Dimitriv stirred, his shirt already unbuttoned. His broad chest was clearly exposed. He let out a soft groan, holding his head, which felt slightly dizzy. With his eyes still closed, Dimitriv felt around the bed for his phone, which was ringing softly.
When he still couldn't find it, he stopped searching in frustration. Dimitriv tried sitting up first. He held his head again and slowly turned toward the nightstand, where the sound was coming from.
“Wake up, Dim! Al and I are waiting for you at our usual place.” In the end, Dane had sent him a message because Dimitriv hadn't answered his calls.
Beneath that message, Dimitriv saw an unfamiliar number he hadn't saved. He questioned it while trying to piece together fragments of the previous night's memories before falling comfortably asleep and waking up to the headache attacking him that morning.
Dimitriv's finger scrolled up through the messages, and he finally remembered what he had sent the night before.
“Who are you?” Dimitriv messaged again, this time with proper grammar.
The message reached its recipient quickly, producing a tiny chime at the breakfast table while Harlette's family was eating.
“Harlette,” her father growled.
“Sorry, Dad.” Harlette lowered the phone she had placed facedown on the table.
“New phone?” Julietta asked, apparently noticing it. Harlette herself hadn't realized she'd brought the wrong phone when she'd been called down for breakfast. This phone was supposed to be kept secret from everyone.
“No, just a new case.”
Harlette immediately ran to her room after finishing everything on her plate, enough to make her grandfather shake his head. She locked the door at once and held the white phone with slightly trembling hands.
Dimitriv was already sober, and Harlette was a little anxious that he had seen the reckless messages she'd sent him the night before.
“It’s me.”
“Your secret admirer.”
Harlette fixed her gaze on the phone screen, but no quick reply came, unlike the night before. She nibbled at her nails again. Her feet wouldn't stay still as she paced around the room, waiting for Dimitriv's response.
This was more nerve-racking than being a stalker, Harlette admitted.
An hour passed, but Harlette still hadn't received a reply. She figured Dimitriv might simply consider it spam.
Harlette's fingers danced across the keyboard again, composing a sentence, deleting it, typing it over, and then confusing herself about what she should send.
“What are you doing this Sunday morning, Mr. Dimitriv?”
That new message also went unanswered ten minutes after it was sent. Harlette was furious at being ignored like this. Then she remembered the GPS app. She opened her primary phone. A red dot showed Dimitriv's car moving toward an unknown destination.
She immediately got busy contacting her friends. Madeleine was definitely on a date with Sanja. Serena had an appointment with her novel's publisher. So Harlette would be accompanied by Morana, who happened to be free.
Morana informed her that Dane had plans to play golf with Dimitriv. So the car must be heading to the golf course Dimitriv and his friends usually visited.
Harlette left her room in high spirits, carrying a small camera in her bag.
“You look awfully happy. Where are you going?” Erwin asked while enjoying the morning's political news. Beside him, Miranti was flipping through a fashion magazine.
“I'm going out with Morana.”
“Your celebrity friend?” Erwin asked again.
“Yeah. I'm heading out, Mom, Dad.”
A white golf cart carrying three longtime friends rolled leisurely toward the golf course, where the lush green grounds were easy on the eyes. Dimitriv wore a black dry-fit polo shirt, slacks, and a white cap. A pair of sunglasses rested on top of the cap, though he had no interest in putting them on yet.
Laughter and jokes accompanied their reunion as they chatted about the pleasant days of their school years.
They stopped at the river court, where the water lay perfectly still and thick green trees grew all around it. Dimitriv rubbed the tip of his golf club before taking his tee shot.
The three of them took turns, taking it easy and punctuating the game with meaningful conversations that strengthened their friendship.
Meanwhile, in the distance, a black golf cart had deliberately stopped among the trees to spy on the three men. Harlette had even brought a small pair of binoculars so she could see Dimitriv more clearly. The smile spread across her face was enormous. Just look at that perfect happiness.
“Who’s the guy with them?” Morana asked, having never seen Alaric before.
“His friend. I only just found out about Mr. Dimitriv’s other friend too.”
“Dane’s never told me about him either.”
The weather was fairly hot that day, but fortunately they were sitting beneath the shade of a tree. Morana was busy on her phone, replying to fans' comments on Instagram. Harlette had already forbidden her from posting an Instagram Story, afraid Dimitriv might recognize them. Accompanying someone this obsessed was pretty boring.
Several times, Harlette raised her beloved black camera, held it in front of her face, squinted one eye, and started taking pictures after zooming in on the distant subject.
Dimitriv laughed broadly and quickly covered his face with a golf glove when Harlette took his picture.
“If I hadn't helped him back then, he might've ended up covered in mud again, like a buffalo in a rice paddy.”
“But his expression would've looked like a kitten that fell into a drain,” Alaric added.
Dane came back over to the two of them after taking his shot. “You’re talking about that again? That stupid bullying incident?”
“Sorry, Dane. But your expression was hilarious when they doused you with drain water.”
Dane rested his hands on the upright golf club. “That’s why I became a psychiatrist—to heal the mentally ill people who take their anger out on others. What could he do when their parents were poor and gave them wounds that bad?”
“Do you still consider the past a wound?”
Dane shook his head. “Of course not. If I still remembered it as pain, that would mean I’d failed as a psychiatrist. If I couldn't even heal myself, how could I heal anyone else?”
“Good,” Alaric replied.
“In the end, everyone will come to see the pain of the past as meaningless trash. Just like you did. You too,” Dane continued, looking from one man to the other.
The three men weren't good at talking about themselves. Each carried heavy wounds that had tormented them throughout their lives. Dane had managed to move past his, Alaric might still be working through his, and the last one who had to fight for that freedom was Dimitriv.
The three of them were now in the locker room, changing clothes. Dimitriv took out the small bag he'd placed in one of the black lockers. Perhaps because they were all feeling the same thing, they opened their polo shirts at the exact same moment, revealing broad chests and wide, athletic shoulders. They changed into the clothes they'd brought earlier.
The monochrome room, lit by subdued lights, held nothing but the conversation of three old best friends reunited once again. This Sunday could be called golden time, since they had the entire day to relax and catch up.
“So, Monaco is more beautiful than Jakarta, right?” Dane asked, his back resting comfortably and casually against the sofa.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“You’re seriously crazy, Al. You had the chance to leave, but you came back instead.”
Alaric suddenly threw a sofa cushion at Dane. “Are you upset that I came back? You didn’t miss me at all?”
“Miss you?” Dane shuddered faintly. “Oof, I think my ears are itching just hearing that,” he continued, scratching inside his ear.
The two of them kept joking around, bringing the room to life, while Dimitriv sat in silence, staring intently at his phone screen. He was so serious that Dane and Alaric's jokes couldn't distract him.
“Dim?” Dane called. When there was no response, Dane tossed the small cushion that had hit him earlier.
Dimitriv closed his eyes, and his phone fell onto the sofa. He pulled a sour face and threw the cushion back.
“Serious much? Because of Mr. X?” Alaric asked.
“Is that lunatic really impossible to meet?”
“I don’t know, Dim. I already begged him.”
Dimitriv let out a quiet groan. “I have to meet him somehow. The project needs to move forward with him on board.”
Dane considered something before speaking. “You still need to consider another plan, Dim. I don't think that mystery man is predictable. Don't rely on him, or you'll be the one taking the loss later.”
Dimitriv's phone rang again. His attention shifted away from their conversation. Once again, it was from the secret number, though he had no idea who it belonged to. A faint crooked smile appeared. Interesting, this person, Dimitriv thought. He was intrigued enough to respond, if only for entertainment before getting married.
Dane and Alaric exchanged glances, each wondering the same thing. Dane glanced at his watch, then stood.
“Let’s go now,” he urged.
Dimitriv raised one eyebrow and immediately followed Dane out. Alaric did too.
“Message from your fiancée?” Alaric whispered as they walked out of Dane's apartment.
Dimitriv didn't answer. He had no interest in answering questions related to his upcoming marriage.
Harlette bit into an apple with her legs crossed, one hand holding her phone as she stared deeply at it.
“Mora!” she cried. “They’re moving.”
The woman jumped in surprise and almost cursed. “Where to?”
“Mm, looks like they’re heading to Mr. Dimitriv’s favorite pool hall.”
At that moment, Morana also received a message from Dane saying he was going to a pool hall and would be unreachable for a while.
“You know, I usually do this surveillance alone, but it’s more fun now that I have a friend.” Harlette explained as they walked toward the car.
“You’re one hell of a stalker, Lette. No wonder your mom complains that you disappear like a stray kitten.” Morana opened the car door and sat beside Harlette, who had said she wanted to drive.
Harlette's slender fingers tapped lazily against the steering wheel as she hummed under her breath. She was so happy doing this.
Thirty minutes from their previous location, they arrived at Good Taste, a renowned pool hall in Jakarta. Morana wrapped a scarf around her neck and put on a black hat she'd received from a fan. She didn't want to run into any of her fans that night—there might be some there—so she disguised herself.
“So this is where Dane disappears and refuses to answer anyone on Sunday nights.”
“Everyone wants some time to themselves,” Harlette replied, “and that must be why Dane refuses to make your relationship official—you’re so chatty.” Harlette giggled. She blurted it out without knowing the truth.
“That mouth of yours is vicious.”
“Sorry.” Harlette stopped laughing.
The pool hall was extremely long, with more than a dozen pool tables lined up neatly. Each table had comfortable seating for customers in front of it.
There was also a lounge area in the middle, furnished with glossy black sofas and tables. People usually sat there while watching their friends play. The lighting was fairly dim, relying on hanging lamps evenly distributed throughout the room.
That was a plus, since Harlette could easily blend in among the other customers while keeping an eye on Dimitriv, who always chose the table at the very end. It seemed he'd rented that particular spot.
“Ciao, friend,” Harlette greeted one of the men in a black T-shirt.
The man glanced at the woman beside Harlette. “Bringing a friend?” Harlette nodded. “That’s unusual.”
“Go sit on that sofa,” Harlette instructed.
Morana nodded and quickly moved away. She played on her phone, occasionally glancing toward the far end of the room, where Dane sat with the two men who had been playing golf earlier.
“This girl's eyes are sharp,” she muttered, watching Harlette pretend to play beside the man in the black shirt while spying on her target.
Morana tapped the camera app and took a picture of Harlette. She then shared it in their group chat of four.
Harlette quietly moved to another table so she could see Dimitriv up close. He looked skilled at handling the cue, his body bent as he calculated the best angle for striking the ball. Whenever Dimitriv's focus was fixed on the ball, Harlette aimed her camera and quickly snapped several pictures.
She was sure she wouldn't be caught because she was hiding behind someone else's body.
“The loser has to send us a picture with his girl,” Dane teased.
“Are you setting me up, Dane?” Alaric commented. He knew he didn't have a partner.
“Damn it, what am I supposed to do if I lose?” Dimitriv remarked after sinking the red ball.
“See Violette,” Dane said.
Dimitriv merely flashed a crooked smile, making Alaric suspicious. This was the second time he'd caught Dimitriv acting as if he had no genuine feelings for his fiancée.
“So, did you get a lot of pictures?” Morana asked when Harlette returned to the lounge.
Two cocktails were already waiting on their table. Harlette picked one up and took a sip. Then she suddenly nearly choked and told Morana to duck. Her friend refused, since she was already disguised in those clothes.
Dimitriv walked past where they were sitting, though he might not have seen them in the dim light. He headed to the bar and ordered a bottle of whiskey, leaving his two friends behind to keep playing in the pool area.
At the bar, Dimitriv set down his phone, which suddenly began vibrating softly. He turned it over and immediately smiled crookedly when he saw the photo sent by the unknown number.
Harlette had some nerve, trying to provoke him like that. She smiled faintly as she watched Dimitriv's back while he stared at his phone. She left the area before Dimitriv turned around and searched in every direction for the mysterious sender who had followed him all the way there.
Inside the car, Harlette immediately took Morana's hand and showed her that she was trembling slightly after sending the photo.
“You’re seriously insane. That was so reckless.”
Harlette laughed. “I didn’t expect myself to do it either. It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?”
Morana took off the hat and scarf that had made her neck feel overheated. “Remember, Lette. He’s your older sister’s fiancé. You’d better stop soon.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just three months, and then it’ll be over.”
“But three months could change things in dangerous ways.”
Harlette nodded absentmindedly and said, “Yeah, yeah, you’re so naggy. That’s why I like bringing Serena—she doesn’t complain as much as you do.”
“Of course she supports you because she doesn't want to lose the bet. I don't want to lose my money either, so I'm trying to stop this ridiculous stunt of yours,” Morana thought.
Still sitting at the bar, Dimitriv wanted to reply to the message.
“Who are you, Mrs. Stalker?”
“Just a secret admirer.”
“Show your face.”
“Don’t want to. Isn’t playing around like this fun? Besides, I know you’re getting married soon. Let me pretend to have you all to myself for a little while. I promise I won’t cross the line.”
Dimitriv pulled another mysterious crooked smile. He typed out another reply.
“Show your face and I’ll be yours.”
“Lunatic!” Harlette shrieked inside the car. She immediately tossed the phone onto the back seat. She was the one who had started teasing him, and now she was the one panicking.
“What is it, Lette?”
“Nothing. Let’s go home now.”
“Yeah, we should. I’ve been waiting for you to start the car and head home this whole time. Ah, I feel like I need to take a flower bath tonight.”