The final few minutes of the drive were a blur. With a quiet hum, Hasan's car finally pulled up beside the idling van outside the studio. Before even stepping out, Anisa saw it all through the window: the van, ready for departure, and Yugh standing with the others nearby, his posture unreadable. 🚘
Hasan emerged first, the picture of chivalry. He circled the car to open her door, offering his hand. As she took it, he leaned in, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. "My lovely wifey, I'm going to feel so lost without you. Please be careful and come back soon."
"Okay, Hasan. You stay out of trouble too," she replied, offering him a gentle, practiced smile. 😊
He didn't linger. Efficiently, he retrieved her bags from his trunk and loaded them into the van's rear. As the group began to board, he pulled Anisa into a brief, possessive embrace, his lips brushing against her temple in a farewell kiss. From his seat inside the van, Yugh watched the gesture. A sharp, inexplicable pain tightened in his chest, a reaction that confused him more than anyone.
After Hasan drove off with a final wave, Anisa climbed into the van. The only available seat was the one next to Yugh. She settled in, the space between them suddenly charged with an unspoken tension. 👋
"So, Hasan dropped you off?" Yugh asked, his voice carrying a fractured tone he couldn't quite control.
"Ah, yes. He said he'd be lonely without me," she answered, her voice unnervingly calm.😬
A heavy silence descended, filling the van for the remainder of the long journey. One by one, fatigue overcame the passengers. Heads lolled against windows, and soft breaths of sleep replaced conversation. At one point, Anisa, deep in sleep, slumped gently, her head coming to rest against Yugh's shoulder.
He didn't move. He sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead, acutely aware of the warm weight against him. His mind spiraled, not with comfort, but with a jarring, intrusive question: Why does her presence, or her absence,affect me like this? 🙃
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Meanwhile ; Hasan didn't head home. Instead, he pulled over at a bar he frequented. Though officially on duty today, he had deliberately swapped his flight roster with a fellow pilot friend, clearing his schedule just to see Anisa off. Now, with his "wifey" securely en route and his obligations conveniently deferred, he pushed through the bar's door.
The dim interior welcomed him. Taking a secluded stool, he ordered a drink. As the first sip burned a familiar path down his throat, his thoughts, unfettered, began to chart their own course. He contemplated the days ahead, the freedom now his, and the intricate web of his own forward plans. One drink turned into several, each glass fueling the quiet, strategic fire of his intentions. 🥃