. Rachel's voice and her father's. Their words weren't entirely clear, but I caught the words "arranged marriage" and "no way."
BAM! I flinched.
Rachel entered the room, slamming the door shut and locking it. She cried, leaning against the door before collapsing to the floor. Hugging her knees, sobbing. Seeing her like that, my heart instantly ached.
"Rachel." I tried calling her.
"RACHEL! YOU HAVE TO FOLLOW WHAT I SAY. YOU MUST ACCEPT THIS ARRANGED MARRIAGE. OR OUR FAMILY WILL BE IN TROUBLE!" Her father shouted, his Norwegian accent heavy with anger.
Rachel didn't respond. She just remained silent, drowning in her tears.
Rachel is being forced into an arranged marriage?
"RACHEL. DO YOU HEAR ME?!"
Rachel cried bitterly.
"RACHEL?!" Her father knocked loudly on the door, demanding a response from her.
"Enough, dear. Let her be for now. I'll talk to her calmly later," Rachel's mother said gently, trying to soothe her husband.
Then, they both walked away.
"Wisnu." Rachel called out softly.
I tried to hug Rachel. But I couldn't. My arms passed right through her. I tried again. Still nothing. A third timeâstill no contact. I looked at my hands, my feet, and touched my body. I felt solid. But it was as if I was in a different dimension. Rachel didn't even seem to realize I was there.
Am I dreaming?
Rachel wiped her tears. Got up from the floor. Sat at her desk. Opened her laptop. Logged into Skype and tried calling me. No connection.
"Wisnu. Where are you?! Pick up, please!"
She waited and tried twice more. Still, no answer.
Rachel tried to contact me back then? Where was I? Why didn't I answer?
I tried to remember. I glanced at her laptop screen. My lovely Wisnu â Offline. I looked at the wall clockâ8 PM. Which meant, in my time zone, it was 9 AM. I had class. I only had Skype installed on my laptop. And during class, I wouldn't have had my laptop open. We usually Skyped at night, my time, or morning, her time.
Rachel grabbed her phone from the desk. Moved to her bed. Tried calling me the old-fashioned way. Twice. No connection.
No connection? My phone should have always been on.
She threw her phone onto the mattress in frustration. Her expression tensed with anger. Then, she lay on her side. Exhausted, confused, and once again, her tears fell.
Oh, Rachel.
"Wisnu. What should I do? Sniff. I don't want this arranged marriage. Sniff. Sniff. I want to be with you."
Suddenly, I heard Murdani's voice.
"Mr. Wisnu."
"..."
"Mr. Wisnu."
My eyes were still closed. Still heavy. I slowly forced them open. The sound of an Arabic-speaking flight attendant announcing our landing filled the cabin. That's when I realizedâI was no longer in a dream. No longer in Rachel's room. But inside an Airbus A380.
"Mr. Wisnu. Sorry to wake you. We've arrived, sir."
"Thank you."
***
4:30 PM, Dubai time.
In the waiting area of Dubai International Airport, Terminal 3, the towering ceiling made every sound reverberateâfootsteps of flight attendants and pilots, a couple chatting about their upcoming vacation to the Great Wall of China, the clicking of locked suitcases.
I had been sitting on a long-backed bench for thirty minutes, lost in thought. Behind me, separated by one column, Murdani sat reading an English newspaper. We had deliberately chosen a quiet waiting area for this meeting. There were only five people here, including us. I had informed Carl of my location so the person we were meeting would know where to find me.
Before taking off from Jakarta, Carl had sent me a message. Our prospective colleague would land at 5:45 PM Dubai time. He had departed from the French capital at 9:30 AM. That meant I still had thirty minutes before meeting this Russian man. Enough time to reflect on the dream I had just experienced.
That dream felt like a message, revealing an answer I should have known long ago. It left me hanging. If only I hadn't woken up, maybe it would have explained why Rachel had really ended our relationship.
I felt unsettled. On one side, I was worried about Talia, who had yet to give me any news. A terrifying thought crossed my mindâwhat if the nightmare in Carl's bunker really happened? What if she had failed the surgery? On the other side, Rachel had reentered my thoughts.
1,800 seconds later.
The sound of approaching footsteps snapped me out of my thoughts. Instinctively, I turned toward the source. The man I had been waiting for had arrived.
We locked eyes but didn't speak yet. Then, he sat on the same bench as me, two small seats away.
This man was about my height. He wore a velvet jacket, a sweater, and jeans. His face was sharp, with a square jaw. His posture was strong and well-builtâclearly, he was a man trained for the field.
"Pavlo Vladimirovich." I greeted first.
"Wisnu Nasution." He responded, his Russian accent was thick.
Wait. He knows my name? Did Carl tell him?
"Your face and name are familiar. Bukhgalter."
"..."
"Every major tycoon in the world seeks you out for long-term cash cow investments. You may not be a famous celebrity, but billionaires wouldn't be able to generate more wealth without your expertise. And it turns out, you're the son of Batara Nasutionâowner of Tara Enterprise, the number one conglomerate in the emerald equatorial nation."
"An exaggerated compliment, but thank you. It seems you've become quite a fan of me and my homeland." I responded in Russian.
His expression changed slightlyâsurprised, then smirking. One of the perks of having an ex from the Bear Nation.
"A beautiful country. Now, what's your plan?" Pavlo asked.
"You will capture and imprison him, The Hunter."
"Give me all the evidence. Within forty-eight hours, my team and I will obtain an arrest warrant and hunt him down."
"Alright. I'll have my friend send everything immediately. But I have one condition."
"What condition?"
"I want to be part of the operation."
"Do you not trust me, Wisnu?"
"Your reputation is impeccableânothing can shake my trust in you. But this is a mission from my father. And I need to make sure I carry it out properly."
"Fine. But take care of yourself. Interpol is not a babysitting service."
"That can be arranged."
"Alright then. Let's see if that athletic body of yours can keep you safe." He smirked, scanning me from head to toe.
"Can I count on your word?"
"I'm the man of my word. I'll update you on the detailed plan within the next twenty-four hours. Oh, and one more thingâPozhaluysta. Just Pavlo."
He extended his hand toward me, offering a handshake.
"Ladno. Pavlo."
Out of respect, I shook his hand.
***
One hour later.
I was already back on a plane, heading home to Jakarta. While waiting for an update from Pavlo, my first destination upon arrival would be Talia's apartmentâto check on her condition myself.
My seat and Murdani's were still in the middle section, just in different rows. I remained by the window, while Murdani sat beside me. Economy class again, to stay low profile. But this time, something unexpected happened before I decided to sleep.
"Excuse me, Sir. There is a note for you, from passenger seat 75D."
A Middle Eastern flight attendant, who had been offering meals, handed me a folded piece of paper.
75D?
I was in 72Aâthree rows ahead. Was she spying on me through the seat gaps?
"Thank you. Oh, I'm sorry, can I have an orange juice, please?"
I unfolded the note.
"I have been locked on you since boarding. You are so cute. What's your name? I'm Christine. ð"
Oh, no. Here we go.
"Murdani, do you have a pen?"
Murdani reached into his jacket's inner pocket and handed me a pen.
"Here, Sir."
Without even looking at her, I wrote my response on the blank space at the top of the paper.
"I believe you are a good person. But, sorry, I'm not interested."
"Here is your orange juice, Sir."
The young flight attendant handed me my drink.
"Thank you. Would you pass this back? And here, for your trouble."
I took my orange juice and handed the paper back, with a $100 bill tucked inside.
"Right away, Sir."
A middle-aged woman sitting beside Murdani caught a glimpse of the tip I had given and commented,
"You are not in this class, are you?"
I chuckled softly.
***
Ten minutes later.
As I was reading the airline bulletin, Open Skies, I suddenly needed to use the restroom.
I got up from my seat and walked towards the lavatory. Just as I was about to close the door, a young womanâabout chin-height, long brown hair, bangsâpushed me inside and locked the door.
"Oh, man. You are so hot. Yet so cold." She whispered seductively.
"Hey, who are you?"
"I'm Christine. The one who sent you the note, you idiot. I'm telling youâI'm bad, and you will be interested."
Oh. So it's her.
She was stunning, no doubt. But this womanâan angelic face on a devil's body.
With a swift push, she made me sit on the closed toilet seat and then straddled me. She took off her leather jacket, revealing a tank top and visible bra straps.
Instinctively, my eyes wandered to her chest.
Oh, no.
Both of her hands cupped my face, forcing me to look into her eyes instead of her... 'assets.'
And then, she kissed me.
What the hell?
I immediately pulled away, pushed her off my lap, and stood up.
My breathing was heavy. I won't lieâI had felt a rush.
Facing the door with my back to her, I tried to calm myself down.
"My advice, young ladyânever do this again. You should save your dignity for your married man."
I stepped out, leaving her inside the 1x1.5-meter restroom.
Coincidentally, I ran into the flight attendant again.
"Can I help you, Sir?"
"Ah, yes. Could you show me another toilet, please? This one is broken."
"Okay. It's at the end of this aisle, Sir."
"Thank you."
Crazy woman.
***
To My Dearest Wisnu,
I don't know how to say this. I've been staring at this blank paper for three hours before finally gathering the courage to write. Please forgive me for making this decision on my own. It is the heaviest decision I have ever made in my life.
Our relationship must end.
I am being forced into an arranged marriage with the son of my father's business associate.
My father is drowning in debts he cannot repayânot even with all the wealth my family and I own. The only way out... is me. His only child. I am the price to pay for his freedom. At first, I resisted. I refused to accept it. But my father... The man who once forced his words upon me, the man who used to be so strictâhe begged. He knelt before me, pleaded, crying, asking me to save our family.
Forgive me, Wisnu. Forgive me for betraying our love. Forgive me for betraying you.
Goodbye, Wisnu.
I hope you find someone better than me.
I hope you live a happy life.
From the one who will always love you,
Rachel.
Tears fell onto the paper.
Slowly at first, then heavier and heavier, until her sobs filled the room. She let herself cry for a while. Then, she wiped her tears away, gathering her composure. She looked at the words she had just writtenâand tore the letter into tiny, irreparable shreds.
Rachel took a new sheet of paper. And wrote again. The exact same words I read seven years ago. Breaking up with me without an explanation.
But why? Why didn'tshe tell me the truth?