The flash of the journalists' cameras dazzled Aruna's eyes even from the corner of the room where she stood. Valerie was still flashing her most perfect smile onstage, hugging the gold-trimmed luxurious hardcover as though the manuscript had been born from her own sweat and tears.
"Every word in this manuscript is part of my search for the meaning of sincerity," Valerie said gracefully into the microphone.
Aruna lowered her head, staring at her fingers, scraped raw from rubbing against the edge of a wooden table. In the fifth line of Chapter Three, Aruna had written the phrase, "Forced sincerity is merely another form of self-betrayal." A sentence she had typed while fighting sleep at three in the morning, accompanied by the tinkling of rainwater leaking through the roof of her room. Valerie had even complained that the sentence was too heavy for teenage readers. Now that same sentence was being sold on a luxurious stage as the influencer's golden insight.
The press of the crowd shoved Aruna backward until her back struck a cold marble pillar. From her hiding place, she saw Rangga Dewantara walk toward the main stage.
The man moved without haste. The black suit wrapped around his tall frame radiated a cold, untouchable air. The sample book in his left hand was slightly folded at page twenty—the section where Aruna had described a man who viewed the world with quiet cynicism.
Aruna held her breath as Rangga stopped directly in front of Valerie's manuscript-signing table.
"Remarkably sharp writing for someone who spends her days reviewing beauty products," Rangga's voice carried through the air, deep and calm amid the room's clamor.
Valerie gave a melodious little laugh, tossing her wavy hair back over her shoulder. "Social media is only my outer stage, Mr. Rangga. This book is where I take off my mask. It's me, just as I am."
Rangga did not smile. His deep-black eyes stared straight into Valerie's irises, as though dissecting the truth behind her words. "Page fourteen. You wrote that the most terrifying loneliness isn't when we're alone, but when we're surrounded by thousands of people who love only our image. Is that from personal experience?"
Valerie faltered slightly. Her eyes darted around—the sign of panic only Aruna knew. Valerie's fingers, adorned with vivid red nail polish, squeezed the expensive pen in her hand.
Behind the marble pillar, Aruna squeezed her eyes shut. It was a sentence she had written specifically for herself. A sentence born from the pain of being an invisible person amid the crowds of the city.
"Of course," Valerie replied after a three-second pause that felt excruciating. Her polished smile slid back into place. "An artist has to immerse herself in that loneliness to create honest work, don't you think?"
Rangga nodded slowly. A spark of interest could no longer be hidden from his stern features. He extended his manuscript for her signature. "Speaking with someone who possesses thoughts this perfect is rare in this industry, Miss Valerie. I hope we can discuss the contents of Chapter Seven in greater depth another time."
"I'd love to," Valerie replied coyly.
Aruna watched as Rangga took the book back. He brushed his thumb over Valerie's signature, then looked at the influencer with such pure admiration shining in his eyes. A warm gaze Aruna had always dreamed of receiving from a reader who truly understood her soul.
But that gaze had found its way to the wrong person.
The cell phone in Aruna's pants pocket began vibrating violently. She reached for it and saw a new message from Valerie.
Aruna, get to the bathroom behind the stage right now. The man from Dewantara Group just invited me to dinner tomorrow night. You need to prepare an outline of the conversation and my perspective on Chapter Seven tonight! Don't miss anything!
Aruna turned off her phone screen. Its black surface reflected her own face—a woman in a worn-out jacket who had just sold her soul once again.
She looked up at Rangga, who was now walking past the marble pillar where she stood. He passed so close that Aruna caught a brief whiff of sandalwood from his cologne. Rangga glanced in Aruna's direction as she stood rigidly in the dim light, but his gaze passed right over her—as though Aruna were nothing more than part of the building's wall.