At seven o'clock that evening, the aroma of sautéed garlic filled Nara's small apartment. Nara stood in front of the stove, her hair tied up messily, smiling faintly when the doorbell rang—a sound whose rhythm she knew by heart.
"I brought something for you," Arka called from the door.
"What is it? You only had a meeting at the office next door," Nara replied without turning around.
Nara opened the door and smiled when she saw Arka standing there with a bag of her favorite chocolate bread. "I passed by and thought of you."
Nara turned to him with a wide smile. "You think about me so easily, huh?"
"That's your own fault. You're too easy to miss," Arka shot back, brushing a quick kiss over the top of Nara's head before setting the bag of bread on the dining table. They had been together for five years, and even moments this small still felt like home to him.
They ate dinner while talking about little things—their weekend plans, office gossip, and even the cat video Rifana had sent to Nara's office group chat. Everything felt ordinary. Safe.
"I already booked a place to check out the wedding venue next month," he said, his eyes sparkling like a child hiding a surprise. "Mom's also been asking around about an auspicious date."
There was a split-second pause before Nara smiled and reached for Arka's hand across the table.
"That soon?"
"We've already waited five years, Na. Why wait any longer?" Arka squeezed Nara's fingers tightly. "I want to hurry up and officially become your husband. That way, I'll have a legitimate reason to worry too much whenever you're late for lunch."
Nara let out a small laugh, though something was held back behind it.
"You've always worried too much. You don't need to get married first," she said, deflecting.
"Well, that's because you're stubborn. You keep saying, 'I'm fine,' even when your face is pale." Arka frowned as he remembered Nara coughing for days while refusing to see a doctor. "Like the other day—you said you were coming down with something, but you slept until ten in the morning."
"I was coming down with something, Arka." Nara took a sip of water, a little too quickly. "You're the one being dramatic."
"Okay, okay." Arka raised his hands in surrender. "But promise me that if anything's wrong, you'll tell me. I don't need you to always be strong, Na. I just need you to be honest."
The words were simple and sincere. But somehow, they felt like a new weight pressing against Nara's chest.
If I tell you the truth, you won't be able to focus on work anymore. I don't want to be the reason you stop being yourself, Nara thought.
She only nodded and smiled, steering the conversation toward the wedding invitations.
Around nine that night, Arka said goodbye and headed home as usual—giving Nara a quick kiss on the forehead by the door before walking toward his car parked downstairs.
"Let me know when you get home," Nara called, waving from the doorway.
"Yes, my future wife. Get plenty of rest, and don't stay up late," Arka replied with a smile and a wink before finally disappearing behind the elevator doors.
Nara closed the door, locked it, and walked back into the living room, which now felt much quieter without Arka there. She sat on the sofa for a moment, one hand secretly pressing against her aching waist—the pain had been coming and going for the past few months, and she always convinced herself it was "just work fatigue."
She slowly got up and headed for the bathroom. In front of the mirror, she stared at her own face—the face that would once again break into a bright smile at the office tomorrow morning, convincing everyone that she was fine, that her life was at the happiest point it had ever been.
Her phone vibrated. A hospital notification: Reminder: your follow-up appointment is tomorrow at 9:00 a.m.
Nara deleted the notification as quickly as possible, as if doing so could erase the reality behind it from her life as well.
She looked at her reflection one more time and let out a long sigh.
"It's okay. You can do this on your own," she whispered softly to her reflection.
The sentence had become a mantra she repeated far too often—a sentence that, without her realizing it, slowly began to crack a little more each time she said it.
To be continued in Chapter 2