Chapter 9 – The Girl in the Photograph
Chapter 9 – The Girl in the Photograph
Chapter 9 – The Girl in the Photograph
The morning after Reyhan showed up at her door, Nadira awoke to the smell of coffee.
It took her a moment to remember: he was still there.
Not in her bed. But in her living room—curled awkwardly on her sofa in half-sleep, one arm draped over his chest, his black dress shirt wrinkled and untucked.
He looked… human.
Not like the cold CEO who made executives stammer. Not the intimidating boss who owned every room.
Just Reyhan.
And that was far more dangerous.
\---
7:03 a.m. – Nadira’s Apartment
She handed him a mug of coffee and sat across from him, legs crossed beneath her robe. The morning light slipped in through her thin curtains, softening the edges of his sharp face. He looked younger like this, vulnerable even, though his eyes never lost their restless watchfulness.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“Didn’t want to.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I don’t want to miss the part where you finally let me in.”
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. She looked down, trying to hide the way her heart thudded, fingers tightening on the porcelain cup as though it could anchor her.
“I’m not good at this,” she murmured, almost to herself.
“Neither am I,” he admitted quietly, his voice stripped of the arrogance it usually carried. It was almost… gentle.
There was a beat of silence, the kind that hummed between them, filled with everything left unsaid. Then, without warning, she rose and walked to her bookshelf. After a few seconds of quiet searching, she pulled out a small leather-bound journal.
She handed it to him wordlessly.
He opened it slowly, cautious, as if afraid of what he might find inside.
Inside was a faded photograph.
A girl, maybe eight years old. Wearing oversized glasses, her hair in two uneven braids. Standing next to a boy—skinny, scowling, arms crossed like the world owed him something.
Them.
His breath caught.
“This was…?”
“Yes,” Nadira whispered. “That was the day before you were adopted.”
He looked up, searching her face. “You kept this?”
“I kept you,” she said. “Even when I didn’t know if you were real or a dream.”
Her throat tightened as she turned away, voice trembling. “After you left the orphanage, everything fell apart. The caretaker changed. Some girls were moved around. One of them tried to run away. I stopped smiling for a long time.”
Reyhan stood, slowly crossing the room to her. His shoes barely made a sound against the wooden floor.
“You stopped smiling because of me?”
“I stopped smiling because I lost my best friend.”
He touched her shoulder gently, hesitant, like testing whether she’d let him.
“You didn’t lose me.”
“I thought I did,” she said. “And then I saw your name in Forbes Indonesia five years ago. And I knew. I knew it was you.”
He turned her around.
Their eyes met.
No noise. No walls.
Just truth.
\---
Moments Later
He kissed her.
Not with urgency—but reverence.
His hands cupped her face like she was something fragile. Precious.
And for once, Nadira let go of the weight she'd carried for so long. Let him kiss her like she was wanted. Let herself believe she was.
The kiss deepened slowly, as though neither of them wanted to break the spell. His thumb brushed her cheek, steady and grounding, while her hands moved hesitantly to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath the rumpled shirt.
Their bodies moved in sync, slow and natural—his breath against her skin, her hands tracing the planes of his back as the distance between them faded completely. Each touch was both a question and an answer, a reminder and a promise.
And when they lay together after, tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest and his hand in her hair, it didn’t feel rushed.
It felt right.
For the first time in years, Nadira allowed herself to simply exist in someone’s arms—no defenses, no masks, no orphan girl carrying secrets too heavy for her age. Just a woman, wanted by the boy she once knew, now the man who had never truly left her heart.
\---
Later That Day – Reyhan’s Office
He sat alone after she left for a brief meeting with HR, holding the small photograph she'd given back to him.
He traced the edge of it with his thumb, remembering things he'd tried to forget:
The cracked tile floors of the orphanage.
The smell of rain through broken windows.
The sound of her laugh when she caught him stealing biscuits.
And the ache in his chest the day he left—when she didn’t cry, just handed him a yellow candy and whispered, “Don’t forget me.”
He didn’t.
He never had.
He leaned back in his chair, the skyline of Jakarta stretching endlessly behind the glass wall, but his eyes weren’t on the city. They were stuck in the past—on the promise he never spoke, but somehow, she had always carried for him.
\---
Meanwhile – A New Message Arrives
Back in Nadira’s inbox, a new email blinked at the top of her screen.
From: Lestari Foundation Jakarta
Subject: Inquiry Regarding Your Family File – Confidential
Her hand hovered over the mouse.
Then she clicked.
> “Dear Miss Salma,
We’ve received your request regarding the sealed identity of your biological father. We’ve confirmed a match. He resides in Jakarta and is connected to a prominent business network.
Are you prepared to proceed with direct contact?”
Her breath caught.
Prominent business network?
Was that…?
No. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Reyhan
.
\[Dinner at mine tonight. No pressure. Just you and me.\]
She stared at the screen.
Because now, everything—everything—was about to get more complicated.