The sound of trickling water from the bathroom had just faded, replaced by Ion's high-pitched shrieks as he jumped up and down on the bed. The T-shirt Ales was wearing was already soaked across the chest—the side effect of a small-scale world war involving bathing a two-year-old with limitless energy.
"Ion, hold still for a second. Your left arm isn't in the sleeve yet, buddy," Ales scolded as he tried to restrain the tiny body that kept writhing like an eel.
"Done! Bird shirt! Wanna see Auntie Yaya!" Ion cheered once the cartoon T-shirt was on perfectly. Without a hint of guilt, he immediately ran out of the bedroom toward the living room, leaving his dad slumped weakly on the edge of the bed.
Ales roughly wiped his face and let out a few short, labored breaths. His face and appearance probably did look exactly like a crumpled chamois cloth right now—just like Lyra had said during their video call a few minutes ago.
The phone in his hand felt cold. The screen that had displayed Lyra's face and smile a moment ago had gone dark again. Ales stared silently at the reflection on the screen, then quietly chuckled to himself.
Lyra...
Even from far away and only through a tiny phone screen, that girl always had an unexpected way of taming Ion—and cooling down Ales's head when it felt like it was about to split open.
Ales lay back on the bed for a moment, staring at the empty bedroom ceiling. Remembering Lyra's gentle scolding over the phone earlier, Ales's thoughts suddenly flew back several years.
Back when Ales decided to marry Nia, his relationship with Lyra naturally grew more distant. It wasn't because they had become enemies; Lyra understood boundaries and deeply respected his married life. Even when they met, it was usually only occasionally, when the three of them spent time together with his late wife. At the time, Ales was completely focused on building his little family.
Then fate struck him without mercy. Nia's death while giving birth to Ion made Ales's world collapse in an instant. For nearly an entire year, Ales withdrew from his social circle. He shut himself away in his grief, focusing completely on his loss, to the point that he rarely replied to his friends' messages—including Lyra's.
It was only after Ion turned one and started running around everywhere that Ales realized his life had to keep moving for the sake of his only child. When Ales slowly began opening up again and became overwhelmed trying to manage projects while caring for a toddler alone, Lyra came back into his life. Not to interfere, but as an old friend who wordlessly reached out a hand whenever Ales was struggling.
Lyra really is the most precious friend I've ever had, Ales thought.
To Ales, Lyra's presence was the main thing that saved him from the stress of being a single dad. He didn't think about anything strange like romantic feelings—not to mention that, in his eyes, Lyra was the fierce marriage-idea rejector he'd known since they wore white-and-gray school uniforms.
"Dad! Hungry!" Ion's shrill voice from the front room snapped Ales out of his thoughts.
Ales stood up, patted down his pants, and flashed a faint smile.
"Yeah, buddy! Hang on, Dad'll get your porridge!" Ales shouted back.
Mbok Nah—the household helper who usually helped take care of Ion—had asked permission to step out briefly to the market in front of the residential complex to buy ingredients for the day's vegetables. So Ales was entirely responsible for feeding Ion that afternoon.
As he headed to the kitchen to get Ion's bowl of porridge, Ales picked up his phone and typed a short message to Lyra.
Ales: The little guy's clean and ready to eat his porridge without a meltdown. Thanks, Ra. If you wanna come over this afternoon, let me know. I'll order your favorite food.
The message sent, Ales carried the warm bowl of porridge into the living room and seated Ion in his high chair. But just as Ales was about to feed him the first spoonful, a rapid series of message chimes rang loudly from his laptop, which was open on the table.
A message from Mr. Handoko—the pickiest interior-design client—came in.
Mr. Handoko: Ales, please change the living room floor plan and layout. My wife suddenly wants an open-concept design. Send the revision before five this afternoon. I want to show it to the contractor.
Ales glanced at the wall clock. It was a little after three!
"Oh, come on, sir... could you give me a second to breathe?" Ales muttered in frustration.
Panicking as a deadline only two hours away loomed over him, Ales set the bowl of porridge beside the laptop. His fingers began flying across the keyboard to revise the project draft while his other hand tried to feed Ion.
CRASH!
"DAD! BIRD!"
Ion suddenly jumped excitedly in his chair and accidentally knocked Ales's hand aside. Within seconds, the thick, warm rice porridge spilled everywhere. It drenched Ales's laptop keyboard, his jeans, and splattered across the floor!
Bzzzt... Zzzzt! Green lines suddenly streaked across Ales's laptop screen before it went completely dead.
"Oh my God! My laptop!" Ales cried in sheer panic. He hadn't even had a chance to save the revised draft!
Startled by his dad's instinctive shout, Ion's face crumpled.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! DADDY'S MEAN!" Ion burst into tears, his wails echoing throughout the house.
"Ion, oh, no... buddy, Dad's not mad—hold on!" Ales scrambled.
His left hand tried to wipe porridge off the laptop with whatever tissues he could find, while his right arm carried the struggling, sobbing Ion. Meanwhile, his own pant leg felt sticky and hot.
The house had officially become a disaster zone. Ales sat limply on the floor, hugging the hysterically crying Ion while staring at his completely dead laptop, utterly exhausted.
In the middle of the chaos, the phone in Ales's pants pocket vibrated. A reply from Lyra came in:
Lyra: You'd better not be lying. I want an extra-meat egg martabak this afternoon! BTW, you and the little guy are okay, right? Don't give yourselves high blood pressure, Daddy Ales. ☺
Ales stared at his phone screen, lightly speckled with porridge, then laughed hollowly between ragged breaths.
"How am I supposed to breathe, Ra... this house looks like it just got attacked by the Fire Nation," Ales muttered helplessly, hugging Ion tightly while rubbing his son's back as he continued to sob.
This afternoon. Yeah, Ales just had to hold on a little longer until Lyra arrived.
The house, which had been filled with crying and the savory aroma of baby porridge, gradually quieted down. The wall clock showed five in the afternoon. The fishy smell of broth spilled on the carpet still lingered faintly, but at least the signs of disaster around the dining table had been cleaned up. Ales's precious laptop now lay helplessly on the table, wrapped in a dry dish towel, its screen still cold and silent.
In the bedroom, Ion had finally fallen deeply asleep on the bed, exhausted after his hysterical crying fit. The little boy's breathing was soft and steady. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Ales gently stroked his only child's head and let out a long breath. His exhausted face was faintly reflected in the bedroom window, which was beginning to fill with the dim colors of evening.
"Ales... Mbok Nah's going home now, okay? It's already five," Mbok Nah's soft voice came from behind the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. "I've cleaned up all the porridge on the table and floor. Hang in there, Ales..."
Ales turned and forced a faint smile. "Yeah, Mbok. Thanks so much for helping out. Be careful on your way home."
"Remember to eat your food later, Ales. Your face is awfully pale," Mbok Nah said worriedly before finally walking out and locking the front gate.
As soon as Mbok Nah's footsteps faded away, silence suddenly seized every corner of the house. Ales leaned his back against the bedroom wall and squeezed his eyes shut. Loneliness and wave after wave of pressure suddenly crushed his chest. The deadline for Mr. Handoko's revision was definitely blown, his completely dead laptop had taken all his work drafts—and his livelihood—with it, the egg martabak he'd ordered for Lyra would probably arrive any minute, and his own body had completely run out of energy.
Ales felt like he was at his lowest point of the day.
DING-DONG... DING-DONG...
The sharp chime of the front doorbell suddenly shattered the silence.
Ales slowly opened his eyes. He glanced at the wall clock—it was a quarter past five. Lyra was here. With what little strength he had left, Ales dragged himself to the front door and turned the lock.
The door opened. In the fading glow of the afternoon sunlight on the porch, Lyra stood there with a wide smile. Her left hand was tucked into her jacket pocket, while her right held a bright blue wooden bird whistle.
"Afternoon, Daddy Ales! Where's the little guy? I brought him a bird—"
Lyra's sentence stopped short. The smile on her face evaporated within seconds.
Her eyes moved quickly, catching the fishy smell of porridge still hanging in the air, taking in Ales's wet, stained T-shirt and his friend's corpse-pale face. Finally... Lyra's gaze stopped on the laptop on the dining table, wrapped in a dry dish towel.
Lyra put the wooden toy in her bag. Her expression changed drastically—not panic, exactly, but more like annoyance mixed with concern.
"What happened now?" Lyra asked.
Before Ales could answer, she stepped inside, walked straight past him, and stared at the dead laptop for several seconds. Without touching it, Lyra turned around and looked directly into Ales's dull eyes with an inquisitive expression.
Ales let out a broken breath. "It... Ion's porridge spilled. It got all over my laptop and killed it, Ra. I didn't have a chance to save Mr. Handoko's revision..." he answered, looking exhausted and pathetic.
Seeing her friend's pale, pleading face, Lyra's exasperation slowly faded, replaced by pity. She pulled the phone from her jacket pocket.
"Here, sit on the sofa first," Lyra cut in as she began typing on her phone. "You look like a boiled chicken. I'll find someone who can fix your laptop tonight."
Lyra stopped typing and looked back at her friend's face. "By the way, don't you know anyone who can service laptops?" she asked, puzzled. Ales had a pretty wide network.
Ales froze for a moment. Why hadn't he thought of that? Scratching his head even though it didn't actually itch, Ales grinned at Lyra as he remembered what he should have done from the start.
"Heh, yeah, you're right," Ales said with an awkward grin. His pleading expression suddenly turned a little ridiculous as he realized how stupid he'd been from panicking too much. "I... I seriously forgot, Ra. My brain's been completely jammed this whole time."
Lyra could only let out a long sigh and roll her eyes, her annoyed expression returning. "Typical. Panic first, think later," Lyra said casually. "Come on, contact that friend of yours now."
Ales hurriedly pulled his phone from his pants pocket. But just as his fingers touched the screen, a message notification from Mr. Handoko suddenly appeared:
[Mr. Handoko]: "Ales, I still haven't received the revised draft. I'll wait until seven tonight. After that, I'll have no choice but to reassign the project."
Ales suddenly went rigid. His eyes widened at the phone screen, his breath seeming to catch. Two hours. He had only two hours left before everything fell apart.
Noticing Ales's face turn corpse-pale again, Lyra immediately moved closer and glanced at his phone screen.
"What is it now, Les?" Lyra asked, confused.
Ales slowly turned to her, looking utterly resigned and panicked. "Ra... I only have two hours before this project officially gets canceled..."
Lyra stared at Ales's phone screen for a moment, then looked back at him with a faint smile that suddenly became difficult to read.
"Two hours, huh?" Lyra murmured calmly as she straightened her jacket sleeve. "That means we don't have time to panic. So, are you going to follow my crazy plan, or are you going to let your project disappear?"
To Be Continued!
Don't forget to like and comment! 😊❤️