Chapter 37 I Could Never Give You Peace #3
“Please don’t,” Wyn said with mock seriousness, earning a laugh from Cahya.
When the spice paste had caramelized to Mom’s satisfaction, she handed Wyn a bowl of beef, already marinated in lime juice and salt. “Add it to the wok,” she instructed.
Wyn tipped the beef into the wok, stirring it to coat each piece with the rich, fragrant paste. “And now?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Coconut milk,” she said, handing him a can. “Slowly. Stir as you pour.”
Wynter followed her instructions to the letter, his movements precise but unhurried. The sauce began to thicken almost immediately, the creamy white liquid transforming into a vibrant golden-orange.
Mom watched him closely, her expression softer now. “You’re good at this,” she said grudgingly.
Wyn smiled faintly. “I’ve had practice.”
“With your sisters?” Mom asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded. “I’ve been cooking for them since they were kids. My mother was gone a lot, so I took over the kitchen when I was old enough.”
Mummy paused, her gaze lingering on him. “That’s a good thing for a brother to do,” she said, her voice quieter now.
Wyn shrugged, stirring the rendang. “They’re my family. You take care of family.”
“Will you take care of my daughter?” she asked.
“Till my last breath.” He held her gaze.
Cahya’s voice cut through the silence, low and deliberate. “Yeah, we need to talk.”
I turned to see him leaning against the passage, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his tone sharp enough to make my chest tighten.
“What about?” I asked, as I fiddled with my nails.
“You know what.” Cahya stepped closer, his expression calm but unyielding. “I know you’ve been reading Wynter’s diary.”
The words hit like a slap, the air leaving my lungs as panic bubbled up in my chest. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, avoiding his gaze.
“Outside, now. And don’t lie to me, Yesoh.” His voice was quiet but firm, and the use of my full name only made it worse. “I saw it. A couple of nights ago, when you left it on your desk. You had it open. I saw his handwriting.”
I swallowed hard, following him to the swing set on the porch, the crickets chirped and the air was humid, my heart pounding. “It’s not at all what you think—”
“Do not insult me, sister dear, It’s exactly what I think,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “You’re reading something that isn’t yours. You’re invading his privacy.”
I looked away, guilt and shame swirling in my chest. “I just wanted to understand him,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Cahya’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment cutting deeper than I expected.
“I told you that very first day to leave that diary be, and you didn’t listen to me.
That’s not how you do it, Yesoh. You don’t ‘understand’ someone by going behind their back and reading their most private thoughts. If you want to know him, you ask him.”
I opened my mouth to argue, to explain, but no words came out. He was right. I knew he was right.
“You care about him,” Cahya said after a moment, his tone softening slightly. “You always have, I can see that. But if you really believe in your love for him, then you’ll tell him what you’ve done.”
I froze, my stomach twisting. “I cannot do that. What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
Cahya shook his head, his expression serious. “Then you deal with it. But he deserves to know the truth. And if you don’t tell him, I will.”
“Cahya you wouldn’t fucking dare.” I teared up, venom on my tongue.
“You haven’t an idea in the world what I would dare to do for my best friend. He would do the same for me,” he insisted.
“But I am your sister—”
“Which is why I expected more from you.” Cahya swallowed. “I’m disappointed in you, Yesoh.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting.
“I’ll give you until our last day here,” he added, his voice low. “After that, it’s on me.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone on the swing with nothing but my guilt. I sank back onto it, my hands trembling as I tried to steady my breathing.
The weight of his ultimatum pressed down on me, and I knew there was no way out. I had to tell Wyn. I just didn’t know if I had the strength to face him—and the consequences of what I’d done.
I wandered back inside quietly at the table, watching Wyn work with my mom and Cahya, my chest tightening with an unexpected ache.
Wyn was here, in my house, folding himself into my world with the kind of care and patience I’d never asked for but always hoped for.
He was steady and warm and present, and he didn’t ask for anything in return.
And yet…
I bit my lip, the weight of my secret pressing down on me.
The image of his journal flashed in my mind—the pages I’d flipped through late one night, desperate to understand the parts of him he didn’t share.
I had told myself it was innocent, that I was just trying to know him better.
But now, watching him stir the pot with quiet determination, I felt the sharp sting of guilt.
I had taken something that wasn’t mine to take, and he had no idea. He was here, trusting me, fitting into my family, and I was holding onto a betrayal he didn’t deserve.
“Hey,” Wyn said, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I blinked, realizing he was looking at me. “What?”
“You okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.
I forced a smile. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”
He nodded, turning back to the stove. “You think too much,” he said lightly, kissing my temple as if to calm the turbulent tides that swept my mind. “Relax. Dinner’s almost ready, you look pale my sweet, you have to eat.”
As the rendang simmered on the stove, the kitchen settled into a warm, cozy rhythm. Cahya and mummy bantered in the corner, the sound of their laughter blending with the gentle bubbling of the pot. Wyn stayed focused on his task, stirring occasionally, his movements calm and methodical.
I watched him from my seat, my heart aching with a mix of emotions I couldn’t untangle. He didn’t know what I’d done, didn’t know the part of me that had crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. And yet, he was here—faithful, steady, and entirely unaware.
“Alright,” Mummy said finally, peeking into the pot. “I think it’s ready.”
Wyn stepped back, letting her take over as she scooped the rendang into a serving dish. The rich, fragrant sauce coated the tender pieces of beef, and my mouth watered just looking at it.
“Not bad,” mummy said, glancing at Wyn. “For your first try.”
“I’ll take that as a win,” Wyn said, smiling.
“It’s more than a win,” Cahya said, grabbing a spoon for a quick taste. “This might be better than Mummy’s.”
“Watch yourself,” Mom warned, though her lips twitched with a hint of pride.
Wyn turned to me, his expression soft. “What do you think?” he asked.
I hesitated, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s perfect,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended.
“You’re perfect.” Wynter smiled. “Maybe someday I can make this for you in our own home. Maybe right here in Jakarta if it’d make you happy?”
“You know there’s this house down the street that’s been vacant for so long, beautiful balconies. It used to belong to this elderly couple but when the lady of the house lost her husband she couldn’t bear to live there anymore,” my mother explained.
“Can we go see it? Is it visible from the street?” I questioned with excitement.
“Yes of course—”
“Wyn, pleaseeee,” I begged him, tugging at his sleeve. He rolled his eyes playfully.
“Mrs Yeo, what have you gotten me into?” He mused, “I’m still paying off Bae’s last oh-no-I-accidentally-used-your-card-to-buy-outfits-for-my-Sims escapade. Cannot be thinking about real estate.”
“Hey!” Soleh threw his arms up in frustration. “How come Bae gets to use her brother’s card to buy Sims mods, and I can’t even use yours to get a Sprite?”
“Not sure if you’re aware, but I’m a student and Wyn is a brand ambassador and Olympic champion…we are not in the same tax bracket.”
“Nonsense, darling.” He kissed my forehead, “What’s mine is yours.”
Afterwards, Wynter and I made our way down the street to see the little house on Willow Street.
It was the most elegant two-story mansion with vines creeping up its walls that looked like it held such riveting stories.
All I could think about was how this building that had its paint chipping away, windows broken and sombre air to it was once a home running rampant with joy and so much love.
“Do you think our homes on Clementine Street look like this now?” Wyn contemplated, this heartbroken look behind his stormy eyes.
“I think our little homes on Clementine Street are forever frozen in timeless grace. All they are now is what we remember them to be, so if we think of our summers there fondly nothing can tear them down.” I hugged his arm, looking up to him, and when he glanced down to meet my gaze, my heart hurt.
I placed a hand on his cheek and stroked it softly, every freckle. “Hey, you’re okay.”
“Indeed.” He hummed, taking a deep breath. “So tell me Yesoh, what on earth could someone even do with a house this massive?”
“Firstly, it’s just a walk away from my mother’s house, that within itself is a gift.
Secondly, I reckon one might host soirees—champagne and chocolate fountain level.
One might invite their friends over to visit whenever their world feels like it’s closing in, one might find someone they love to share it with it, and then all their annoying little kids who like look just like them can decide. ”
“Such imagination, maybe I’ll just live here forever someday” He smiled. “Come on, let’s head back. I don’t want you getting cold.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” I chuckled sadly, hoping not.
“I do. I assure you. I will go where you are and where you ought to be is where you are happy.” He held onto my hand firmly. “I haven’t seen you glow like this in a long time.”
He smiled, and in that moment, I felt the full weight of his trust—and my betrayal.