Laras gazed into the eyes of the man who had become familiar to her over the past few days. She smiled, as if indirectly asking for an answer to whether what she felt was real.
"Thank you so much, sir. This is way too much. Please tell Tami I love her even more now. She really is my soulmate."
Raka turned to her immediately. "Darling, don't exaggerate like that. Just pray for her well-being."
"Sorry, honey. Old habits" Laras said with a shy laugh.
Raka smiled. He knew his wife still had a childish side. Since they started dating a year before getting married, Laras had always been a bit spoiled. With their ten-year age gap, he often felt more like an uncle than a husband — and that only made him love and want to protect her even more.
"I'll be going now," the man in wet clothes said, shivering.
"Oh, right. Thank you, sir. Here, this is for your trouble," Raka said, slipping some money into the man's hand.
"Thank you. I'm leaving now."
Two man shaking hands. Strangely, Laras couldn't smell any musk on him.
That's weird. So he-s not Zahir. Then who was he? she thought.
Her eyes followed the man closely as he walked to his motorcycle and go away.
However, how shocked Laras was when her eyes landed on a sturdy, casually dressed figure getting out of a car across the street. A man whose posture and body language she knew all too well.
"Honey, let's go inside, quick!" Laras said, grabbing Raka's arm and practically dragging him in.
After they came inside, Laras locked the door.
"Why are you locking the door?" Raka asked, confused.
"So no one can just walk in."
Raka frowned. "If someone comes, they'll knock and say salam first. What's going on with you?"
Before she could answer, someone is knocking on the door and greeting from outside. "Assalamu'alaikum."
Laras stood rooted to the spot, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead.
Raka walked to the door and opened it. "Wa'alaikumsalam. Oh, boss! Please, come in!"
Laras peeked from behind the curtain, heart pounding. It wasn't Zahir. It was Raka's young boss.
She let out a shaky breath of relief. But then she heard Zahir's low, husky voice right beside her ear.
"Relax, Jamila! I don't need to be seen to take you."
Laras gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle a scream. Zahir pulled her tight against his chest, his warm breath brushing the shell of her ear as if he were about to whisper something dark and intimate.
"Darling!"
Raka's voice sliced through the air like a blade, and he yanked the curtain aside.
In that split second, Zahir was gone. Vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a lingering chill in his place.
Raka found her standing frozen, eyes blown wide and skin drained of all color, as if she had just stared death in the face.
"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost?" he asked, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her in a comforting embrace.
Once her breathing steadied, Laras found her voice again. "Honey, who was that man just now?"
"That was the young boss," Raka replied, pulling back slightly to look into her eyes, his gaze soft and full of affection. "The owner's son. He's set to take over the company soon. And you know what? Starting tomorrow I'll be switching to day shifts, plus I'm getting a raise and a sizeable bonus."
Relief washed over her face. "Alhamdulillah. That's wonderful news. How did this come about?"
"He wants me to serve as his personal bodyguard during office hours."
"I'm sorry I panicked like that earlier. I was so scared something had happened."
"It's alright, darling. I understand completely."
But their tender moment did not go unwatched.
From the shadows at the far end of the room, Zahir stood motionless, his eyes burning with a jealousy so fierce it felt like it could scorch the air. He let out a snarl of pure rage—a sound so deep and guttural that it shook the very walls.
With a sharp crack, the curtain rod snapped clean in half, sending the heavy fabric crashing to the floor in a heap.
A frigid wind swept through the house, carrying with it a thick, heady scent of musk—rich, cloying, and suffocating. The smell grew stronger by the second, pressing down on their chests like an invisible weight, making every breath feel like a struggle.
Then, thick white smoke began to pour into the room, swirling and spreading until it swallowed everything in sight, blinding Raka and Laras completely.
"A'udzu billahi minash shaitanir rajim. La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah," Raka chanted loudly and firmly, his voice cutting through the darkness.
The words echoed through every corner of the house, and slowly, the smoke began to recede, twisting and fading away as if being forced back by an unseen power. But then came a sound—an earth-shattering boom, like a stone wall collapsing or the ground itself splitting open.
It was so loud it vibrated through their bones, yet when the last wisp of smoke vanished, the room was perfectly intact. Not a single mark, crack, or scratch marred the walls or floor.
"What on earth was that?" Raka muttered, his voice tight with unease. He hurried to check every room—the bedrooms, the kitchen, even the space outside the front door—but found nothing out of place.
Zahir? Are you hurt? Laras called out silently in her mind, her heart twisting with worry as she secretly waited for any sign of a reply.
When Raka returned, shaking his head in confusion, he noticed the sorrowful look shadowing his wife's face.
"Darling? What's wrong?"
Laras forced a small smile, hiding her true feelings behind it. "It's nothing, honey. I just … suddenly have a craving for something sour. Like rujak."
"That's quite sudden. Should I run to the market to get you some?"
"No need. I'll just order fruit rujak online. Besides… my head is starting to spin."
"Then you should lie down. I'll place the order for you."
But before he could finish, Laras's stomach twisted violently. She rushed to the bathroom and fell to her knees, retching until her throat burned and a bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth.
"Darling, maybe we should go see a doctor?" Raka called from outside the door, his voice thick with concern.
"No need, honey," she answered weakly between gasps.
Another round of retching echoed from inside, followed by the sound of running water. Then … silence.
"Darling?"
Knock, knock!
Raka stood in front of the bathroom door, visibly panicked. He had no idea what was happening to his wife. The door remained shut far too long.
A few minutes later, the handle finally turned. Laras stepped out, pale and unsteady. Raka immediately supported her, guiding her gently to the bedroom. She lay down, clutching her stomach, still writhing in pain.
Raka grabbed a bottle of eucalyptus oil and rubbed it onto her temples, neck, and belly.
"Honey, where's the rujak?"
"None of the stalls are open yet. It's still early, darling. We'll have to wait until later."
"I want it now," Laras whined, her voice weak, eyes pleading. "My mouth is watering already."
Seeing her like that, Raka couldn't bear it.
"Fine. I'll go out and buy some fruit. I'll make the rujak myself."
"But I feel so sick. I'm scared I'll get nauseous from the wind. Still… I really crave it."
"Then we'll get the mashed rujak at the end of the alley," Raka suggested, stroking her hair.
"I want fruit rujak, honey."
Raka sighed, clearly torn.
"Alright. I'll go out, and while I'm at it, I'll drop some fish off at my mom's. Will you be okay alone? I'm worried about leaving you."
"I'll ask Mrs. Aminah to keep you company. I'll give her some fish too. We can't finish that much by ourselves."
Laras nodded weakly. "Okay, honey. Sorry I'm being such a burden. I keep feeling nauseous."
Suddenly, she bolted upright and ran back to the bathroom.
Raka followed right behind her and knocked on the door.
"We're going to the doctor right now, darling."
"No need! Just get me the rujak. I'll feel better after that."
"We'll get the rujak after we see the doctor. We need to know what's wrong with you. And after that, we're stopping by the Kyai's house. I don't want those spirits bothering you anymore."
The moment Laras heard those words, fear gripped her. She was torn between agreeing and refusing. She knew Raka was doing this for her safety.