SCREEEEECH!
Felzein’s Range Rover came to an abrupt halt before a modest village house, its tyres crying out against the gravel with a sharp, echoing protest.
The sudden commotion stirred the evening calm, drawing the curious gaze of several villagers from their porches and kitchen windows.
“Now, who on earth would be arriving at this hour?” murmured one, brows furrowed with mild suspicion.
Inside the house, a middle-aged couple exchanged glances before stepping out into the cool twilight.
“Who could it be, dear?” asked the man, Cherlyn’s father, Sudiroatmodjo, though most simply knew him as Mr Diro.
“I’ve no idea,” replied his wife, Winarsih, or Mrs Wiwin, as the villagers fondly called her.
“Salamu aleykom, Mum, Dad!” Cherlyn called out brightly as she alighted from the vehicle.
A wave of recognition rippled through the onlookers.
“Oh, it’s Cherlyn! Mr Diro’s daughter,” one neighbour said with a nod of familiarity.
“She’s a doctor now, isn’t she? What a fine young woman she’s become,” another remarked approvingly.
“Wait! Who’s that with her? Could that be her new beau?” a third whispered, leaning forward.
“Hush now! Isn’t Cherlyn already engaged?” came the sharp reply from someone half-hidden behind a curtain.
Mr Diro and Mrs Wiwin, upon hearing Cherlyn’s familiar greeting, felt their hearts stir with joy, their daughter had returned at last.
“Masha Allah, Cherlyn…” Mrs Wiwin exclaimed, her voice warm and overflowing with affection as she stepped onto the porch.
Mr Diro followed close behind, his eyes lighting up, “Where have you been, dear heart? It’s been far too long since your last visit.”
Cherlyn offered a sheepish smile, “Forgive me, Dad, Mum. Life’s been overwhelmingly busy,” she said, casting a glance towards the sleek vehicle now resting before their humble home.
“Darling… come on over!” she called gently toward Felzein.
Mrs Wiwin narrowed her eyes with interest, “And who might that be, sweetheart?”
“Is he your new beau?” Mr Diro asked with a hint of jest, eyebrows raised.
“Of course not. Go on, have a guess!” Cherlyn replied with a sparkle in her eye.
As Felzein stepped out of the car and approached, the soft golden glow from the porch light caught his features.
The years had etched maturity into his face, but the warmth in his eyes remained unchanged.
The moment his face came fully into view, Mr Diro and Mrs Wiwin froze.
Recognition bloomed slowly. Then, like a wave crashing ashore, the memory returned. Emotion surged.
“Masha Allah… Felzein?” Mrs Wiwin breathed, her hand rising to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “It can’t be… You’ve returned after all this time?”
Mr Diro, overcome with emotion, reached out, “Dear boy… you’ve grown into such a fine young man.”
Without hesitation, Felzein stepped forward, lowering himself to kiss their hands with reverence.
“I’m sorry, sir… ma’am,” he said in a low, slightly faltering voice. “After everything, I went on to study in Switzerland. I didn’t mean to vanish.”
“Nonsense, child,” Mrs Wiwin said gently, wiping a tear from her cheek. “There’s nothing to forgive. We’re simply overjoyed you’ve come back to us after all these years.”
Mr Diro took Felzein’s arm with the affectionate pride of a father welcoming home a long-lost son.
Felzein, though still cloaked in the quiet confidence he often wore, felt a faint twinge of awkwardness ripple through him.
The warmth of this homecoming, so unguarded and sincere, caught him off guard after so many years of absence.
“Come now, lad. Let’s not stand around in the cold. We’ll talk properly inside,” Mr Diro said, his voice lined with fondness as he led the way into the modest but inviting house.
Mrs Wiwin beamed as she followed them, her tone rich with nostalgia, “Let’s share supper together, like the old days. It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn’t it?”
Outside, as the front door gently closed behind them, the chorus of curious murmurs among the neighbours had already begun, as though the quiet village air itself were ripe for gossip.
“Oho... that must be Cherlyn’s fiancé,” said one woman, her eyes squinting with interest as she leaned from her porch.
“The young doctor, right? The terribly handsome one,” another replied, unable to hide her admiration.
“Huff, my daughter’s heart will be in tatters again,” sighed a third, shaking her head ruefully.
“Why ever for?” asked the first, genuinely puzzled.
“She’s been smitten with him for ages,” the woman admitted with a sheepish laugh.
“Hmph! Your daughter’s got no shame! Fancying someone else’s fiancé, honestly!” the other woman snapped, half-serious, half-amused.
“I know, I know, my apologies,” the mother said hastily, her cheeks flushing pink as she chuckled in resignation.
Meanwhile, Felzein and Cherlyn found themselves once more at the modest wooden dining table of Mr Diro and Mrs Wiwin, the gentle hum of crickets outside blending with the soft clinking of cutlery.
There was a quiet joy in the air, a reunion not loudly celebrated, but deeply felt.
“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you here again, dear Felzein,” said Mr Diro, his voice coloured with a warmth that came from years of quiet affection.
“For a time, I wondered if you and Cherlyn had perhaps…” He hesitated, casting a sideways glance at his daughter, the rest of the sentence left hanging in the air.
“We didn’t split up, Dad,” Cherlyn said gently, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She knew her father too well.
“Isn’t that right, darling?” she added, her eyes meeting Felzein’s.
Felzein offered a calm, reassuring smile, “Yes, Sir. Cherlyn and I are still very much together.”
Mrs Wiwin exhaled, the tension she hadn’t realised she’d been holding melting into a serene smile.
“Praise be… That makes me happy to hear.”
“Come, let us eat,” she said, ushering them to begin. “It’s been too long since we’ve shared a meal like this.”
And so they dined, not on lavish courses or fine delicacies, but on the honest fare of the countryside, lightly stir-fried greens, salted fish crisp from the pan, golden cubes of tofu and tempeh, and a bowl of fiery sambal in the centre like a crown jewel of spice.
Yet no feast, no matter how grand, could rival the quiet comfort of that evening where every bite was seasoned with memories, and the simple act of sharing the table once more was the richest offering of all.
As the soft clinking of cutlery gave way to a lull in conversation, Cherlyn placed her spoon gently upon her plate and drew in a measured breath.
“Dad… Mum…” she began, her voice scarcely above a whisper.
Mr Diro and Mrs Wiwin, mid-bite, froze instinctively, their gazes turning towards their daughter with a sudden alertness born of parental intuition.
“What is it, Lyn?” asked Mrs Wiwin, her tone warm yet edged with quiet apprehension.
Cherlyn’s eyes flickered towards Felzein.
Felzein returned her glance with a calm nod. His silent way of saying, "Go on. I’m with you."
“In truth,” Cherlyn said slowly, “the reason we’re here tonight is not merely to pay a visit.”
There was a pause, as though the air itself were holding its breath.
“We’re leaving… tonight,” she continued.
Mr Diro’s brows drew together, “Leaving? Where to?”
“To Japan,” she said.
“To Japan?” Mr Diro and Mrs Wiwin exclaimed almost in chorus, their astonishment plain.
“Why on earth are you going to Japan?” Mr Diro asked, incredulous.
Felzein cleared his throat, his voice composed, though the weight of what he was about to say hung heavily.
“There’s a patient, Sir. A friend… someone very dear to me. His name is Ryu.”
He paused, then added, “Four years ago, Ryu suffered a devastating injury. He’s been paralysed ever since, unable to move, barely able to speak. And yet, despite it all, he has spent these four years uttering a single name, mine.”
The room fell utterly silent.
Felzein continued, his voice low, steady. He spoke of the incident at the Vuska Laboratory in Switzerland, how the explosion changed everything.
The science, the guilt, the impossibility of forgetting. He spoke with candour and sorrow, and with a resolute sense of duty.
But one truth remained veiled. The Organisation.
The clandestine body he and Cherlyn now served operating in the shadows of governments and empires, was a secret too deep, too dangerous to reveal.
Not here. Not now. Perhaps not ever.
“So you see, Mr and Mrs Diro,” Felzein concluded, his voice quiet but unwavering, “we’re hoping that with this journey, with what I can offer. There might still be a flicker of hope for Ryu. Even if it’s only the smallest glimmer, we have to try.”
Mr Diro and Mrs Wiwin, having listened with the kind of stillness that comes only from deep affection, finally inclined their heads in a slow, silent gesture of understanding.
There was no need for further words, the gravity of the moment spoke for itself.
No matter how distant the destination, no matter how foreign the tongue or strange the custom true friendship is not diminished by miles.
It weathers time, traverses oceans, and finds a home not in geography, but in the quiet sanctuary of the heart.
It lingers in memory, in the warmth of old laughter, and in the soft prayers that fall unspoken between the hours.
“So long as you both remain in good health and keep each other safe while you’re in Japan,” said Mrs Wiwin, her voice tender, eyes shimmering with restrained emotion, “that is all a mother could ask.”
“And make our people proud while you’re there,” added Mr Diro, his voice tinged with a quiet, resolute pride. “Remember, we come from a land that teaches kindness before all else. Be the light of that teaching wherever you go.”
Felzein and Cherlyn nodded together, not just in agreement, but in gratitude.
In their hearts bloomed something deeper than mere resolve, a sense of being rooted, of being sent forth not in exile, but in benediction.
Whatever awaited them in the lands beyond, they would not face it alone. They would carry with them the blessings of home.