Romance

Title: Yasmin and Me

Author: Tan Sri Son [ Page 1 - 10 ]

"Some stories begin with love. Mine begins with destiny."

Life is unpredictable, undeniable, and often beyond our control. No matter how much we try to steer it, the truth remains—we are passengers on a journey shaped by fate. And love, that mysterious force, finds us not when we seek it, but when we least expect it. It shows up in the smallest gestures, the quietest moments, and the most unlikely people.

Just like everyone else walking this earth, we cannot outrun what’s meant for us. We may play roles, wear masks, chase pleasures, or pretend we’re invincible—but destiny knows our true path. Certain events in life don’t just happen by chance—they arrive to carve out the very road we’re meant to walk on.

This is the story of my life, and the unexpected, unforgettable chapter that began with a girl named Yasmin.

My name is Mikh. I was raised with everything a man could want—wealth, privilege, influence. The grandson of one of Malaysia’s wealthiest men, I had access to a world that many only dream of. And like many men with too much freedom and too little guidance, I became what the world expected of me: a playboy, a wanderer, chasing thrills instead of meaning.

But as I’ve said, life has a way of shifting in the quietest of storms.

Meeting Yasmin was not part of the plan. Loving her, even less so. And yet, she appeared, not as a conquest or a fleeting moment, but as a mirror. She didn’t just change my world—she challenged everything I believed about myself.

This is not just a love story. This is a story of transformation. A story that will break you down and bring tears to your eyes—not out of sorrow, but out of sincerity. Because in loving her, I found something I never knew I was searching for—myself.

And this... this is the story of Yasmin and me.

2. That evening, my phone buzzed with a message from Danny. Mikh, you busy? If not, let’s go out for drinks, he wrote.

Danny had been my best friend for as long as I could remember—solid, loyal, and always up for a good time. Azmi, on the other hand, was more than just our partner-in-crime; he was the manager of Shenanigans, our favorite nightlife spot, and the unofficial head of what we jokingly called the “Shenanigans Club”—a trio built on mischief, brotherhood, and late-night escapades.

Without thinking twice, I replied, "Hi Dan, what time and where? Mikh, 10:00 PM at Shenanigans," came the quick response.

Alright, see you there, I sent back, already feeling a flicker of anticipation. After the whirlwind of recent weeks, I could use a night out—something simple, something real. And Azmi’s steady warmth and loyalty were something I always found comfort in, even if we rarely talked about it.

By 10:00 PM, Shenanigans was alive and humming. The familiar buzz of music, the low thrum of bass vibrating through the floors, and the chatter of voices bouncing off dim-lit walls greeted me like an old friend. I spotted Danny and Azmi at our usual corner booth, drinks already in hand.

“Finally!” Danny called out, raising his glass. “Thought you’d bail.” “Never,” I grinned, sliding into the seat beside him. Azmi clinked his glass with mine as he passed me a drink. We talked, laughed, and swapped stories—some exaggerated, some embarrassingly true. It felt good to just be with them again.

Then, like a ripple in still water, a different kind of energy drifted through the room. I noticed it first in how Danny's laughter faltered, or how Azmi slowly leaned forward, eyes locked on something—or someone—across the bar.

I followed their gaze. A group of women had just taken the table opposite ours. All dressed to the nines, their presence drew subtle glances from nearly every corner of the room. But one of them, in particular, stood out. She wore a sleek dark blue dress that hugged her figure perfectly, the fabric catching the light with every movement. Her hair was swept effortlessly over one shoulder, her posture regal, her eyes aloof. She was stunning—no doubt about it—but it was her confidence, that cool indifference, that made her seem untouchable.

Danny let out a low whistle. “Mikh, look at that table. That girl is...wow.” Azmi chuckled, the mischief already brewing in his tone. “She’s out of this world, man. Dangerous, though—you can tell.”

Then, with a grin that spelled trouble, he leaned in. “Alright, I’ll make this fun. Whoever gets her number tonight gets two bottles on me every weekend for the whole month.” I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty bold offer.”

He shrugged. “I’m just spicing up the night.” We laughed. And with that, the challenge was on.

Azmi went first, flashing his signature grin and oozing the charm that usually worked without fail. We watched him from our booth, sipping our drinks and trying not to laugh as we saw her face go blank halfway through his smooth lines. He returned moments later, dramatically placing a hand over his heart.

“She’s so arrogant, bro,” he said, shaking his head. “I heard she’s some politician’s daughter. A Datuk’s kid. Makes sense, huh?” Danny raised a brow. “So what? Still a person, right?” He hesitated for a second before standing up. “Alright. Let’s see if charm 2.0 works better.”

We watched as Danny approached with a practiced coolness, starting with a confident smile and a playful wave. But within minutes, he was back too, empty-handed. “Damn,” he muttered, sinking into his seat. “She’s smoking hot, but man, she’s ice-cold. Untouchable.”

Then, both of them turned to me. Danny nudged my arm. “Your turn, Mikh.”

I looked at them, then back at her. Something about her had shifted the moment I looked again. Maybe it was the way she pretended not to notice the attention she was getting, or maybe it was because she didn’t seem to care. Her indifference wasn’t rude—it was powerful. And that intrigued me more than anything.

I sighed, standing. “Fine. But I’m not playing your game,” I muttered. As I approached, her friends glanced at me curiously, one of them whispering something behind a hand. But she didn’t move. She didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. Just stared ahead, sipping her drink like she had nothing to prove.

Stopping just in front of her, I met her eyes and said, in a calm, steady voice: “You know... arrogance doesn’t suit anyone. Not status. Not social standing. None of it really means much when you strip it all down. What truly matters is being genuine—being yourself. Everything else? That’s just noise.”

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t smile. Didn’t look angry either. Just… still. And in that moment of silence, I turned and walked away, letting my words hang in the air behind me. Back at our table, Danny and Azmi were wide-eyed.

“What happened, bro?” Azmi asked. I shrugged and picked up my drink. “Sometimes it’s not about winning or losing. It’s about leaving an impression.”

They burst into laughter, shaking their heads in disbelief. We clinked our glasses and kept talking—about life, about the past, about nothing at all. The night stretched on, and for a few hours, it felt like we had no worries, no burdens. Just the sound of music, laughter, and friendship that needed no explanation.

And across the room, I felt her eyes on me once—just once—before she looked away again. That was enough.

3. That lady stared at me without a word, but her eyes—sharp, searching—burned with a strange blend of anger and curiosity. It wasn’t hatred. It was more complex, almost haunted. Her gaze lingered in my mind long after I returned to the table. I tried to shake it off, laughing as I slid back into my seat beside Danny and Azmi.

“You alright, Mikh?” Danny asked, nudging me. Azmi smirked. “Bro, did she slap you with her eyes or what?”

Their laughter grounded me, helped me breathe again. The drinks flowed, the music wrapped around us like a blanket of sound, and for a while, we told stories, cracked jokes, and tried to reclaim the ease of the night. But her silent stare had left an imprint—one I couldn’t scrub off.

Eventually, as the crowd thinned and the music slowed to something dreamy and nostalgic, we called it a night. The next morning, a restlessness stirred inside me. I needed something steady, something real. So I messaged Aurora.

"Hi Aurora, want to join me later for jogging?" Her reply came almost instantly. "Ok, Mikh. Good idea." " I’ll pick you up around 5:00 PM. We’ll head straight to the beach, alright? Perfect." " Thanks, Aurora. You take care and drive safe," she added, her message warm and familiar.

Aurora had once been my girlfriend not long before Yasmin. Our story wasn’t passionate chaos; it was soft and quiet, like a steady tide. We had loved simply. But simple didn’t mean small. She left an imprint too, a quiet space in my life I often returned to.

That evening, we jogged along the beach, golden light painting the sky and waves crashing with rhythmic calm. We didn’t talk much—there was no need. Just two people, moving in sync, letting the moment carry us.

Later, we sat on the sand, watching the stars blink into view as the ocean whispered beside us. Silence stretched between us—comfortable, unspoken.

On the drive home, the silence lingered, gentle but heavy. Aurora stared out the window, a soft smile playing on her lips, until she finally turned to me, her voice hesitant. “Mikh, who are you really? If you don’t mind… tell me something real about you.”

I wasn’t ready. But maybe I never would be. “I’m nobody, Aurora,” I said, my voice trembling despite my calm tone. “Just a lost soul trying to find his way. I don’t have a story like yours. Mine’s... full of pain.”

She turned to me fully now, eyes searching. “Mikh… what are you trying to say?” I took a breath, deep and shaky.

“I was born in Manila. My mom—a young student from Spain—couldn’t afford to raise me. She made the hardest decision: she gave me up, hoping I'd have a better life.” Aurora’s expression softened as sorrow filled her eyes.

“I was brought to Malaysia,” I continued, “passed around between families. I wasn’t adopted—I was handled, like baggage. Kicked from one home to another, used, threatened... treated like something broken.” Her eyes shimmered with tears. I could feel my own starting to fall.

“Since I was four,” I whispered, the words choking out of me. Aurora reached for me, fingertips trembling as they brushed against my lips. “That’s too long, Mikh,” she said through her tears. “Thank you,” I murmured, brushing at my face. “Thank you for caring. But… what about you? What’s your story?”

4.She hesitated. Her eyes were distant now, fixed on the road. Then she spoke, each word heavy and bare.

“My mom… she was with someone else before she divorced my dad. He found out—but he didn’t scream or hate her. He just gave her a choice. Him… or the other man.” Her voice broke. “She chose the other man.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, steady and silent.

“My dad was a good man. He loved her. He didn’t deserve it. But she couldn’t stay—she was always halfway out the door. She wasn’t sincere. Not to him. Not to herself. And I watched it all—watched him fall apart.”

She took a sharp breath, as if trying to hold herself together. “Now I’m scared I’ll become him. That I’ll give everything to someone who walks away. That I’ll be left broken… like he was.” I reached over, placing a steady hand on her shoulder.

“That’s a hard story, Aurora. I’m sorry you had to live it.” She looked at me, eyes full of grief. “I just want to believe there are people who stay.” I nodded, my voice low but sure. “There are. Not everyone runs. Some people stay. Some people love deeply… and they choose to stay, even when it’s hard.”

We fell into silence again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was understanding.

Two people, broken in different ways, find a moment in the same night. Afterward, I drove her home. At the Beverly Hills apartment compound, Aurora turned to me with tears glistening in her eyes. "Thank you for this lovely evening, Mikh," she said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

I nodded, frozen in the quiet moment, as my own tears shimmered behind my gaze. Before stepping out of the car, she leaned over and hugged me tightly. Her body trembled against mine, and in that fragile embrace, the weight of everything unspoken pressed between us.

"I’m so sorry if my question earlier stirred painful memories," she whispered between sobs. "Please forgive me." "It’s okay, Aurora. It’s just part of my life," I said gently, my voice warm with reassurance. "Please… don’t cry." I paused, then added even softer, "Promise me that."

She gave a small nod, her sobs easing. As she opened the door to step out, she turned back, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of the streetlamps. "Mikh, stay like this forever, okay? Because someone out there… someone out there misses you."

I watched her walk slowly down the apartment lane, her figure fading into the quiet evening. "Goodnight, Aurora," I whispered to myself, the words barely leaving my lips. As I drove away, I felt something unfamiliar settle in my chest. Not exactly peace, but a gentle release. Like a storm had passed and left behind still waters.

The next morning, my phone lit up with a message from her" Good morning, Mikh. Don’t forget to have breakfast, okay? See you! I smiled. Morning, Aurora. You too.

Weeks passed. Her father’s condition gradually improved, and during that time, something quiet but powerful grew between us. We didn’t talk about it. There were no grand gestures, no promises. Just a quiet rhythm—morning messages, short calls, occasional walks by the sea.

I knew she had feelings for me. And I had feelings for her. But neither of us said it. We danced around the truth, afraid to name something so delicate. That unspoken honesty made it beautiful—fragile, but real. Then one day, the messages stopped.

At first, I thought she was busy. But as days slipped into weeks, the silence began to ache. I tried to tell myself it was okay, that I needed space. But deep down, I felt something was missing. Until one evening, my phone buzzed with a message from Ahmad.

Hi, Mikh. Are you free this week? I stared at the screen, my heart suddenly heavy. I didn’t respond. The next day, at the same hour, another message appeared. Mikh, if you’re reading this, please respond. It’s urgent.

His persistence unsettled me. I knew Ahmad didn’t mean harm—but something about his timing gnawed at me. After a long moment, I finally replied. And that’s when everything began to change.

Ahmad was my cousin from my Malay family side—one of the few I had occasional contact with despite the distance and history between us. While our bond wasn’t especially close growing up, he was someone I trusted enough to enter into business with. Over time, though, I started to see cracks in his management and a lack of transparency that became harder to ignore.

It was difficult, not just professionally but personally too, because confronting him meant stirring up emotions tied to a part of my family I’d long felt disconnected from.

5.Weeks passed, and Aurora and I began seeing each other again. Then one night, after a quiet movie together, I turned to her and said softly, "It’s getting late, Aurora. Let’s grab some dinner, then I’ll drive you home, okay?"

She nodded silently, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Over dinner, we barely spoke. The air between us was heavy—not with discomfort, but with emotions too raw to give shape to. Afterward, I drove her back. The only sound was the gentle hum of the engine until, out of the silence, Aurora spoke.

"Mikh," she said, her voice tentative, "why do you like helping people so much?, like you help me, my brother and my father?" I glanced at her, surprised by the question. "Erm… I’m not sure I have a clear answer, Aurora," I replied, pausing as the memory of something long buried stirred. "But..."

I exhaled slowly and continued, "There was one day during my trip to Bali. Pak Nyoman Sandia—my friend and business partner—took me to a temple. It was there, in that sacred, quiet space, that I found a kind of answer." She turned to me, curiosity softening her features. "What happened there?"

My voice dropped, and I spoke with a quiet reverence. "A monk at the sacred temple in Bali told me something I’ve never forgotten. He looked at me and said, ‘You are destined to be a savior to many in this world. Your spirit is white, clean, and innocent. But… you are also destined to be a candle.’"

I paused, the weight of those words still echoing through time. "He said, ‘Yes, you are a candle. You will bring light and hope to others, but like all candles, your own light will burn away in the process. You are meant to suffer so that others may find happiness. This is your fate.’"

Aurora’s eyes filled with tears. She didn’t speak, but the silence between us deepened—speaking more than words ever could.

"I didn’t believe in destiny before," I murmured. "But when I look back at everything—my pain, my past—I can’t deny it anymore. I am meant to be a candle for others. That’s just… who I am." My voice trembled. "But every time I help someone, I feel a little less burdened. A little lighter. Maybe that’s why I keep doing it. Because even though it hurts, it sets me free, too."

A lump rose in my throat. "This is my fate, Aurora. My truth." She wiped her tears slowly, then looked at me with eyes full of quiet strength. Her voice trembled as she asked, "Mikh… if someone wanted to come into your life, would you be ready?"

The question caught me off guard. I turned to her, confused. "Why do you ask?" "Nothing, Mikh," she whispered, her gaze dropping. "I’m just asking." I sighed, my voice barely audible. "I can’t open my door to anyone, Aurora. I just… can’t."

"Why, Mikh?" she asked gently, though the weight behind her words was immense.

I hesitated, the words clawing their way out of me. "Because I’m not a good man, Aurora," I admitted, my voice cracking. "I’ve been in so many relationships… I cheated on them. Lied to them. Not for money—I already have that. But nothing I did ever made me happy. Nothing ever filled the emptiness inside me."

She stayed quiet, urging me to continue. "I’m a playboy," I confessed. "That’s who I am." Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. I looked away, tears falling freely now.

"I’ve tried to change. I’ve longed to be normal, to break free of this cycle. But every time I try, I get hurt. They cheat. They lie. And the pain starts all over again. So, I stopped trying. I accepted this version of myself—the one who helps others while slowly burning out, unnoticed."

My voice cracked with the weight of it. "This is who I am, Aurora. And I don’t know if I’ll ever change." A long silence stretched between us—fragile, aching. Then, in a voice as soft as a prayer, she said, "Mikh… you can change. Someone out there will help you. Someone will change everything for you."

Her words pierced straight through the armor I had worn for years. I wanted to believe her, so badly. But fear… fear had a way of lingering. Still, something in her voice—something unshakably kind—settled in my heart like the first light of dawn.

6.That night, my drive felt heavier than ever before. Aurora’s words lingered in my mind, echoing like a soft melody. "Someone out there will help you. Someone will change everything for you."

Mixed emotions crept in, wrapping around my thoughts like a fog. Was she the one? I asked myself, again and again. then, like a ghost from the past, Audrey’s face flickered in my mind. Is this my destiny? I whispered to myself, barely audible.

As I pulled into the Beverly Hills apartment compound, the stillness of the night hung between us. Aurora turned to look at me, her eyes shimmering with the remnants of tears. Her gaze held something I couldn’t quite describe—tenderness, maybe… or the courage it takes to hope again.

"Tonight was… different," she said softly. "I don’t usually talk like that." "I know," I replied, my voice low. "But I’m glad you did."

She studied me for a moment, her fingers playing with the strap of her purse. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Mikh. You’re not as unreachable as you think.” I swallowed hard, her words pressing against the quiet ache inside me. "Sometimes, I don’t know how to let anyone in," I admitted.

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, one that seemed to hold a universe of patience. “Someone will help you,” she repeated, more deliberately this time. “Maybe not today, maybe not the way you expect—but they will. And when they do, you’ll know.”

She opened the car door slowly, hesitating. “Drive safe, okay?” "I will," I murmured. Then, just as she stepped out, I added, “Aurora.” She turned, her figure framed by the soft glow of the apartment lights. “Yeah?”

"Thanks for tonight." There was a pause—just long enough for silence to say something words couldn’t. Then she smiled again. “Goodnight, Mikh.” "Goodnight, Aurora," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

She walked away, her steps light but purposeful, disappearing up the pathway. I sat there, watching her go, a strange warmth blooming in my chest. Then, for the first time in a long while, I smiled—a real smile.

As I pulled away into the quiet night, the emptiness that usually rode beside me felt lighter. Almost… bearable. Her words kept playing on repeat in my mind: "Someone out there will help you. Someone will change everything for you."

I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was that someone. I thought about the way she looked at me—like she saw through the walls I didn’t know were still up. I thought about the way her voice softened the sharp edges of my world. But was it real? Or just my wandering mind?

Maybe I was imagining the tenderness in her tone, the silent connection in her gaze. Maybe I was only teasing myself, hoping for something that couldn’t be. Still… her words wouldn’t leave me. They wrapped around my heart and wouldn’t let go. "Someone out there will help you. Someone will change everything for you."

For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name—hope, perhaps. Or the quiet beginnings of love. And as I turned onto Sunset, the stars hidden behind Kota Kinabalu haze, I whispered into the empty car, “What if she’s the one?”

The silence didn’t answer—but somehow, the night didn’t feel so empty anymore.

7.Days passed with a familiar rhythm—everything in its place. Mornings were spent at my sister’s cake shop, afternoons delivering boxes around town, evenings at the clubhouse with the usual crew, and nights tangled in the low-lit chaos of the Hyatt shenanigans.

My life was steady, almost mechanical. Oh, and of course—there was still Borneo Marroan Inc., my Surfing Academy in Bali, quietly thriving in the background like a distant pulse I didn’t have to think about too much. But something new had slipped into that routine. Or rather, someone. Aurora.

And with her came the question that wouldn’t stop echoing in my mind: Is she the one? That morning, just as the sun spilled over the city, my phone buzzed with a message from Ahmad. "Mikh, can you please help us here?" Simple words. But they carried weight—too much, maybe.

I stared at the screen, the familiar tension rising in my chest. That inner war again. Empathy tugged one way; experience tugged the other. Help him, my heart urged. Help your Malay mom. But another voice hissed through the cracks of memory: What if it’s a trap?

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning. I can’t keep getting caught on their web, I thought. How many times have I been burned? How many times had they twisted concern into manipulation?

And yet… the guilt came creeping in like it always did. That soft, agonizing pang I could never quite silence. Maybe this is just my fate, I thought bitterly. To be the one they reach out to when they’re desperate. The one who always answers, even when I shouldn’t.

Finally, after what felt like a century of silence, I replied: "Hi Ahmad, does my mom really have a problem? What kind of help do you need from me?" The response came almost instantly. "Mikh, we need your help here. Your mom does too."

I froze. Those words hit harder than I expected. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, then typed slowly: "Let me figure something out, Ahmad." "Okay, Mikh. I'll wait for your response. Thank you."

The exchange left me hollow. Numb. I sat there in the quiet, watching the messages on my screen like they might rearrange themselves into something less heavy. But they didn’t. Later that evening, still tangled in my own uncertainty, another message buzzed in— Aurora. "Hi Mikh, are you busy?"

I replied without hesitation. "Hi Aurora, I’m at the clubhouse. Anything on your mind?" A short pause. Then— "Mikh, can we go to the beach later?" I smiled, despite everything. Somehow, she always knew when to show up. Not to fix things, but just… to be there. "Sure, why not? I’ll pick you up at 6:00 pm, okay?"

"Okay, Mikh. See you there." The rest of the day passed in a blur. But unlike the drain Ahmad’s message brought, the thought of seeing Aurora carried a quiet kind of comfort. Still, I was nervous. Not just about the evening—but about her. About what she might say. About what I might feel.

About the questions I wasn’t ready to ask myself. Maybe it was just Aurora. Or maybe, just maybe… it was something more than that.

8.After picking up Aurora, we headed straight to the beach. We didn’t catch the sunset this time, but the soft glow of twilight still lingered, painting the shoreline in hues of blue and silver. We walked in silence for a while, the sound of the waves as our only companion.

Aurora broke the silent first. “Mikh, the more I think about it, the more I struggle with myself. I don’t know why…” Her voice trailed off, and I could sense her hesitation. I glanced at her, my tone gentle. “Why, Aurora? Is there something you want to say?”

She sighed, her steps slowing. “Mikh, maybe it wasn’t right for me to ask you that question last night…” I stayed silent, giving her the space to continue. She exhaled deeply before speaking again. “Mikh, when you’re into someone… you think about them all the time. It’s like they’re always there, in your mind, no matter what you do. But maybe I’m overthinking things, right?” Her voice trembled slightly, uncertain.

“Hey, Aurora,” I said softly, stopping to face her. “Don’t take it so seriously, okay? Life is unpredictable, and we just have to appreciate what it brings us. Don’t you think?” She looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think it’s better to hide our feelings, though?”

I hesitated, unsure how to answer her question. “I don’t know, Aurora… Sometimes it’s hard to tell what’s right or wrong when it comes to feelings.” Her gaze shifted back to the sand, and then she spoke again, her voice shaky. “Mikh, do you remember when I asked you, ‘If someone wanted to come into your life, would you be ready?’”

I paused, my mind replaying that moment. Slowly, I nodded.

Aurora took a deep breath, her voice breaking slightly. “Ever since that night at the hospital, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. My mind keeps thinking about…” She stopped, her nervousness palpable. “Aurora,” I said, taking a step closer, my voice calm and steady. “Can I ask you something?” She nodded hesitantly.

“Can you look into my eyes?” I asked softly, tilting my head to catch her gaze. Her head shook as tears welled in her eyes. “I can’t, Mikh. I can’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t be nervous,” I reassured her, gently taking her hands in mine. “It’s just a part of what you’re feeling. It’s okay to let it out.”

Her hands trembled in mine, and she looked down, her voice breaking. “What’s happening to me, Mikh? These feelings… why do they keep following me?” Her tears began to fall as she added, “I’m afraid, Mikh. Afraid of losing myself in these emotions. Afraid of what they mean.”

I leaned in slightly, my voice as tender as the breeze. “Aurora, look at me. Please, just look into my eyes.” She hesitated, her gaze still fixed on the sand, her shoulders rising and falling with unspoken emotion.

I could feel the weight of her struggle, the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide. “It’s okay, Aurora,” I said, my fingers lightly brushing hers. “You don’t have to hide what you’re feeling. Let it flow… it’s just you and me tonight.”

And for a moment, as the waves lapped at the shore and the stars began to pierce the sky, I could feel the fragile beauty of her emotions, unspoken but so deeply felt.

9.Aurora slowly lifted her eyes to meet mine, her tears shimmering like delicate crystals caught in the moonlight. “Mikh… is it wrong to feel this way?” she asked, her voice soft, trembling with vulnerability, as if the question itself was too fragile to be spoken.

I shook my head gently, my voice low but steady. “No, Aurora. It’s not wrong. Feelings like this… they come from the heart. They’re real, they’re human—and there’s nothing wrong about that.” I paused, letting the silence wrap around us before I added,

“Love is the most beautiful thing that can happen to anyone in this world. Let it grow. Let it breathe. There’s nothing more sacred than what you’re feeling right now.” She looked away, the corners of her lips quivering slightly.

“I’ve never felt like this before, Mikh. Not even close,” she whispered, her voice laced with fear and wonder. “Maybe I’m just naive… or maybe I’ve never let myself feel anything this real before.” “You’re not naive, Aurora,” I said gently, my own heart tightening with the weight of her honesty.

“You’re not naive—you’re innocent. You’re pure. Like a blank canvas waiting for the colors of love and life to paint their story.” I hesitated, the words threatening to break me before I even spoke them. “But me… I’m just a shadow drifting through this world. A scapegoat for the things that went wrong. I don’t deserve love… or to even feel it.”

The words left me raw, exposed. And for a heartbeat, the silence between us ached. Aurora reached out, her fingers gently finding mine. Her touch was warm, grounding, despite the silent tears that continued to fall. “Mikh,” she said, her voice trembling but clear, “you need to give someone space to love you.”

The words struck deep—soft, yet powerful, like the tide washing over a forgotten shore. “Whatever you’ve been through... it’s already behind you,” she continued, her eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re allowed to heal, Mikh. You deserve to heal. You deserve love. Don’t let yesterday’s pain build walls around your heart. There’s still so much beauty waiting for you… if you just let it in.” She paused, her voice faltering as she looked down.

“Mikh, I… I…” Her voice trailed off, caught somewhere between confession and hesitation. But I didn’t need her to finish. I already knew. I stepped forward, gently pulling her into my arms. She came willingly, folding into me like she belonged there, like we both did.

Her arms wrapped around me, and for the first time in a long time, I felt whole. The ocean whispered behind us, the night sky wide and endless above, but all I could feel was her. The world fell away—no past, no future, just this moment. This fragile, perfect moment.

And in that embrace, something shifted inside me. Maybe… just maybe, Aurora was right. Maybe I wasn’t broken beyond repair. Maybe love wasn’t something I had to run from anymore. Maybe—just maybe—this was where healing begins.

10.Hours slipped by as Aurora and I remained in each other's embrace, lost in a moment that felt eternal. The world around us seemed to vanish, leaving only the rhythm of the waves and the quiet beating of our hearts.

“Aurora, it’s getting late. Let me take you home now, okay?” I finally said, reluctant to break the spell. She nodded softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Okay, Mikh.” I reached out to wipe away the lingering tears on her cheeks, then leaned in and placed a gentle kiss there. “Thank you, Aurora,” I said warmly.

She looked down shyly, her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t pull away. I took her hand, and we walked back to the car, our steps slow as if we both wished to delay the inevitable. The drive from the beach felt fleeting, the silence between us filled with unspoken thoughts and emotions. I wished I could hold onto the night just a little longer.

When we arrived at her apartment’s parking lot, Aurora lingered for a moment before getting out. She turned to me, her eyes filled with tenderness, and wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.

“We’ll face all the challenges together, okay? I promise,” she whispered, her voice steady but full of emotion. Before I could respond, she leaned in and kissed me softly, her lips tender against mine. “Goodnight, Mikh. Drive safe,” she said, her voice a gentle melody as she stepped out of the car.

I watched her walk down the dimly lit corridor, her silhouette disappearing into the shadows. That drive home was unlike any other—I was filled with a newfound hope and joy, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in years.

The next morning, her message greeted me like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. “Good morning, Mikh. Don’t forget, someone out there will always be there for you. Muahhhh,” Aurora wrote. I smiled, the warmth of her words filling me with strength. I replied, “Morning, Aurora. Thank you.”

Later that day, I messaged Ahmad and arranged a meetup. Once we finalized the location, I drove there, my thoughts a whirlwind of emotions.

When I arrived, I saw Ahmad and Amir waiting for me.

Amir greeted me first, pulling me into a hug. “Hi, Mikh. How are you?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern. “I’m okay, Amir. How about you?” I replied. “I’m fine, just worried about Mom’s health,” he said, his tone heavy with worry.

I turned to Ahmad, who looked at me with a sadness that mirrored Amir’s. “How are you, Mikh?” Ahmad asked softly. “I’m doing okay, bro,” I replied, my tone calm but firm. I reached into my bag and handed them an envelope. “Ahmad, Amir, I managed to collect this amount. Please spend it wisely on Mom’s medicine, okay?”

Amir took the envelope, his gratitude evident in his eyes. “Thank you so much, Mikh. I’ll make sure it’s used properly,” he promised. Ahmad nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Mikh. You’ve always been there for us, even when others treated you unfairly.”

As they turned to leave, Amir leaned in and whispered, “I’ll let Mom know about your help, don’t worry. But, Mikh… she misses you. She really does.” His words struck a chord deep within me, and my eyes welled up with tears. I missed her too—more than words could express. But I knew I had to keep my distance. If they found out it was me helping, I would only be hurt again. Amir seemed to understand.

Amir was my stepbrother from my Malay family side, but he never made me feel like anything less than his real brother. He was kind, warm-hearted, and always treated me with genuine care and respect—as if we had shared the same blood all along.

As I drove away, my heart felt heavy yet light at the same time. I had done what I could for my mom, even if it meant staying in the shadows. And as Aurora’s words echoed in my mind. “Someone out there will always be there for you”. I realized that maybe, just maybe, the world still held a glimmer of hope for me.

TO BE CONTINUE.......................