I will not talk to Damar except for work-related matters. I keep repeating that in my head after returning from Handoko Wiratman's birthday party.
There's a feeling of anger and resentment that makes me unwilling to talk to him, even though on the way home, Damar kept trying to talk to me—maybe he wanted to explain why he lied to me. Too late. I don't want to hear it anymore. I don't want to hear any words coming from his mouth, so I chose to pretend to sleep during the ride home.
I feel deceived, and it hurts so much. During the event, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, feeling happy. There was plenty of delicious food and a pleasant atmosphere. Still, none of that made me feel any better. Once I'm upset, I stay upset.
Such a shame. At first, I was so excited to meet Handoko Wiratman. But not anymore. Nothing feels special after learning the truth.
I hate being lied to, especially by Damar—the man I never liked from the start.
The office had been unusually quiet that afternoon, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the silence. Outside, the sky was overcast, threatening rain—a fitting backdrop for my stormy mood. I tapped my pen against the desk, my eyes glued to the spreadsheet in front of me, but my mind was miles away, replaying the moment I'd discovered Damar's lie.
I don't care if my attitude seems childish. Damar needs to understand that it won't be that easy to toy with me.
For the past few days, my interactions with Damar have been limited to nodding, answering with one-word replies, and speaking only when necessary if he needs my input. I try to focus on my work so he doesn't have the chance to ask questions or talk to me. I also do my best to avoid him, though I know it might be useless. My attitude toward Damar probably doesn't affect him at all.
The elevator ride down felt longer than usual, the mirrored walls reflecting my tense expression. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, as if physical pain could distract me from the frustration simmering inside. The doors slid open with a soft ding, and I stepped out, only to freeze when I spotted Damar near the security desk.
"Don't be late for the airport tomorrow, okay? If possible, just go with Mas Damar," Mieke reminded me as I was about to leave. Damar again. Just hearing his name irritates me.
"Okay," I replied curtly.
"Don't forget to bring souvenirs," Mieke chuckled before I finally left. If I could, I'd rather be on a different plane from Damar. Just thinking about having to travel with him tomorrow is already frustrating.
I've prepared everything—my suitcase packed with clothes for three days has been ready for days. The only thing that isn't ready is my heart, which still boils with anger whenever I hear his voice or see his face. I feel like scratching his face in frustration.
I spotted him talking to the building's security guard near the exit. I was sure he wasn't waiting for me, but I still needed to avoid him. Today was my last chance to escape him; tomorrow and the following days, I wasn't sure if I could.
I pretended not to see Damar and kept walking toward the exit. I had successfully avoided him all day by keeping myself busy—even doing tasks that weren't mine to do.
"Bulan...," he called, making me hold my breath. I turned to him slowly. Since we were still at the office, I decided to give him a chance if he wanted to ask me something work-related.
"It's done, and I left it on your desk," I said before he could ask about the task I had worked on.
"I also informed Rien about what needs to be done tomorrow," I added.
"Do you want to go home together?" he offered, completely ignoring what I just said.
"No," I refused bluntly. I quickened my pace, but he followed closely behind.
"Shouldn't we discuss some things before leaving tomorrow?" he asked, trying to keep up with me.
"We can discuss them tomorrow," I replied, glancing at him with an annoyed expression.
"About the presentation materials—"
"I've already prepared them," I interrupted.
"The data and—"
"That too," I cut him off again. I stopped walking and glared at him sharply.
"Everything is ready, so there's nothing for you to worry about," I said. What kind of subordinate is this rude to her boss? Well, me. I don't care that Damar is my superior. As long as I do my job well, I see no need to engage in unnecessary conversations with him.
"There are still a few things—"
"Nothing will be overlooked. Don't doubt me," I shot back before quickly walking away from him.
***
The moment I stepped into the airport terminal, the chill of overworked AC prickled my skin. Travelers rushed past with rolling luggage, their hurried footsteps echoing through the cavernous space. I adjusted the strap of my laptop bag digging into my shoulder, its weight a physical reminder of the work obligations still tethering me to Damar. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, amplifying my headache.
I've been at the airport for half an hour, but that annoying boss of mine is nowhere to be seen. I'm already in the waiting lounge and have finished two packs of bread I bought earlier, yet he still hasn't shown up.
My phone screen displayed three unanswered messages from Mieke—likely more reminders about the trip. I swiped them away, my thumb hovering over Damar's contact. For a reckless second, I considered sending a scathing text about professionalism, but the boarding gate's flickering sign caught my eye. The irony wasn't lost on me: here I was, seething yet still waiting for him like some loyal subordinate.
Honestly, I'd be happy if Damar didn't come with me. But the problem is that each branch representative must give a presentation, and only Damar can do ours since he has been preparing for it for the past week. My only task was to prepare the necessary data.
I let out a long sigh and checked my watch. Just as I lifted my head, I finally saw him walking casually as if he had all the time in the world.
I wanted to scold him but remembered that I was still giving him the silent treatment. So instead, I just looked away when he got close.
Without saying a word, Damar sat down next to me. The scent of his cologne filled my nose, making me hold my breath.
"Sorry, I'm a bit late," he said while taking a sugar-free mint from his pocket and offering it to me. I shook my head and pretended to be busy with my phone, not wanting to listen to him.
"The taxi I booked didn't show up, so I had to order another one," he continued. I glanced at him and put on a disinterested expression. Does he never get tired of trying to talk to me when I have no interest in his words?
His phone rang shortly after he finished speaking. Someone called him, and he answered with a serious expression. I immediately looked away, not wanting to seem curious about his conversation.
For the past few days, Damar had rarely spoken in his usual curt tone. He must feel uneasy because of my attitude. He doesn't even have to snap at me anymore—I already give him an annoyed look before he even speaks.
The announcement for our flight came over the loudspeaker. I glanced at Damar, who was still busy with his phone. He should have just asked his grandfather for a director's position instead of working his way up from the bottom. Then again, even at the bottom, Damar still gets all the privileges.
Damar ended his call just as I stood up. We were about to leave, yet my irritation remained, making me feel uneasy.
"Here, let me carry that," he said, reaching for my laptop bag. I shook my head and hugged it tightly as if he would snatch it from me.
I thought he would insist, but he only offered once. Clearly, it was just a formality.
The airport was a cacophony of noise—announcements, chatter, rolling suitcases. I found a seat near the gate, pulling out my phone to distract myself. The bread I ate tasted like cardboard, my appetite ruined by the knot in my stomach. Every passing minute without Damar's arrival tightened the coil of irritation in my chest.
"Out of all the employees at Global Kimia, you're the most stubborn," he remarked.
"Thanks for the compliment," I retorted. Damar chuckled, stepping closer because the people behind us seemed impatient to board the plane.
I hated hearing his mocking laugh. My ears burned, and my temper flared.
"How long do you plan to stay this stubborn?" he asked in a half-whisper.
The plane's engines roared to life, vibrating through my seat. I gripped the armrests, my jaw clenched. Damar's presence beside me was suffocating, his cologne mingling with the sterile cabin air. I focused on the flight attendant's safety demonstration, counting the seconds until takeoff, until I could pretend he didn't exist.
"Until I no longer work at Global Kimia," I replied.(*)