Chapter 9
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Author's Voice
The golden rays of morning filtered through the latticed window, dancing across her cheeks and illuminating the Qur'ān in her lap.
Alya sat by the open window, lips moving in hushed recitation as the breeze toyed with her dupatta. In that quiet moment, she looked like a prayer answered—serene, whole, untouched by the chaos to come.
Reyhan watched from across the bed, fingers paused over his laptop keyboard. For the first time since their wedding, he saw her—not as a silent pawn, but as the girl beneath the veil. Each flutter of her lashes, each soft turn of the page held him captive.
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The Breakfast Summons
A gentle knock at the door pulled him from his reverie.
> "Sir, ma'am has called. Breakfast is ready."
He closed his laptop and stood.
> "We're coming."
Alya laid the Qur'ān aside and rose, smoothing her hijab without meeting his eyes.
> "Breakfast downstairs. Mother is waiting."
Her heart clenched—uncertainty shivered through her. She followed him down the hall, each step echoing like a question.
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Downstairs Tension
The dining room glowed in morning light. A long table was laden with parathas, halwa, fresh fruit, and steaming tea. The Pratamas sat in polite silence, eyes flicking toward the door.
Dewi Pratama rose, her voice warm yet curious:
> "Come, dear. The food's getting cold."
Reyhan pulled out the chair beside him. Alya slipped into it, fingers twining in her lap. Every face turned to her—expectant, cautious, intrigued.
Plates clinked. Halwa was passed. Cups were filled. But Alya could not taste a single bite.
Finally, Dewi asked softly:
> "Alya, how old are you?"
Alya's throat constricted. She opened her mouth—no answer. Her eyes darted to Reyhan.
He answered gently:
> "She's seventeen."
A hush fell.
Linda Chachi gasped:
> "Seventeen? But she's still a child!"
Fadil muttered, half-teasing:
> "Brother, wait a year before the wedding night, at least."
Nisa snorted into her juice; Tari blinked in surprise. Miko and Zaki exchanged a brief glance—knowledge and regret in their eyes.
Dewi repeated, voice soft:
> "Seventeen…"
She reached out, brushing Alya's hand:
> "You're safe here, dear. You can take your time."
Reyhan placed a gentle fold of halwa on Alya's plate and leaned low:
> "Eat."
She met his gaze—steady, protective—and tentatively took a bite.
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Family Introductions
As the room relaxed, Dewi smiled:
> "Let's introduce everyone properly. You're family now."
One by one they spoke:
> "I'm Tari—your future best friend."
"Nisa here. I steal chocolates."
"Fadil—ignore half the things I say."
"I'm Linda, your Chachi."
"Hendra, your Tayabbu."
"And I," Miko Pratama said, "am your grandfather—your grandmother was my sister."
Alya's heart tightened at those words—belonging, at last, spoken aloud.
Zaki closed the circle:
> "I'm Zaki—your brother, if you'll have one."
When Dewi invited Alya to speak, her lips quivered but no words came. Then Zaki gently explained:
> "She's mute. She cannot speak."
A hush fell—not of pity, but of understanding. Nisa grinned:
> "Perfect—we can text. I'm a text person anyway."
Fadil laughed:
"We'll be best friends in emojis."
Dewi's eyes shone with compassion:
> "Even your silence will teach us much."
Alya felt warmth bloom in her chest as family acceptance wrapped around her like a blanket.
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Victor's Warning
Reyhan reached for his phone to send her a reassuring message, but paused when the screen lit with an incoming text:
> I heared you get married yesterday, Take care of your wife. – V.A."
He swallowed hard. Victor Arman's cryptic warning sizzled in the morning calm.
His fingers hovered over the reply key, heart thrumming with unease.
Reyhan tucked the phone away, forcing himself to focus on the rising chatter around the table. But the weight of that threat pressed on him, a shadow at the edges of dawn.
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Author's Voice
As laughter and soft conversation filled the room, two truths remained: Alya's silence was no longer a barrier, but a bridge to new bonds. And somewhere beyond these walls, Victor Arman's influence crept ever closer—his warning a dark promise on the horizon.
For now, the morning after had brought acceptance and fragile peace. But under the gilded light of the Pratama breakfast hall, the seeds of suspicion and danger were already taking root.
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