chapter 17
The dawn mist hovered above the lake like a silken veil, softening the outline of willows and the distant hills. Alya perched on a pastel blanket spread upon the dew-kissed grass, her palms resting gently on her knees. Before her lay a simple basket: plump dates, sliced oranges, warm flatbreads, and a worn copy of the Qur'an, its pages edged in gold. She inhaled deeply, the scent of wet earth and wildflowers mingling with the crisp morning air.
Reyhan stepped onto the clearing, carrying two steaming mugs of mint tea. He paused at the edge of the blanket, admiration flickering in his dark eyes. "I brought tea," he said softly, lowering himself beside her. "Just the way you like it."
Alya turned, managing a shy smile. She tapped her chest, signing, "Thank you." He handed her a mug; warmth seeped into her fingers. As she sipped, she closed her eyes, letting the mint soothe her morning nerves.
Reyhan smiled, watching her. "I've never seen someone pray so peacefully," he murmured. "May I?" He lifted the Qur'an to his lap. She inclined her head, and he opened it to a bookmarked page.
Together, they read in hushed tones—Alya tracing verses with a finger, Reyhan listening, absorbing each syllable. When a particularly beautiful ayah unfolded, he ran his thumb along the gilded edge. "What does this mean to you?" he asked.
Alya signed: "Hope that even in silence, our hearts speak to Him." He nodded, eyes misting. He closed the Qur'an reverently. "Your faith… it teaches me strength." After prayer, Reyhan unpacked the basket, arranging bread and fruit with care. Alya watched, captivated by his attentiveness. He offered her a piece of flatbread with honey, and she bit gently, eyes never leaving his.
He laughed quietly. "I thought you might like something sweet."
Alya signed, "Sweetness reminds me of mercy."
They shared a comfortable silence, punctuated only by birdsong and the soft lapping of water against reeds.
Reyhan leaned back on one hand, gaze drifting across the lake. "When I was younger," he began, "I thought power was everything. But power without compassion… it's hollow." He looked at Alya. "You show me what real strength looks like."
Alya's chest fluttered. She reached out, fingertips brushing his arm. He caught her hand, turning it palm-up. "Your touch says more than any words." She nodded. The sun climbed higher, and a gentle breeze teased Alya's hair. Reyhan rose and held out his hand. "Walk with me," he invited. She took his hand, standing. Together, they strolled along the water's edge, careful to keep the Qur'an close to the blanket.
They paused at a wooden jetty. Reyhan sat on its edge, legs dangling above rippling water. Alya joined him, mirroring his posture. He pointed to a lotus blooming between boards. "You told me once that the lotus rises from mud to bloom. That's like you—grace born from hardship."
Alya signed, "We bloom where He plants us." Reyhan brushed a stray lock from her face. "Yes," he whispered. "And I want to help you bloom."
She looked up, and for a heartbeat, he saw not just a silent wife, but a woman of quiet power. They settled back on the blanket as the afternoon light turned golden. Reyhan fished a journal from his jacket—a gift he'd given her days before. He handed it to Alya. "Write your thoughts," he said. "I want to know your world."
Alya opened the leather cover, revealing blank pages. She hesitated, then wrote:
> "Lake mornings bring peace. Here, my heart finds voice."
She closed the journal and offered it to him. Reyhan read the lines, eyes soft. "You give voice to my soul," he said, folding the page.
They sat quietly, watching ducks glide across mirrored water. A sudden cry echoed from the trees—Dewi's voice, calling their names. Rain-swollen clouds had slid over the sun. Reyhan stood, hand on Alya's back. "We should go," he said.
She nodded, and they gathered their things. As they retraced their steps, Alya slipped. Reyhan caught her, strong arms preventing her fall. She looked up, heart pounding—not with fear this time, but with the thrill of being held. "Thank you," she signed.
He smiled, setting her upright. "Always." Back at the mansion, the storm broke, fat raindrops splattering windows. They entered the foyer, water dripping from their sleeves. Zaki appeared, umbrella in hand. "Everything all right?" he asked, scanning their damp clothes.
Reyhan blocked his gaze for a moment before answering: "Just a picnic by the lake." He turned to Alya: "Get dry. I'll handle dinner."
She signed, "Be safe." "And you," he replied, voice warm. In the study, Reyhan reviewed urgent reports: port closures, rival shipments diverted, Victor's latest sabotage. His jaw clenched as each dossier confirmed the assault on his business. He ran a hand through his wet hair. The joy of the day's serenity clashed with the storm of threats on his desk.
He exhaled, reaching for his phone. "Zaki," he called. "We need contingency plans. And keep my family safe."
As he spoke, his thoughts drifted to Alya—her calm strength his anchor. He vowed to protect her, no matter the cost. That night, as thunder rumbled, Alya knelt by her prayer mat, journal at her side. She whispered into the hush: "Ya Allah, grant him courage and guide our path."
Reyhan paused outside her door, listening. He entered quietly, slipping beside her on the mat. He bowed his head in silent prayer. When he rose, Alya turned, eyes shining. He offered a gentle smile.
Without words, they reached for each other's hands and sat together in the flicker of a lantern—two hearts intertwined by faith, respect, and the promise of a future they would build side by side. They stumbled off the ride into a swirl of cotton candy pink and carousel lights. Tari and Nisa bounded up, cheeks flushed, arms laden with spun sugar and popcorn.
"Look at you two!" Tari exclaimed, nudging Alya's shoulder. "Who knew the silent princess had such a scream?"
Nisa tossed a corn chip at Reyhan. "Consider yourself warned—our bhabhi is dangerous."
Reyhan caught the chip and ate it. "I welcome the challenge," he joked, but his eyes never left Alya's face, memorizing the bliss in her smile.
Alya pressed a hand to her mouth, shy but delighted. She signed, "Thank you for bringing me here."
Tari blew her a kiss. "Anytime! We're just getting started."
THREE
They drifted toward the Ferris wheel. Reyhan purchased two tickets and offered one to Alya. She took it with a trembling smile. As they rose into the sky, the park spread out below—twinkling, chaotic.
In the slow rotation, they found quiet. Reyhan pointed to the lake beyond. "You see your favorite spot?"
Alya nodded, eyes bright. She tapped his hand: "Home."
He touched his chest. "You are my home," he whispered. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they watched the park's lights blend into the dusk. Back on solid ground, they found a photo-booth draped with hearts and neon. Reyhan lifted Alya's wrist and placed her hand atop his. "Come on," he urged. "We need proof."
Inside, flashes caught their expressions: surprised, delighted, then mischievous as Tari and Nisa joined them, forcing suction-cup lips and goofy grins. The final shot froze Reyhan and Alya pressed cheek-to-cheek, her silent laughter captured for eternity.
They tumbled out, breathless. Reyhan pocketed the strip. "I'll keep one," he said, "and make you promise to laugh like that every day."
Alya tapped her fingers to her lips: "I promise." A sudden chill wind swept through, and the street performers scrambled. Reyhan draped his jacket around Alya's shoulders. A juggler approached, offering a sparkler.
"Here," the juggler said. "Light it."
Reyhan held the sparkler aloft and struck a match. As the sparks crackled, he lifted Alya's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, drawing surprise and soft rose across her cheeks.
The sparkler's light reflected in her eyes. She signed: "Magic." He laughed, the sparkler sputtering in his hand. Alya's laughter rang out, crystalline and unexpected, as the roller coaster lurched down its first steep drop. Her hands flew to her mouth, but the sound broke free—bright, joyous, utterly pure. Reyhan Pratama sat beside her, arms wrapped around her waist to steady her. He glanced at her, heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness he could neither name nor contain.
"Are you okay?" he called over the roar.
Alya turned, eyes sparkling, and tapped her chest: "Best feeling ever!"
He exhaled, relief and pride flooding him. "Good," he said, voice low. "But don't hug me too tight—I have to live through this ride."
She giggled again, and for the first time since their nikah, the world felt wide open. They stumbled off the ride into a swirl of cotton candy pink and carousel lights. Tari and Nisa bounded up, cheeks flushed, arms laden with spun sugar and popcorn.
"Look at you two!" Tari exclaimed, nudging Alya's shoulder. "Who knew the silent princess had such a scream?"
Nisa tossed a corn chip at Reyhan. "Consider yourself warned—our bhabhi is dangerous."
Reyhan caught the chip and ate it. "I welcome the challenge," he joked, but his eyes never left Alya's face, memorizing the bliss in her smile.
Alya pressed a hand to her mouth, shy but delighted. She signed, "Thank you for bringing me here."
Tari blew her a kiss. "Anytime! We're just getting started." They drifted toward the Ferris wheel. Reyhan purchased two tickets and offered one to Alya. She took it with a trembling smile. As they rose into the sky, the park spread out below—twinkling, chaotic.
In the slow rotation, they found quiet. Reyhan pointed to the lake beyond. "You see your favorite spot?"
Alya nodded, eyes bright. She tapped his hand: "Home."
He touched his chest. "You are my home," he whispered. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and they watched the park's lights blend into the dusk. Back on solid ground, they found a photo-booth draped with hearts and neon. Reyhan lifted Alya's wrist and placed her hand atop his. "Come on," he urged. "We need proof."
Inside, flashes caught their expressions: surprised, delighted, then mischievous as Tari and Nisa joined them, forcing suction-cup lips and goofy grins. The final shot froze Reyhan and Alya pressed cheek-to-cheek, her silent laughter captured for eternity.
They tumbled out, breathless. Reyhan pocketed the strip. "I'll keep one," he said, "and make you promise to laugh like that every day."
Alya tapped her fingers to her lips: "I promise." A sudden chill wind swept through, and the street performers scrambled. Reyhan draped his jacket around Alya's shoulders. A juggler approached, offering a sparkler.
"Here," the juggler said. "Light it."
Reyhan held the sparkler aloft and struck a match. As the sparks crackled, he lifted Alya's hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, drawing surprise and soft rose across her cheeks.
The sparkler's light reflected in her eyes. She signed: "Magic." He laughed, the sparkler sputtering in his hand. They rounded the corner to the arcade. Zaki and Fadil were there, challenging passersby to ring the bell with a single hammer blow. Fadil's grin was wicked. "Think you've got strength, Reyhaan?"
Reyhan accepted the gauntlet. He struck once—bell rang dead center. The crowd cheered. Fadil scowled. Tari bounced forward: "Your turn, milady." She handed Alya the hammer.
Heart hammering, Alya lifted the tool. Reyhan's gaze met hers, steady and encouraging. She swung—and missed, the hammer clattering against the platform. Laughter erupted, but it was warm, inclusive. Nisa high-fived her.
Reyhan hugged her from behind. "Almost made it—next time." Halfway across the park, his phone buzzed. He slipped away to a quiet bench. Alya followed, concern etched across her face. He read the message: a shipment diverted, a Pratama front compromised. Victor Arman's signature cruelty.
Alya knelt beside him and tapped his arm: "Danger."
He tucked the phone away. "I have to go," he said.
She signed fiercely: "Not without me."
He closed his eyes, then opened them and nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "Stay close."
She rose and took his hand. Together, they strode toward the gates, two silhouettes forged in laughter and resolve. At the exit, the rain began to fall—soft at first, then steady. Alya paused, letting droplets kiss her cheeks. Reyhan leaned close and kissed her wet hairline.
"Come on," he said, voice gentle yet firm. "Let's go home."
She tapped his chest: "With you, I'm already home."
Against the rain and against the chaos of his underworld battles, in the glow of amusement park lights and their shared laughter, Reyhan realized: no storm, no enemy, no scheme by Victor Arman could break the bond they'd sealed today—games of love, laughter, and newfound courage.