Chapter 2: Familiar Strangers
To say our dates were awkward would be my perspective—he seemed perfectly at ease. He always wore a nice smile that somehow stirred something deep in me. There were the little gestures: holding hands as we walked, taking my heavy tote bag without asking, making sure our conversations never dried up. He talked about his work, his colleagues, and the endless stress of his projects. But he told it all with warmth, with that same gentle smile.
Maybe it's true—I'm easy. He had me in just a few dates.
Unlike me, he was a people person—humble, social, and charming without effort. At the hotel where he stayed, he already knew the names of half the staff. I later found out he had a membership card with a global five-star hotel chain. "For convenience," he said, "and for the discounts."
He was in town mostly for a business project—a collaboration between his company and a major holding group in my country. I knew he'd been visiting for years, sometimes staying three or four months at a time. And yet, we'd never met in person before.
My own life was quiet, scheduled. My office was in the heart of Jakarta's CBD, while my home lay in the quieter suburbs. I commuted by metro, grateful to avoid the choking traffic. My job was semi-freelance, and I only needed to go into the office three times a week—sometimes on Saturdays. It let me structure my days around yoga and pilates, both covered by my company.
He, on the other hand, lived by a rigid schedule. He was busy, and I respected that. I liked him, but I never wanted to interfere with his flow. I preferred solitude anyway.
Then came a message one morning:
"Sayang, do you think we can meet and maybe have dinner together?"
"When?" I asked.
"Are you in the office today?" he replied. He knew I wasn't always in.
"I have meetings until the afternoon. We can have dinner tonight, but I'll need to shower first—I've got yoga after work."
"You can wash up here, sayang. What time is your class done?"
"6:15. I'll walk to the Marriott. Is that okay?"
"Sure. Let me know when you're finished, okay, sayang?"
I messaged him after work, walking with my tote bag. He said he was stepping out but would be back at the hotel shortly, and asked me to wait in the lobby if he wasn't there yet.
As it turned out, we arrived at the Marriott at the same time. I saw his smile across the entrance, and for a moment, his eyes twinkled in a way that felt oddly familiar. He took the heavy bag from my shoulder without a word and led me up to his suite.
It wasn't my first time there, so I slipped off my shoes and placed them neatly next to his. Even at a glance, you could tell he had some OCD tendencies—his shoes were aligned with perfect precision.
"Sayang, be my guest," he said, motioning toward the bedroom. "The bathroom's ready. Use anything you want. I'll call room service for our dinner."
I tried to mask my nerves. Usually, we dined downstairs in the hotel restaurant or had coffee at the café. So tonight, he wasn't planning on leaving the suite?
The question hung in the air as I showered. The warm water felt good after a long day, especially after yoga. I changed into a crop top and a skirt.
When I stepped out, the food was already set up at the small dining table. We ate while chatting about everything and nothing, letting conversation fill the quiet spaces. Afterward, he asked me to sit beside him while we watched TV.
We ended up watching a National Geographic documentary on ocean rescues. At some point, he pulled me gently toward him, guiding me to sit on his lap.
To my own surprise, I didn't feel nervous at all. His touch felt natural—comforting, even. I let my body lean into his, feeling his warmth as he wrapped his arms around me. He brushed his lips lightly against my shoulder, teasing and gentle. My body relaxed with his.
Then he turned me to face him. Still sitting on the sofa, I found myself with my legs wrapped around his waist. I looked into his face. Our eyes met.
In that moment, I saw his light brown eyes up close, framed by long lashes. They smiled at me—soft, fond.
"I like him," a voice whispered inside my head.
He cupped the back of my neck and kissed me softly. I closed my eyes instinctively.
"Babe… look at me," he said.
His voice was quiet, tender.
I opened my eyes and met his gaze again. My cheeks grew warm, and he chuckled, pulling me closer still.
We kissed again, deeper this time. And I could've sworn—for just a moment—I saw something flicker in his gaze. A light. A misty forest. Something older than this moment.
He stood, still holding me, and carried me to the bedroom, one hand pressing against the small of my back, the other cupping me gently. He laid me down softly on the bed, deepening the kiss with care.
I've never thought of myself as a good kisser. But just as I began to lose my breath, he shifted—kissing my cheek, the tender spot behind my jaw, my neck, my shoulder, the curve of my shoulder blade.
I don't know when my crop top landed on the ottoman. All I remember was how his lips moved with patience—teasing, tasting, worshipping. My body filled with his kisses, each one unraveling me gently, pulling something ancient to the surface.