Aruna's phone screen glowed brightly in the darkness of her three-by-four-meter room. The patter of rain striking the corrugated metal roof was the only background music that night. On a folding wooden table, a lined notebook lay open, filled with overlapping black-ink scribbles.
Aruna didn't need to look at the screen to know who was calling at one in the morning. She swiped the green icon.
"Aruna! He just sent another message!" Valerie's voice sounded strained, mixed with the hiss of her panicked breathing. "Rangga is asking what the metaphor 'the light that burns down its own house' means in Chapter Seven. What am I supposed to say? If I give him some careless answer, he'll know for sure!"
Aruna leaned her back against the cold bedroom wall. Her eyes fixed on the stained ceiling, marked by old leaks.
"Tell him," Aruna's voice came out hoarse, "that the light represents ambition. Sometimes someone wants so badly to be seen shining that they destroy the place that shelters them."
On the other end of the call came the tapping of Valerie's acrylic nails against her phone screen. "Wait, slow down! Don't use words that are too complicated. Write it as a chat draft, then send it to my WhatsApp right now. That way I can just copy and paste it into his chat!"
"Okay," Aruna whispered.
The call ended. Aruna felt for her phone's keyboard. Her trembling fingers began weaving one sentence after another. Every word she typed was no longer merely a manuscript instruction, but an honest conversation she had always wanted to share with someone capable of understanding her.
She sent the draft. A few seconds later, a notification showed that the message had been read. Aruna knew that in an upscale restaurant or inside a black sedan, Rangga Dewantara was reading the reply with a faint smile—never knowing whose fingers had typed it.
The next day, Aruna walked along the glass corridor of the media office where she worked as an administrative staff member. In her hands was a bundle of printed bill files that had to be delivered to the executive office.
She stopped right in front of a glass door trimmed with teak. Inside the chilly air-conditioned room, Valerie sat elegantly on a leather sofa. Across from her, Rangga Dewantara slowly sipped his coffee.
"Your message last night," Rangga's voice drifted faintly through the slightly open door. "It was a beautiful answer, Valerie. I rarely meet someone who sees ambition from such a dramatic angle."
Valerie crossed her legs and flicked back her hair, carrying the scent of expensive perfume. "I only wrote what I felt in my heart, Mr. Rangga. Sometimes my fingers move on their own when the night grows late."
Aruna squeezed the bundle of papers against her chest. The sharp edge of the paper scratched her thumb, leaving a reddened mark, but she didn't move.
Through the glass, Aruna watched Rangga set down his cup. He looked at Valerie with warm brightness in his eyes—a gaze full of deep admiration, suggesting that he had found his soulmate.
"I want to support your next work," Rangga said, quietly but firmly. "Dewantara Group is ready to fund your second novel project, on one condition."
Valerie held her breath, her beautiful eyes widening with excitement. "What condition?"
"I want to be involved in the discussion process. I want to hear your thoughts directly before they're put into the manuscript."
Valerie's face suddenly went pale for several seconds. Her panicked eyes swept across the room until they accidentally met the glass door head-on—exactly where Aruna stood frozen.
Rangga's gaze followed the direction of Valerie's eyes. He turned around and looked at Aruna, standing stiffly with a stack of bill folders in her hands.
For the first time at close range, Rangga's deep-black eyes locked with Aruna's irises. There was no flicker of recognition in them. Only the formal, cold gaze of a wealthy businessman toward a staff member holding papers.
"Can I help you with something?" Rangga asked flatly, his voice unfamiliar and formal.
Aruna swallowed, her throat feeling blocked. She bowed her head deeply, hiding her scraped fingers behind the paper folder.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir. I only wanted to deliver the bill files," Aruna whispered softly, then turned and left as quickly as she could, leaving behind the scent of sandalwood perfume and the lie growing larger inside the room.