The office was a stagnant eighteen degrees. Air from the vents hit the teak desk in a steady, invisible stream until the wood turned to stone under her arms.

She sat with a straight back, her spine a few inches from the ergonomic mesh of the chair. Her eyes were fixed on the laptop’s glow, the blue light reflected in the dark pupils of her eyes like twin signals. Behind the glass, she was a silhouette of white silk and expensive silence.

On the desk, everything was aligned to a grid. A slim fountain pen lay parallel to the edge of a leather blotter.

The iPhone on the desk vibrated.

She didn’t pick up. She watched the screen pulse—a rhythmic white light that illuminated the fine grain of the teak. Her jaw set as she drew a long, measured breath through her nose.

The vibration stopped, then began again. A second attempt.

She swiped the screen. “Halo?”

“Non Maya? Ini Bi Odah, Non.” The voice was thin, distorted by the speaker. It was a voice from the house in the southern city.

Maya leaned back, the leather of her chair creaking as a heavy tightening took her chest. Under the silk, the weave darkened—a warm bloom soaking into the fabric.

“Bi Odah,” Maya’s voice dropped, a hollow flatness. “Apa kabar?”

“Baik, Non. Tuan… Non. Beliau ingin ketemu. Sekali saja. Bisa Non Maya mampir ke rumah?”

​Maya’s gaze shifted to the charcoal drapes. They were heavy and offered no escape. The wet silk stuck to her skin, cold and distracting.

“Maaf, Bi,” Maya said, her Indonesian returning to a formal distance. “Sampaikan salam saya buat Tuan. Tapi jadwal saya padat. Saya tidak bisa datang.“

“Hanya sebentar, Non. Beliau sering menanyakan Non—”

“Tolong jangan dipaksa, Bi,” she interrupted. Her voice wasn’t angry, just finished. “Bi Odah tahu kenapa saya tidak kembali. Itu tidak berubah. Jaga kesehatan ya, Bi. Saya tutup dulu.”

She ended the call and put the phone face down. The silence that rushed back into the room was deafening. The damp patch was small, but on the white silk, it was obvious.

Maya pressed the intercom. “Vera, ke ruangan saya sebentar.”

The office door slid open with a soft, pneumatic hiss. A woman stepped in, a tablet tucked under one arm. Vera’s hazel eyes—a trait from her American father—tracked Maya’s movements with quiet efficiency.

Vera stopped a few feet from the desk. Maya clutched her black blazer tight against her chest, knuckles pale. She slightly loosened her grip, allowing a glimpse at her chest.

Vera’s gaze dropped to the white silk. Her hazel eyes didn’t blink.

“Vera, I need you to take over the rest of the day.”

Vera was already tapping her tablet, the soft click echo of her fingernails against the screen. “The regional director is in the lobby at four o’clock, Ma’am. Tenang saja, biar saya yang urus.“

“Thank you,” Maya swept her phone into her bag, the leather strap crossing her shoulder. She stood, draping the blazer to hide the stain. “Move whatever you can to tomorrow. Tolong ya, Vera.”

“Go,” Vera stepped aside. She held the door with a firm hand.

“Exactly,” Maya muttered, moving toward the elevator.

The elevator was quiet, the only sounds were the faint hum of the motor and the rush of cold air from the ceiling vent. Maya adjusted the blazer, keeping her arms crossed tightly. Her eyes fixed on the changing floor numbers. Then, she grabbed the iPhone from her bag and typed a quick message: Pak, lobi. Sekarang.

The doors parted. Afternoon heat hit her at the glass entrance. Outside the lobby, a black Toyota Alphard idled at the curb. A man sat with an upright posture behind the glass; Prasetyo had been with the family since before her husband’s passing.

Maya walked across the marble floor, heels clicking in the large, irregular rhythm in the open space. The entrance doors hissed open. She kept her eyes on the car, her grip firm on the lapels of her blazer.

The heavy rear door slid open with a soft, mechanical whir. Prasetyo met her eyes in the side mirror with a short, respectful nod. “Silakan, Non,” he said softly.

Maya climbed into the cabin. The interior was cool, smelling of conditioned leather and a hint of tobacco. The door slid shut with a muted thud, the pressurized seal cutting off the roar of the street.

Prasetyo pulled away from the curb, merging into the stop-and-go Jakarta traffic. The Alphard moved away from the gleaming glass of the city.

Through the tinted glass, Jakarta was a blur of motorbikes weaving through gaps like schools of silver fish, the faces obscured by the dark visors of their helmets.

A street vendor on the sidewalk was stirring a vat of oil, the blue flame of the portable stove flickering in the wind of passing cars. At the bus stop a woman waited, one hand smoothing her skirt in a hurry, fingers brushing the fabric, a small tug at the hem. Eyes fixed downward

Another hand, years earlier, performed the same gestures wordlessly—the way someone else once sat perfectly still in a corner while a voice filled the room with sharp, measured sentences.

Then, the concrete gave way. As the car turned toward the garden walls, the city’s roar muffled into the rustle of rain trees. The sharp office-chill finally succumbed to a private heat, the air turned soft.

They entered a small, secluded cluster of homes. The house sat at the end of a cul-de-sac, hidden behind a high, grey perimeter wall. Prasetyo gave a short honk.

The gate slid open. A young woman stepped out from the shadow to pull it wide.

The architecture was an efficient L-shape. A turquoise pool separated the living quarters from the service annex. Tucked into the patio’s edge was a glass-walled gym.

Prasetyo pulled into the driveway, the tires crunching over white gravel. Maya climbed out, hand still keeping the blazer tight.

“Terima kasih ya, Pak Pras,” she said softly.

“Sama-sama, Non,” he replied, his eyes remaining on the rearview mirror until she turned away.

Maya headed toward the front door. Once inside, the heavy click of the lock signaled her return. Outside, the Alphard pulled away toward the main Hardjawiguna compound.

The foyer met her with a wall of still, controlled air. The space smelled of nothing but clean stone and the faint, purified air. Maya stopped and unbuttoned the buttons of her blouse as the air hit her skin.

​”Sita, tunggu sebentar.”

The shadow of the garden gate dappled Laksita’s shoulders as she approached. Her smooth olive skin caught the faint evening light.

Maya didn’t look. She peeled the cover back, the lining making a sticky sound as it pulled away from the damp silk of the blouse.

She stood still. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, deep rhythm. Without the constriction, the droplets moved, tracking down the curve of her ribs.

She gathered the white silk into a bundle and held it out. Her hands brushed Sita’s.

​”Tolong langsung dicuci ya, Sita.”

Sita’s fingers hesitated as her cheeks warmed faintly.

​”Baik, Nyah. La… langsung Sita cuci sekarang,” the girl murmured unsteadily, her eyes fixed on the bundle in her hands a second longer.

Maya let her arms hang at her sides. “Thanks, Sita.”

Sita lingered for a split second, her eyes catching the path of the droplets, before she turned away.

A wry smile tugged at Maya’s lips as she stood for a moment, letting the humid air hit her bare skin. She took two slow steps past the foyer arch, bare feet whispering on stone.

“The cover didn’t even make it past the foyer,” a voice drifted from the patio, across the living area.

Maya glanced at the girl standing in the afternoon light. Kaelea was a sharp blend of her mother’s features. She stood relaxed, watching with detached interest.

“The shirt was ruined anyway,” Maya said. She wiped a stray droplet from her ribcage with the back of her hand.

“Ruined is an understatement,” Kae said dryly, her bare feet silent on the tiles. She tilted her head. “Your body is a terrible liar, Ma.”

Maya looked her daughter up and down. “You’re one to talk. Look at yourself.”

Kae gave a tiny, indifferent shrug. “Threads are a burden, Ma.”

Maya let out a short, tired laugh. “Two peas in a pod,” she muttered.

“Mommy! Kenapa pulang cepat?” A voice from the second girl drifted into the room. Ranaia was the sun to Kae’s moon. Her petite, developing frame glowed in the late light.

“Three peas now,” Kae sighed.

Maya chuckled. Naia stopped, looking between the two of them, her brow furrowing. “Three of what? Apaan sih? What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, Adik,” Kae remarked, reaching out to poke Naia’s shoulder. “Go back to being a veggie.”

“Ih! Apa sih, Kak! Don’t call me a veggie!” Naia grumbled, swatting Kae’s hand away with a pout.

Naia’s gaze dropped to her mother’s chest. Her eyes widened. “Mommy, look! You’re leaking. Like—literally like a faucet.”

Maya leaned toward her, a glint returning. “What? Do you want some?”

Naia skipped backward, giggling. “Ih! Mom! No! I’m not a baby!”

​Maya smirked. “Are you sure? Yours are still so shy. How are they ever going to grow without a refill?”

​”Mommy! That’s so mean!” Naia covered her chest with her hands, face flushing red. “Kae! Help! Mom’s being a freak!” Naia scurried behind her sister.

Kae watched them with detached amusement. “Can’t handle it, put on a hoodie.”

“Never!” Naia stuck her tongue out. “But seriously, Mommy, go shower.”

Maya smiled. “Fine. I’m going.”

Kae handed her a glass. Maya took a long sip, letting the cold water cut through the humid weight. A single drop of water struck the granite. A shadow crossed the floor followed by the muffled click of a door.

She turned toward the hallway and caught her reflection in the tall wall mirror beside the living room arch. Bare skin still damp, arms loose at her sides, posture straight but unresisting.

Maya silently smiled, looking back at herself. Something older seemed to echo faintly behind the glass: a room, a voice delivering sentences in measured clips, and one figure seated motionless, saying nothing.

Outside, the blue hour had faded into a dull, heavy grey. She turned away, leaving the mirror to hold the silhouette of the expensive silence alone. Tomorrow, perhaps, the rest will surface.