Chapter 21
Tshabina
There was a saying: “memories are dead treasures, untouched by time.” Even when I wanted to erase them, and those memories had become thorns binding me tight, I could not wipe them away.
I pressed my lips together, and even when the pain began to bloom, I couldn’t make myself stop. Seeing Zioh’s actions earlier, my mind drifted in every direction.
It felt as though he swung between the cruel Grinch and back to the sweet Santa form when the guilt struck. It forced me to wonder—how? How did he shift like that?
But one thing was clear to me now: Zioh’s mood swings were intense, almost alarming, ever since he had come back from the UK.
Being with him was like reading a book in a foreign language. I’d never been able to understand because he never translated it for me.
Then I remembered.
Where we stand now… it was no longer my problem.
I should have stopped caring long ago. Not because my heart chose to, but because his did.
Meeting them again—the people who once lived in the same air as me. Yet instead of joy, instead of warmth, we stood there, frozen.
I stared at them, waiting for a spark, a flinch, a sign of life to stir in my chest. But there was only a hollow silence. These past weeks or maybe years, too many sharp things were lodged in my heart; now it was besieged and pierced from every direction, the pain no longer strange to me.
I kept thinking, if we were ordinary people, maybe we’d be hugging now, asking after each other’s lives, laughing over the past, over how incredible our memories had been.
But instead, silence.
I looked at Zeraiah. He had changed. Taller, his pale skin now sun-touched like his brother’s, his waist was slim, and his shoulders and back were broader. His wavy dark-blond hair and emerald-green eyes were the only things unchanged.
Proportioned perfectly, balanced like a model sculpted with care.
Yes. He was a model now.
The Zeraiah who had once fought so hard, so determined to join his dad’s company, was gone. I was surprised because compared to his two brothers, he’d been the only one who had fervently wanted to carry on his dad’s legacy.
I noticed Zeraiah hadn’t stopped looking at me. Then his gaze shifted to Tsabinu, then to Zioh. I wanted so much to speak, to greet him. But before I could, a door opened behind Tsabinu.
Uncle Bakti.
All at once, the three men around me went rigid.
Uncle Bakti stopped, eyes widened at the sight of us. Then his face softened, breaking into a warm smile. “Well, what a coincidence,” he drawled. His eyes scanned us one by one.
I glanced at the three men beside me, their eyes locked on Uncle Bakti. Each gaze wasn’t the same, but together they made the air thick.
Uncle Bakti smiled again. “It feels like stepping back in time.” His cheerful voice was at odds with the atmosphere choking the room. “It’s been so long since I last saw my children gathered like this.”
Zeraiah scoffed, and Zioh glared, dislike clear in their eyes.
Uncle Bakti seemed unbothered. He kept smiling and turned to me. “Since you’re all here, why don’t we have lunch?” He looked at each of us. “Have you eaten?”
I didn’t like this. The discomfort crawled over my skin.
His gaze returned to me as he stepped closer.
“Since none of you is saying anything, I’ll take that as agreement, shall I?
” His voice lowered, sending a chill through me.
“Come now, Tshabina. Let’s have lunch together.
” He glanced at the others, then back to me with a soft smile, raising his hand to touch me. “I can book us a restaurant nearby—”
Before his hand could reach me, Zioh lunged forward and seized his father’s wrist, jerking him to a halt. Then, with a sharp tug, he pulled me back against him until my spine hit his chest.
His voice came low, cold. “Tshabina has to meet the INDTV media team, who are documenting the new office project.” He leaned in, his gaze boring into his father’s.
I felt the thrum of a heartbeat through my spine, the seep of body heat against my skin.
A hard lump formed in my throat as I swallowed.
My body shuddered when he touched my skin again and guided me to his side. Zioh tilted his chin towards the corridor beside us, a silent signal for me to go.
I began to move, but Uncle Bakti blocked my way. “There’s no need to rush,” he said, his gaze flicking between his son and me. “The press conference hasn’t even happened yet. The production team still has plenty to arrange.”
A snarl rumbled from Zioh, and I looked at him. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw tight, then I turned to the other two men—they were the same.
Tsabinu stepped forward, held my hand tightly, and drew me to his side, away from them both. “No need, sir,” he said, his voice firm and his grip tightening on mine. “I’ll take my sister to lunch, and bring her back afterwards—”
“But I’d also like to talk with you, Tsabinu,” Uncle Bakti cut him off. “There are things I need to say to all of you.” His declaration left no room for refusal.
Silence swallowed us, and the looks exchanged between Zioh and Zeraiah—sharp, as though they spoke in their own language. Finally, Uncle Bakti turned, striding off first, and the two men in suits followed at his heels.
“Come,” he called over his shoulder. “A lunch together won’t be the end of you.”
Uncle Bakti disappeared down the corridor, the same way Zioh and I had come, leaving me staring after him. For a moment, we exchanged glances, then all eyes drifted to the corridor again.
Zeraiah sneered. “I began to think he was going to announce he’s getting married to that young slag,” he muttered under his breath once his dad was out of earshot.
The words made Zioh shoot him a warning glare, while I stiffened.
This wasn’t the Zeraiah I remembered. The boy who had never dared to speak like that, especially not about his dad. He had always admired him and longed to be like him. Yet here he was, mocking, spitting venom. His gaze, his tone, and his defiance, all of it proof that I no longer knew him at all.
At last, Zeraiah rolled his eyes and stalked off, leaving us behind, with his older brother following him. Tsabinu and I lingered. I was unsure what to do until my brother sighed. “Come on, Dek, let’s have lunch, and I’ll take you afterwards.”
When we reached the car park, we headed towards our own cars—Zioh and Zeraiah to theirs, Tsabinu leading me to his. But Uncle Bakti’s voice halted us. He had reappeared from the VIP parking area.
“Why are you separating?” he called out. “We’re only going for lunch. You all still have business at the office, right?”
We all stood in silence, staring at him like mannequins, and he added. “One car will do. Come.” He approached us one by one, gathering us together, his hands pressing at our backs, and I could hear a harsh snort.
He led us to one of the nearby luxury cars.
It turned out to be my former best friend’s car. “Fine! One car. But why mine—” Zeraiah began to protest, only for Uncle Bakti to shove his head down and push him inside before he could finish.
“Because yours is the first in line. And besides, it’s big enough. Convenient, you didn’t bring one of those ridiculous, noisy things today.”
“Ridiculous?” He snapped, lowering the window to glower out at him. “It’s a bloody McLaren—”
“I will send the location,” Uncle Bakti cut across, turning away towards his car. “Now go.” And with that, he disappeared into the back seat, his aides and chauffeur moving with him.
As Tsabinu and I climbed into the back seat, we exchanged a glance, and my heart thudded in an odd rhythm. Zeraiah, still scowling, muttered under his breath. “What the hell is wrong with that old man—”
“Just drive, Zer,” Zioh’s weary voice snapped from the seat beside him. “Don’t make it worse. You want this over quickly, don’t you? Then go.”
Zeraiah curled his lip and let out a harsh breath. “Sometimes you’re more of an arsehole than him, you know that?” he started the engine, pulling us out of the car park to follow their dad’s car.
? ── * ── ?
No one spoke. The only sound was the city’s noise outside, echoing through the hollow space of the car. From the moment Zeraiah had driven off, silence hung thick in the air, drowning me in my thoughts.
Tsabinu and I exchanged looks now and then. I could feel the sheer awkwardness pressing on us, the strange heaviness of it.
It felt… familiar.
The familiar ache crawled back, gnawing at me. I turned to the window, hiding in the blur of passing streets, and through the gap between the seats, I saw Zioh. His face turned to the glass, his back upright.
And I never felt anything this profound when the silence was shattered by music blasting through the car.
AC/DC. “Highway to Hell.”
The familiar guitar riff punched straight through me, dragging me backwards in time. I knew every note, every lyric, because it was always on Zeraiah’s playlists. Memories slammed into me, our eternal fights over music, the teasing, the laughter…
My throat felt thick. I squeezed my fingers together.
“If you don’t like it, get the hell out of my car,” Zeraiah barked. I couldn’t tell who it was meant for, though he shot a glare at Zioh.
Zioh let out a sharp breath. “Nobody’s complaining, Zer.” His tone was quiet, but the sting was there. “Stop being so bloody sensitive like you’ve got some hormone disorder.”
Zeraiah scoffed, sneering in silence. Tsabinu and I glanced at each other. Then Zeraiah pressed a button, and the car’s roof began to fold back. Instantly, sunlight and hot midday air poured in, blasting us.
My hair whipped in the sudden wind, the sun scorching my skin.
I squinted against the harsh light while my hands reached up to restrain my hair as it was flying in all directions.
I knew Zeraiah did it because he was annoyed about getting back at his brother.
But the problem was, it was still midday in Jakarta.
A low growl came out of Zioh. “Stop being childish and close that damn roof.”