It felt like life mocked me.
Because why, after years, did my reunion with Zioh have to happen this way?
He stood there as one of my bosses, working on a project at my company. I had to excuse myself to the restroom. I locked myself there for half an hour, crying and breaking down. Aditya called me when I finally stepped out, saying their meeting had finished.
I rinsed my face until the reflection steadied before leaving the bathroom. And here I was, spacing out the entire ride back with Aditya, answering his attempts at small talk with a tight smile I struggled to maintain.
I had to bite the inside of my cheek, blinking rapidly to hold back tears that were seconds away from falling.
Forcing a shallow breath, I tried to keep my voice steady when I called my brother back. Lowering my voice while glancing at Aditya, who was focused on driving, I whispered, “Yes, Mas, just a sec, I’m still in the car with Mr. Aditya.”
“Where are you? Why aren’t you at the office?” He pressed. I held my breath and closed my eyes, trying to calm myself.
I understood. Tsabinu worried about me. We weren’t only close because we were twins; he was a piece of my soul in another body. Even though he was only thirty minutes older, he always carried the “older brother” role with all sincerity.
Andi kept mocking the “older brother” thing, saying it was ridiculous given the half-hour gap between our births.
Even though we were twins, we were as different as the sun and the moon. My Spotify playlist was a long list of pop songs, while his was classical music and orchestras. My bedroom floor was taken over by a sofa and a bean bag; his was a piano and a violin. I tended to speak before thinking, while he processed everything internally before saying a word. And when we weren’t working, I watched, and he read.
And one more thing, he loved animals, especially dogs. When we turned four, he had a golden retriever namedYellow for his birthday. And he had a koi fish named Bubble when he was a teenager.
“I just met with my boss, Mas.” I rasped, “Office matters. Wait a second. I have to go now. It’s rude to talk while Mr. Aditya is here.” I hung up before he could answer.
My brother’s voice always had a strange effect on me.
That gentle, soothing tone was a giant rope, strong enough to drag down the thick walls of my defenses. Hearing him could make me explode right here, and I knew how much worse it would be if I let go.
Aditya’s car pulled into our office parking lot when I hung up the call. And as I expected, there it was, Tsabinu’s car. Parked at the far end, engine still running, headlights glowing.
“Is that Mr. Tsabinu’s car?” Aditya asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “That’s my brother’s car.”
Aditya’s car stopped. I immediately unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed my bag, and slung it over my shoulder. I turned to him, who was still eyeing Tsabinu’s car, and cleared my throat. “Thank you for the ride, sir,” I said, the words tumbling out as I hurried to open the door.
But before I could fully step out, Aditya spoke again. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”
I blinked. “Yes, sir?” I was stunned as he unfastened his seatbelt. The unrelievable itch returned, creeping its way back no matter how much I tried to scratch it away. “Sir, that’s not necessary, you can just head inside—”
“It’s fine, let’s go,” he cut me off, stepping out of the car and walking toward Tsabinu’s.
I exhaled in frustration.
I trailed behind, my steps rushed. My brother was already out of his car, watching Aditya, then shifting his focus to me with his sharp, eagle-like eyes that always seemed to study people in silence. When our eyes met, I shrugged, sending him a silent code:I don’t get it either. And of course, it clicked for him because he flashed his professional smile at Aditya.
My twin brother looked almost identical to me. He had dark brown eyes, olive skin, and black hair. Tonight, he wore a beige shirt with the top buttons undone and black pants. The only striking differences: he wore glasses, was six-foot-two, and well, the opposite sex.
“Good evening, Mr. Tsabinu,” Aditya greeted, glancing at me, then back at him. “I brought your sister along. We had a meeting with Mr. Hendrik and some other colleagues.”
“It’s fine, sir, thank you for bringing her. We’ll be leaving now.” Tsabinu’s reply was polite, though his eyes still observed Aditya—his damn habit, one that would never change.
Quickly excusing myself, I ducked into the passenger seat of Tsabinu’s car, making my escape before any further conversation could pull me back.
On the ride back, Tsabinu filled the silence with his brotherly jokes and half-interrogating questions. I only gave short replies, my gaze fixed on the world outside.
Jakarta crawled at its usual sluggish pace. While we waited to enter the highway, Tsabinu glanced at me again, still trying to lighten the mood. It was as if he already knew something was wrong. Usually, I was the one who wouldn’t stop talking, countering his every comment with endless chatter. But not today.
If I opened my mouth now, it wouldn't be words that came out. It would be sobs.
