The same thing happened to Maya, who was only just realizing how quiet her little house was without Evan.
She had just returned from work and set her bag on a chair, but she did not change clothes right away. Her eyes fell on the small bowl on the table—the bowl Evan usually used when he ate soup. Ever since the boy had left, that simple object had remained there, as if Maya had not truly accepted that the owner of that cheerful voice would not walk through the door at any moment.
She washed the bowl, dried it, and put it back in its usual place.
The next evening, she made far too much soup.
Maya only realized it when the pot was nearly full. Her hand stopped as she reached for a second bowl.
“Why did I make so much?” she murmured.
No one answered.
She poured the soup into a single bowl anyway, then sat alone at the dining table. Usually, Evan would complain that there were too many carrots, blow hurriedly on his soup, and tell her about little things adults considered unimportant.
Maya missed all of it.
She missed the sound of little footsteps running in without knocking. She missed Evan calling her name from the yard. She missed the way the boy would hold her hand as if Maya were the safest place in the world.
But Maya knew exactly who she was.
She was not Evan's mother.
She was not his family.
She did not even have the right to ask the boy to come over whenever she felt lonely.
A child's affection did not automatically give her a place in the Mahardika family.
Maya lowered her face, holding back the ache rising in her chest.
“Don't hope for too much,” she whispered to herself. “You're just someone who happened to help him.”
The next afternoon, while Maya was sweeping the yard, she heard a car engine stop in front of the house.
Her heart immediately began beating faster.
She dropped the broom and hurried toward the door.
“Could that be Evan...?”
The image of the boy had already appeared in her mind—Evan getting out of the car, then running to hug her like he had the night before.
Maya opened the door with a smile she could barely hide.
But the smile slowly faded.
Evan was not the one who got out of the car.
A man around fifty years old stepped out of the front seat. He was wearing a dark butler's uniform, and his calm, neat bearing was instantly familiar to Maya.
“Raka?”
Raka closed the car door, then bowed politely.
“Good evening, Miss Maya.”
Maya tried to hide her disappointment.
“Good evening. Did something happen to Evan?”
“Nothing bad, Miss.”
“Then why are you here?”
Raka studied Maya's face for a moment. He saw the hope that had just gone out in the woman's eyes, but chose not to comment on it.
“Mr. Thomas asked me to pick you up.”
Maya furrowed her brow.
“Pick me up?”
“He wants you to come to the Mahardika family home.”
Maya's heart began pounding again, this time not from disappointment.
“To see Evan?”
“The young master wants to see you.”
“But isn't it too late now?”
“I'm only carrying out the master's order to pick you up now, Miss.”
Maya looked at the car parked in front of her house. The disappointment that had filled her chest was slowly replaced by warmth.
“He knows I'm coming?”
“Not yet. Mr. Thomas wants to surprise you.”
Maya lowered her head for a moment. She should have asked why Thomas was inviting her again. She should have remembered that she was nobody to that family.
But when she imagined Evan's face waiting for her, all those questions suddenly seemed unimportant.
“Give me a moment to get my bag.”
Raka offered a faint smile.
“Of course, Miss.”
Maya turned toward the house. Before going inside, she glanced back at the car one more time.
This time, she did not feel as though the Mahardika family was calling for her.
She felt as though Evan was waiting for her.
And that simple feeling was enough to make her steps feel light.