Steam rose, curling gently around Wulandari’s head as she stirred the contents of a simmering pot. Early morning light filtered through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet air. Chopping sounds echoed, rhythmic and precise. She moved with a quiet efficiency, accustomed to the solitude of dawn. A light step sounded behind her. “Bangun pagi sekali, menantu Ibu.” Her mother-in-law, Ibu Ratna, stood framed in the doorway, a soft smile on her lips. Wulandari turned, offering a respectful bow of her head. “Selamat pagi, Ibu. Saya ingin menyiapkan sarapan.” “Ah, rajin sekali. Pasti semalam lelap tidurnya, ya? Pengantin baru.” Ibu Ratna’s voice held a teasing lilt. Her gaze softened, a hint of genuine affection warming her eyes. She reached out, gently patting Wulandari’s arm. Wulandari felt a blush creep up her neck. She lowered her eyes, a practiced demureness settling over her features. “Ibu ini ada-ada saja,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. She allowed a small, shy smile to play on her lips, nodding subtly. It was a performance, a silent agreement to uphold the facade. The unspoken truth of the previous night remained locked away, a secret between her and Andra. “Sudah, sudah. Lanjutkan saja. Ibu mau membangunkan Andra.” Ibu Ratna chuckled, her mood brightened by Wulandari’s feigned shyness. She disappeared, leaving Wulandari to the quiet sounds of the kitchen once more. --- Andra woke to the faint aroma of frying eggs and coffee. His eyes snapped open, a familiar tension already coiling in his gut. The smell was… domestic. A sharp pang of resentment shot through him. He hated this charade. He hated the forced intimacy of it all. He dragged himself out of bed, the events of yesterday replaying in his mind. Wulandari’s infuriating composure. The symbol on her wrist. It all felt like a trap, a meticulously laid plan to ensnare him in a life he never wanted. After a quick shower, he descended the stairs, his jaw tight. His parents were already seated at the dining table. Ibu Ratna beamed. “Andra, sudah bangun, Nak. Lihat ini, menantumu sudah menyiapkan semuanya.” His gaze fell upon Wulandari. She sat quietly, her hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. She looked… small. Insignificant. But he knew better. That outward meekness was a shield, he was certain. A way to deflect attention, to hide whatever she truly was. He forced a smile, a practiced movement that didn't reach his eyes. “Selamat pagi, Ibu, Ayah.” He pulled out the chair beside Wulandari. The simple action felt like a heavy chain clanking into place. “Selamat pagi, May Love.” The words tasted like ash on his tongue. *My Love*. The saccharine sweetness made him want to gag. But his parents’ faces lit up, their joy radiating across the table. His father, Ayah Bima, nodded approvingly. “Bagus, Andra. Ini baru namanya keluarga harmonis.” Andra’s eyes flickered to Wulandari. A barely perceptible stiffening. A tiny clench of her jaw that his ability instantly registered. She didn’t look up, but he saw the minute shift in her posture, the tightening around her lips. He watched her intently as he spooned a portion of rice onto his plate. She ate slowly, meticulously, her gaze fixed on her food. He needed to keep her at arm's length. More than that, he needed to make it clear that this was not real. This forced proximity, this domestic farce, it would not chip away at the walls he had so carefully constructed. “Bagaimana, Nak? Masakan Wulan enak, kan?” Ibu Ratna pressed, her voice full of expectation. He took a bite, forcing himself to chew. The food was… adequate. Nothing special, but not terrible either. “Lumayan,” he said, then added, a sarcastic edge to his voice, “Cukup sesuai dengan citra istri idaman yang patuh dan sederhana. Tidak banyak protes, selalu menurut.” He saw it. A quick, almost imperceptible flinch. Her eyelids tightened, just for a fraction of a second. The slight tremor in her hand as she lifted her glass. His internal recorder whirred, capturing every minute detail: the way her breath hitched, the almost invisible ripple of tension across her shoulders. It was a minuscule crack in her perfectly calm façade, a tiny glimpse of something fragile beneath the surface. Andra felt a perverse satisfaction. So, his words *did* affect her. She wasn’t as indifferent as she pretended to be. The realization, instead of softening him, hardened his resolve. This was a weakness he could exploit, a vulnerability he needed to guard against. If she could be hurt by his words, she could also be hurt by him, or worse, hurt *him*. He couldn’t allow that. He would maintain this distance, this emotional chasm, at all costs. He finished his breakfast in silence, the artificial warmth of his parents’ happiness a stark contrast to the cold calculation in his mind. He would not let his guard down. Not with her. She was a stranger, an imposition, and he would treat her as such. --- Days blurred into a monotonous routine. Andra left for work early, returning late. He found excuses to spend evenings in his study, buried in paperwork, anything to avoid prolonged interaction with Wulandari. They existed in the same house, breathed the same air, yet an invisible, impenetrable wall stood between them. Wulandari, true to her quiet nature, never sought him out. She moved through the house like a ghost, her presence barely registered, except for the small, unexpected touches she left behind. A clean shirt laid out on his bed. A glass of water waiting on his bedside table. Small, domestic gestures that he mostly ignored, or, if he was honest, resented. They felt like tiny incursions, attempts to breach his defenses. He found himself watching her sometimes, covertly, when she thought no one was looking. She would be tending to the small garden in the backyard, her hands dirty with soil, a concentrated frown on her face. Or she’d be reading a book in the living room, completely absorbed, her usually placid expression replaced by one of thoughtful engagement. His ability, that unwelcome gift, would kick in, recording the tilt of her head, the way her brow furrowed, the quiet intensity in her eyes. Fragments of her life, collected without his conscious desire. He’d dismiss them, categorize them as irrelevant data, yet they accumulated, little pieces of a puzzle he refused to acknowledge. One evening, he was particularly late. A difficult client meeting had dragged on, testing his patience. He walked into the dark house, weary and irritable. He expected it to be empty, Wulandari already asleep. But a soft light spilled from the living room. He saw her, curled on the sofa, a book resting open in her lap, her head tilted back against the cushion. She was asleep. He paused, watching her for a moment. Her breathing was light, even. Her features, stripped of any conscious guard, looked younger, softer. The faint symbol on her wrist was just visible beneath the cuff of her sleeve. He felt a flicker of something, curiosity perhaps, but he quickly extinguished it. This vulnerability was an illusion. He knew better than to trust appearances. He coughed, deliberately loud. Wulandari startled awake, her eyes wide, disoriented. She blinked, then quickly straightened up, adjusting her clothes. “Maaf, Tuan Andra. Saya ketiduran.” “Tidak apa-apa,” he said, his voice flat. “Sudah malam. Sebaiknya Anda tidur.” He walked past her, his presence a deliberate barrier, a reminder of the distance between them. He heard her stand, her quiet footsteps trailing him up the stairs, but he didn’t look back. He entered his bedroom, the familiar emptiness a comfort. He unbuttoned his shirt, tossing it onto a chair. His eyes scanned the room, settling on his bedside table. A small object rested there, catching the dim light. It wasn’t the usual glass of water. His brow furrowed in confusion. It was a single, intricately carved wooden bird, its wings spread as if in flight, perched delicately on the polished wood. Its surface was smooth, the details precise, clearly handmade. He picked it up, his thumb tracing the delicate lines of its feathers. He recalled the faded symbol on Wulandari's wrist, and the bird's design somehow seemed unsettlingly familiar, as if it's a piece of a puzzle he doesn't even know he's playing.

Chapter 5: The Wall Between Us