The headquarters of PT Aditya Kreasi was always bustling at nine in the morning, but there was one desk in the corner of the fifth floor that drew the attention of nearly everyone there—the desk belonging to Nara.
“Nara, is the Q3 report done? The client wants it expedited,” a coworker called from behind the cubicle partition.
“It’s been done since yesterday afternoon. It just needs to be sent,” Nara replied without looking up, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
Several heads turned, impressed. Nara was known as one of the youngest managers in her division—efficient, unflappable under pressure, and always the first person people sought out when an emergency came up. No wonder so many people called her “the most dependable person on the fifth floor.”
Among those who admired her was Rifana, Nara’s colleague in the same division for the past two years. She wasn’t much of a talker, but she was remarkably observant, always catching the little details everyone else overlooked.
“Na, are you okay?” Rifana asked as she set a coffee on Nara’s desk, studying her colleague’s paler-than-usual face.
“I’m fine, just didn’t get enough sleep,” Nara answered quickly, her smile slightly forced. “Thanks for the coffee.”
Rifana nodded, though she made a mental note of it. This wasn’t the first time. Last week, she’d seen Nara hurry out during lunch, only to return forty minutes later looking more exhausted than when she’d left. Whenever asked, her answer was always the same: “Just a personal matter.”
That afternoon, Nara sat alone in the cafeteria, staring at a bowl of soup she had barely touched. Nausea had suddenly stolen her appetite that morning.
Her phone vibrated. A message from Arka.
Arka: “Have you eaten lunch? Don’t forget to eat, Na.”
Nara smiled faintly and quickly typed a reply.
Nara: “I have. I’m eating right now. You don’t forget either, okay?”
The little lie felt easier to tell each time—whether because she was used to it by now, or because she was too tired to feel guilty.
The pain in her lower back returned, sharper this time. Nara drew a deep breath until it eased, then smiled again at the coworkers passing by and greeting her.
From the table across the room, Rifana watched in silence.
That afternoon, Rifana stopped by the HR office and made small talk with a staff member she was fairly close to.
“Hey, did you know Nara’s been asking for time off to go to the hospital a lot lately?” the HR staffer asked while straightening a stack of documents.
“Not the office clinic. She’s gone two or three times this month, and she’s usually gone for a while—two or three hours.”
Rifana paused mid-step. “What hospital?”
“I don’t know either. She just writes ‘personal matter’ on her leave form.” The HR staffer shrugged. “But it doesn’t seem like anything minor.”
Rifana nodded slowly, her thoughts drifting to Nara’s pale face that morning, to the nearly untouched soup in the cafeteria. She didn’t know what was really happening. But she was certain of one thing: whatever it was, Nara was trying desperately to hide it from everyone—including the people closest to her.
That night, after work, Nara sat alone on the sofa in her apartment, one hand pressing against her aching lower back. She stared at her phone screen, rereading the hospital’s reminder about her follow-up appointment—the appointment she had already rescheduled twice that week.
Just a little longer, she told herself, reassuring herself as usual. Once I get through this week, everything will calm down.
She didn’t know that she had said those words countless times over the past few months, and each time she said them, the reality she was avoiding drew closer.
To be continued in Chapter 3