Chapter 37 I Could Never Give You Peace
I Could Never Give You Peace
When I stepped back into my childhood bedroom, I felt like I stepped through a time portal.
The night was thick with the kind of stillness and frozen nostalgia that only existed within our childhood homes.
I can hear the crickets chirping outside their endless melody rhythm that I’d grown up here in, but had almost forgotten the rushing cars and honking in New York City.
My room felt impossibly small now. The single bed tucked in the corner looked like it belonged to someone else—a younger, burdenless version of me.
I had no idea how I was supposed to share this space with someone like Wynter who took up so much space.
Perhaps not physically, no, but his presence radiated volumes.
He and I stood by the bed, awkwardly assessing the logistics.
He was so tall and broad, he looked comically out of place in my cozy room, surrounded by my faded Barbie posters, stacks of books, and the faint scent of sea salt that clung to everything here.
Wynter was practical, always looking for the most logical solution, and it was clear that sharing this tiny bed wasn’t one of them.
“You will take the ?bed,” he declared as if to argue against it were the ultimate absurdity gesturing towards it as he grabbed the spare pillow. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms, “Wynter, you’re not sleeping on the floor, that’s ridiculous.”?
“It’s alright, darling.” he said, already looking for a spot where he could stretch out. “I’ll be fine, you need the bed. It’s your room, and there’s no way we’re both fitting on that thing.”?
I stepped closer, shaking my head. “You’re not sleeping on the floor,” I repeated, my voice softer this time, “I’ll always make room for you.” Well that made him pause. He turned to look at me, his brow furrowed like he was trying to contemplate whether I actually meant it.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice quiet now as I noticed a small smile tugging at his lips,
“You’re my best friend, of course!” I giggled.
“Don’t let Sydney hear you saying that,” he joked, shaking his head in disbelief, and I laughed. For a moment neither of us moved. I felt as though we were both awkward teenagers again.
For a moment when I glanced up, he was shorter, a mouthful of braces and bright eyes.
Lanky and shy. He was seventeen again and I was fifteen and everything was still so new.
So foreign. I wondered if those versions of ourselves could comprehend the complexities of what became of us, and that we were about to share a bed in my childhood bedroom.
Wynter was never the type to ask for space or comfort—hell, he was always the one offering it—and so this time I was the the one to make room for him.
“Alright then.” He cleared his throat, “It might be a bit of a tight fit, so do forgive me.”
We crawled into the bed—Charlie and Lola sheets, bold and dainty—both of us, laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation.
It was indeed a tight fit. Our legs tangled awkwardly as we tried to find a position that didn’t leave one of us hanging off.
The mattress creaked but it held regardless just that once for us.
“Cozy,” I said, resting my head against the pillow ?we shared.
“That’s certainly one way to view it.” He laughed.
“This is nice though…” I admitted, turning to face him. God, he was beautiful in every agonizing multitude.
“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble in the dark.
“Yeah,” I replied, turning my head to look at him. His face was close, his features softened by the shadows. “It’s…different. Letting someone in like this. But it feels good.”
Wyn didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at me, his gaze steady and unguarded in a way that made my chest ache. “I’m glad,” he said finally, his voice so quiet it felt like a secret.
I reached for his hand under the blanket, intertwining my fingers with his. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like a promise. A way of saying you belong here without needing words.
“Sometimes I think I’m selfish,” I expressed to him. “Perhaps even conceited.”
“Why do you feel like that?”
“Because I have this insatiable desire to get what I want at all costs, without a care in the world for what I have to do to get there,” I expressed, confessing to this silent sin. “Could you still be with me even after knowing this?”
“Even then,” he sighed, placing a kiss on my forehead.
“You know,” I said after a moment, “I never thought I’d be the kind of person who could do this. Share my space, my life. Let someone this close.”
His thumb brushed against my hand, a simple, grounding motion. “And now?”
I smiled, my heart feeling strangely full. “Now I can’t imagine not making room for you, I want to save a spot for you at every table, have special plates and cups for you at my apartment, let you use my things without asking, Wyn—I want walk into every room with you by my side.”
As the night wore on, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a quiet intimacy that felt more honest than anything I’d ever known. Wyn shifted slightly, his arm draping over me in a way that was both protective and gentle.
“You’re sure you’re comfortable?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.
I nestled closer, letting the warmth of his presence surround me. “I’m more than comfortable,” I said softly.
And I was. For the first time, the tiny confines of my childhood bed didn’t feel like a limitation. They felt like a place to start something new—a place where walls didn’t matter, and space didn’t define the closeness we were learning to share.
As I drifted off to sleep, the thought lingered in my mind: I’d always make room for him. Not just in this bed, but in my life, in my heart. Because Wyn wasn’t just anyone. He was the person who made me feel like letting someone in wasn’t a risk—it was a gift.
Jakarta stirred awake with its usual vibrancy. Even on a day when the sun hung heavy in the sky, the city was alive, its streets a patchwork of honking horns, fragrant food stalls, and voices that rose and fell in a rhythm as steady as the heartbeat of the ocean.
“Everyone ready?” I asked, hopping into the car as Soleh bounded in after me, his energy buzzing even before we’d left the driveway.
Cahya was his usual composed self, slipping into the front passenger seat with a notebook tucked under his arm.
Wynter climbed in last, his broad shoulders brushing against mine in the cramped back seat.
“Where are we going again?” Wyn asked, glancing at me.
“You’ll see,” I said, grinning. “Just trust me.”
Wyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further.
The aquarium loomed ahead, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the brilliant Jakarta sun. Inside, the chaos of the city faded away, replaced by the cool hush of water and the soft glow of light filtered through enormous tanks.
The first gallery was like stepping into another world.
Schools of fish swirled in shimmering silver patterns, their movements as fluid as a dance, while the gentle hum of life underwater filled the air.
Soleh pressed his face to the glass immediately, his breath fogging up the surface as he pointed excitedly at the creatures gliding past.
“Look at that one!” he exclaimed, his finger following the path of a fish with long, flowing fins. “It looks like it’s wearing a ballgown.”
Cahya stood a few feet away, his arms crossed, though I could see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a betta fish,” he said. “They’re common in home aquariums.”
Soleh whipped around. “Why do you have to ruin everything with facts?”
“I refuse to be shamed for my intelligence. I’m merely enhancing the experience,” Cahya replied dryly.
I laughed, slipping my hand into Wyn’s as we wandered further into the gallery. His gaze was fixed on the tanks. It was indeed romantic seeing my home with him and seeing him make such an effort to comprehend the depths of my being.
“This is incredible,” he murmured, stopping in front of a jellyfish exhibit, pressing his forehead to the tank, and I giggled, snapping a photograph.
It was adorable seeing someone way over six foot act like a kid in a candy store.
Maybe it wasn’t only me that was being taken back to my youth here in Jakarta. It was magical.
“Dia terlihat seperti keluar dari sebuah drama…” He looks like he came out of a drama, I heard a girl whisper to her friend.
“Bukankah dia seorang bintang olahraga terkenal?” Isn’t he some famous sports star, her friend responded in awe, nearly walking into a wall.
I laughed, I couldn’t blame them.
The tank glowed with an otherworldly light, the jellyfish pulsing like tiny lanterns floating through the dark water. Their translucent bodies shimmered with iridescent hues, each movement slow and deliberate, as if time itself had slowed to match their rhythm.
“They look like they’re glowing,” Wyn said, his voice quiet.
“They’re hypnotic,” I replied, leaning closer to the glass. “But don’t get too close. They sting.”
He glanced at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Sounds familiar.”
“Gag, isn’t it bad enough that you somehow fell for my baby sister and now you’re ruining my sacred aquarium trip by acting like the two of you are in High School Musical or When I Fly Towards You?” Cahya disapproved, and Wyn rolled his eyes wrapping an arm around my brother’s shoulder.
“Cheer up, she’s the light of both our lives,” he professed. “And by the way, if we were in any drama it’d be Hidden Love.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling back.
Soleh, of course, was busy narrating his own version of events. “And here we have the fearsome predator of the deep,” he said, pointing his phone at a hammerhead shark. “Known for its—AH!” He yelped as a stingray suddenly swooped close to the glass, and everyone around us burst into laughter.
“Karma.” Cahya laughed.