"Where are you off to tomorrow?" Risa asked while they were in the car, on the way home.
Kala gripped the steering wheel, forcing a smile at Risa. "Copenhagen, then a layover in Jakarta. After that, I fly to Nairobi, Chicago, and Abu Dhabi. I’ll be back in Amsterdam on the 16th, so we can be together like this again on the 18th—once I’ve fully recovered."
Risa tried to process it, but her heart clearly refused. "Today is the ninth."
She began to calculate. The wait wouldn't be that agonizing if she stopped checking the calendar so obsessively. She also needed to finish her manuscript before she grew bored with her own story—Owen was a character many people were waiting for. They would have a beautiful week ahead, so there was no need to worry too much, especially with America beckoning at the end of the month.
"Liefje," Kala called out softly, glancing at her briefly before returning his gaze to the road. "Wees niet verdrietig, ik kom zeker op tijd thuis."
Risa puffed out her cheeks, then exhaled through her mouth. "Right, sorry. I’ll keep myself busy so I don't overthink things."
Kala reached out to take her hand. "Thank you."
Never before in her life had she wanted something as fiercely as she wanted Kala. Like Icarus in Greek mythology who plummeted for flying too close to the sun, Risa felt that any form of greed—in this case, her desire to have Kala entirely to herself—wasn't exactly wise. Risa just wanted a shred of safety after her heart had been shattered by Ardo, which made her feel confused by this overwhelming craving she felt for Kala.
Upon arriving home, Kala asked Risa to go up to her room to rest. He, meanwhile, had to take an important call in the living room. After washing her face and changing into loungewear, Risa decided to lie down. If she could wake up to her alarm, at least she would get to see Kala off one last time.
"Time to sleep," she whispered, steadying her heart.
When the alarm kept ringing—she’d lost count of how many times—Risa stirred, groggy and half-asleep. She checked her phone: 5:15 AM. Panic surged through her; what if she missed him? But the clear sound of footsteps brought her hope. She rushed up and swung her bedroom door open. Please, let him still be close.
"Kala!" Risa called out as she saw him just starting down the stairs.
The pilot turned. "You’re awake?"
"Wait a second," Risa said, darting back into her room.
When she returned, she found Kala standing by the door. So early in the morning, and he was already sharp in his pilot's uniform. The Kala Dirk she’d known back then was free-spirited and a bit disheveled, but the first officer version of him was undeniably captivating. Risa handed him two packs of herbal liquid medicine. Kala smiled and tucked them into his trouser pocket. The 16th felt so far away, at least to her heart, which was already aching with longing.
"Drink those, Mas, to keep you warm," she said.
Kala pulled her into an embrace. "I think it’d be warmer if I just hugged you."
Risa laughed, hugging him back. "Be careful."
As they looked at each other, Risa didn't know what to say. Did she look like she was about to cry? Kala touched her face with both hands, guiding her closer for a kiss. Not wanting to ruin his perfectly pressed shirt, Risa opted to run her fingers through his hair—caressing him there, trying to mirror the longing Kala already felt, even though he hadn't truly left yet.
"Liefje, your lips are even warmer," Kala said as he rested his forehead against hers after their long kiss. "You are the only person I let touch my hair. That’s why, when you asked me to get an undercut—I had to do it."
Risa felt her face flush at the confession. "That's so Dutch of you, isn't it? So blunt."
"It’s not that I don’t want to propose, I just don’t know how to do it."
Goodness, this man was truly infuriating. He should have kept that to himself and just kept pretending so the result could be… romantic? But when it came to Kala, nothing was ever the cliché romance she wrote about in her cheesy novels. Just like a few seconds ago, with his reasons for a haircut and his hungry, cheeky, yet delightful kisses.
"Just kneel on one knee, right? And give me a ring?" Risa teased.
Kala grunted in amusement before kissing her cheek, forehead, and earlobe. "Give me time to think," he whispered. "My girlfriend is a writer; she isn't easily swayed by ordinary romance."
Risa chuckled. "I told you, Mas, just kneel and give me a ring."
A few seconds later, he groaned in mock frustration. Kala pulled back slightly and finally broke into a wide grin. Risa loved his dramatic reactions, but she knew she’d be laughing her head off if she ever saw him truly kneel to propose. If it was Kala, she honestly wouldn’t mind being proposed to in any way—even if it seemed cheap or boring.
It was unimaginable how people lived back in 1826 without technology—without these sophisticated phones. Risa wondered how lovers in those days survived if they couldn't talk at the same time, even if they were in different time zones. So, to comfort herself, she always told herself that the Lords and Ladies of England had it much harder… because it was far more agonizing to hold onto such longing than it was for her and Kala.
"Go on, Mas, go. Your ride is waiting," Risa said, hugging herself.
Kala smiled faintly. "I’ll call you when I reach the hotel."
Risa nodded. "Alright, Mas."
She was really going to let him walk away; she didn't even dare to walk him to the door, afraid she’d do something foolish like pull him back into her arms. She would focus on her manuscript while waiting for his return. Risa simply waved one hand to let him go, not hoping for him to look back.
Watching his back retreat made her feel as though she’d lost gravity, yet Kala was the one who had taught her how to fly. Freeing her from all the torments created by her own mind, he led her to places Risa had never been interested in reaching. If anyone asked whether she regretted her relationship with Ardo, her answer was no—not at all.
"If it wasn't for Ardo… I would never have known Kala," she murmured.
She remembered how her heartbreak over Ardo had led her to the Netherlands, alone. Risa turned and went back into her room, trying to resume a sleep that felt thin and restless, plagued by the worry that she might have missed her last chance to see him. For the next week, she would busy herself with Owen, who was already being eagerly awaited by her readers.