The moment I stepped into the boutique, Indah walked straight toward me. Her expression was far more serious than usual.
"Sil," she said quietly, leaning closer, "the boss asked you to come to her office."
My chest tightened instantly.
"When?" I asked.
"In thirty minutes."
My heart began to beat unevenly.
"Do you think it's about something?" I asked carefully.
Indah inhaled. "I don't want to scare you—but it could be about you and Al."
Cold spread through my fingers as I reached for her hand.
"If it is… what do I do?" My voice shook. "I'm scared, In."
Indah squeezed my hand. "Be honest. Don't attack. Don't defend yourself too much. And don't run."
I nodded.
"Should I tell Al?"
"Not yet," she said quickly. "We don't know where this is going."
Deep down, I already knew.
This had nothing to do with work.
Thirty minutes passed far too quickly.
I stood in front of the office door, steadying my breath before knocking.
"Come in."
The room felt colder than usual.
"Good morning, Ma'am."
"Good morning, Mbak Silvi. Please sit."
I obeyed.
Her gaze was calm—but measured.
"Do you know why I asked you to come?"
"No, Ma'am."
"How long have you known Al?"
The question struck directly.
"Not very long."
"You know his age?"
"Yes."
Mrs. Sofie took a slow breath.
"I apologize if this feels uncomfortable," she said gently. "But I've heard that you've grown close to my son. Is that true?"
I nodded.
"As his parent," she continued, "I need to ask you to keep your distance from him. He's still in school. We have expectations for his future."
I lowered my gaze.
"You are… very different," she said carefully. "Not only in age. You've also been married before."
The words landed precisely where old wounds still lived.
"I'm afraid this closeness is only a phase," she went on. "And when it passes, the one who will be most hurt… will be you."
I drew in a slow breath.
"I understand, Ma'am."
I didn't argue.
I didn't defend myself.
"I know you are a good woman," she added after a moment. "But for Al… you are not the right choice."
That was enough.
I stood. "If that is all, please excuse me."
She nodded slowly. "Thank you for understanding."
I left the office with steady steps.
The moment Indah saw my face, she knew.
"Sil…?"
I shook my head. Words refused to come.
I returned to work, but my hands moved without thought. It felt as if part of me had been left behind in that room.
Sudden nausea rose.
I rushed to the restroom and locked myself inside.
Standing in front of the mirror, I focused on breathing—slow, controlled—until my chest loosened.
Should I step back now,
before this becomes something I can't survive again?
I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling my heartbeat struggle to find a steady rhythm. I had survived once by walking away, by choosing silence over confrontation. Back then, leaving had saved me.
But this felt different.
This time, stepping back didn't feel like strength.
It felt like fear disguised as wisdom.
And I didn't know which one I was allowed to choose anymore.
When I stepped into the corridor, a voice called my name.
"Silvi."
I stopped.
Ammar stood a short distance away. Concern was written plainly across his face.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
I avoided his gaze. "Nothing."
"You look pale."
"I'm just tired."
"I was going to ask you to have lunch with me," he said gently.
"Later," I replied too quickly. "Wait for me outside."
I walked past him before he could ask more.
Behind me, Ammar remained still.
Something had shifted.
He could feel it in the way she avoided his eyes, in the distance she created without saying a word. It wasn't rejection—but it wasn't trust either.
For the first time, Ammar understood that loving someone didn't only mean moving forward.
Sometimes, it meant standing still—
while everything inside you begged to run.
He returned to the boutique, looking for me.
He didn't find me.
"Mbak Indah," he said quietly, "what's wrong with Mbak Silvi?"
Indah hesitated. "You should talk to her directly."
Ammar nodded once.
Then he turned and walked toward his mother's office.
"Assalamu'alaikum, Ma."
"Wa'alaikumsalam," Mrs. Sofie replied. "What brings you here?"
"I have a lunch appointment."
"With whom?"
Ammar smiled faintly. "Someone important."
Silence fell.
"Ma," he continued calmly, "I'm serious about my choice."
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
Mrs. Sofie didn't respond.
After Ammar left, she remained seated for a long time.
She remembered the nights when her son burned with fever, whispering the same name over and over—
Silvi.
Her son looked more alive now.
And that was exactly what frightened her.
Because love had a way of making people brave.
And bravery often led to loss.