chapter 15
Alya stood at the fringes of the rose garden, moonlight filtering through swaying petals. Earlier, Reyhan had invited her to meet him here—alone—for the first time since their unexpected date. Her heart hammered as she smoothed the folds of her lavender kameez, every breath a silent prayer: "Ya Allah, guide my words."
He emerged from the shadows in crisp linen, eyes bright but wary. He offered a single nod, motioning toward the marble bench by the jasmine trellis. She slipped onto it, hands folded in her lap.
He sat beside her, two paces apart, the distance heavy with unspoken questions. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I've been thinking about us," he began, voice soft. "About what happened at the garden, the dinner… everything."
Alya's throat tightened. She tapped her chest: "I…" He raised a finger, inviting her to continue. She inhaled and drew a steadying breath, signing with careful precision: "I want to try."
His brows rose, surprise melting into something like relief. "You… you're giving me a chance?" His voice cracked. She nodded, eyes shining. He reached for her hand, fingertips brushing her palm. At that contact, something fragile shifted into hope. The next evening, the household gathered for a rare family council in Kakek's study. Dewi poured drinks; Andika and Hendra stood by the globe bar, discussing shipping routes. Zaki and Tari exchanged sly glances, while Linda fussed over Fadil's cufflinks. Alya slipped in beside Zaki, who offered her a reassuring smile.
Before the meeting began, Reyhan approached his grandfather. "Kakek," he said quietly, voice steady, "I… I want to give us a real chance—me and Alya. I've asked her. She said yes."
Miko Pratama's ancient eyes sparkled. "Wisdom often comes in unexpected forms. Trust, then act with honor." He tapped his cane twice. "Proceed."
At Reyhan's signal, Dewi addressed the room. "We face challenges at the docks and underworld deals. But right now, our priority is ensuring every member of this family stands united—including Alya."
A murmur of agreement rose. Alya looked around, her heart lifting at their acceptance. Reyhan's hand brushed hers again beneath the table, a silent vow of solidarity. Later that night, Alya and Reyhan found themselves alone in the library's alcove. She held Kakek's gift—a silver pen and journal. He settled beside her, opening the leather-bound pages.
"I want you to write your thoughts," he said. "Let me read them when you feel ready."
Alya flipped to a blank page. With the pen he'd gifted, she penned slowly:
> "I stand at a crossroads between fear and hope. I choose to trust the man who chose me, even when the world demands my silence."
She closed the journal. Reyhan read her words, eyes misting. "Your voice… it's stronger than any bullet." He folded the page. "We'll write our future together." In the depths of the night, Victor Arman's limousine idled before a deserted warehouse. Inside, Victor studied surveillance footage: images of Alya in the rose garden, Reyhan handing her that delicate bracelet. He curled his lip in contempt. "He thinks united, he stands strong," Victor murmured. "Then I will break them apart."
He tapped a gauntlet on his wrist. "Send in the whisperers. Let doubt and fear do my work."
FIVE
The next morning, Alya awoke to a note tucked under her door:
> "Meet me at dawn. Alone."
Her heart stuttered. It was in Reyhan's handwriting—but the letters felt jagged. Doubt crept in. Clutching her journal, she made her way to the garden.
There, Reyhan stood by the fountain, arms crossed. He approached her, concern etched on his features. "Alya, you got my note?" he asked.
She held up the paper. "It… felt different." He looked puzzled. She tapped her temple: "Was this yours?"
He shook his head. "I would never ask you to come alone." His jaw hardened. "Victor's playing games." He reached for her hand. "I'm sorry. I'll keep you safe." Reyhan whisked her back inside, weaving through corridors until they reached a hidden study. He locked the door, then faced her. "I'm sorry you had to feel afraid," he said. "But I'd rather you fear me than fear the threats outside."
Alya's eyes brimmed. She signed: "I trust you." He cupped her face, brushing away an errant tear. "Thank you. Your trust… it's everything." That day, the Pratama circle convened once more. Victor's agents had begun spreading rumors: a bride imprisoned by a cold-hearted mafia prince. Social media churned with whispers. Reyhan addressed the room with unwavering resolve: "I will not let lies stand. Alya stands with me, by choice."
He pointed to Alya. "She is family. Full partner in this empire." Dewi rose, voice firm: "We back you, son." Hendra and Andika nodded in solidarity. Even Zaki's mischievous grin held conviction.
Alya stood proud, silent but unbowed. The rumors died in that room, smothered by united loyalty. That evening, as rain pelted the windows, Reyhan found Alya in her garden sanctuary, raincoat draped over her shoulders. She knelt by the roses, pressing hands to the petals. He approached, enveloping her in his own coat.
"You shouldn't be out here alone in the storm," he scolded softly.
She tapped the roses, then her heart: "I needed peace."
He nodded. "Then let me share it." He knelt beside her, capturing water-drenched petals in his palm. "Look at how they still bloom, despite the rain."
She lifted her hand to him, fingertips trembling. He traced a petal across her palm, sealing their unspoken vow: to bloom together, come storm or shine.
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In the candlelit halls of Pratama Mansion, the echoes of fear had begun to fade. Amid threats, rumors, and the shadows of Victor Arman's designs, Alya and Reyhan discovered a fragile truth: that in a world built on power and silence, the greatest strength lay in the chance they gave each other—and the promise to face every danger together, hand in hand.