Chapter 35 - Sugar and a Minor Beat

Michi's footsteps, about to turn away, came to a sudden stop as Rimba's hand shot out to catch her wrist—not with the interrogating grip from moments ago, but a gentle pull that immediately drew her body flush against the composer's warm embrace.

Michi's still-lit phone in her hand was forced downward, pinned between their pressed-together chests. The distinct scent of light tobacco and sweet cedar soap wafted up at once, instantly reducing her tense mental defenses to rubble.

"Where do you think you're going, hm?" Rimba whispered right beside her ear, his baritone voice sounding so close, so low, and carrying a tenderness he rarely ever showed in front of anyone else. His chin rested perfectly against the top of Michi's head, while one arm wrapped tightly around her slim waist, holding her as though he had no intention of letting her leave anytime soon.

Michi blinked slowly, her heart, which had nearly stopped from almost being caught, now pounding wildly for an entirely different reason. "You heard him... Bayu told me to come home. My curfew's up."

"Let your brother nag all he wants," Rimba replied, unbothered, his lips curving into a thin smile against her hair. "This room's cold, but my arms are a lot warmer than your riding jacket. Don't rush off. Sit with me a little longer."

Rimba let go of the embrace for a moment, only to immediately pull Michi's hand toward the corner of the studio, where an old sofa covered in worn velvet fabric sat waiting. Ignoring his reputation as the campus's famously cold, genius composer, Rimba carefully fluffed the sofa cushions, then switched on a small water heater to brew two cups of hot chocolate—not black coffee, as usual, as if he knew perfectly well that his girlfriend needed an extra dose of sugar and calm after nearly having a heart attack tonight.

Once the steaming cups were handed over, Rimba sat down right beside Michi, closing the space between their shoulders until there was no distance left at all. Michi's cold fingers were immediately taken up by Rimba's large, warm hand, slotting his fingers between her slender ones with such patience.

"You got really tense earlier when I brought up your hands," Rimba's voice softened, staring straight into Michi's eyes with a glint carrying absolute sincerity. There was no scheme or trap hidden there; only a deep, genuine sense of concern. "I don't know what big secret you're keeping behind that sweet smile of yours, Arunika. But if you're ever ready to tell me... I'll listen. No judgment."

Michi swallowed, her chest suddenly tight with a swelling wave of guilt mixed with being deeply moved. This man in front of her was so perceptive, so sharp, that every small lie felt like a sin too heavy to keep carrying. She rested her head on Rimba's shoulder, letting their fingers interlace tighter under the dim studio lights. Forgive me, Rimba, she whispered quietly to herself. Not yet.

That night didn't end in a hurried goodbye. After the cups of hot chocolate were finished and the leftover tension from earlier had fully melted away, they spent the next several hours sitting side by side, finishing up the first draft of their orchestral arrangement in a calming silence.

The days that followed passed in a far warmer rhythm. Meetings at the basement studio were no longer just an arena for arguments or a rigid academic obligation, but a safe harbor where the two of them let their defenses fall away slowly. And outside the studio's walls too, that bond only grew more woven into their daily lives.

Two days later, that afternoon, a gentle breeze blew through, bringing a cool relief in the middle of Yogyakarta's blazing sun. At a semi-open, industrial-style café in the Prawirotaman area, Michi and Rimba sat facing each other across a teak wood table covered in stacks of orchestral score sheets and two glasses of iced latte. Rimba was focused, scribbling away on a worksheet with his wooden pencil, while Michi savored the moment, watching the sharp line of her boyfriend's jaw, looking so serious as he worked.

"Oh right, speaking of contemporary music," Rimba said suddenly, without lifting his eyes from the paper, one hand reaching for the phone on the table before sliding it across toward Michi. "Have you heard that new indie band that's been blowing up lately? Midnight Frequency?"

Michi's whole world seemed to stop turning for a split second.

The glass of iced latte she'd been about to bring to her lips froze mid-air. Her throat went dry instantly. With considerable effort, she wet her lips, then looked at Rimba's phone screen, which displayed the digital album cover of an indie band with a neon mask logo.

"Mi... Midnight Frequency?" Michi squeaked, trying to hide the strange tremor in her voice. "What about them? I thought your taste was strictly Bach and heavy symphonies?"

Rimba let out a small chuckle, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. The corner of his mouth curled into an amused smirk.

"It wasn't my taste at first, admittedly. But last night, a friend of mine at the radio station sent over the master track of their latest album, asking for a production review," Rimba said casually, completely unaware that his girlfriend's heart was currently pounding a thousand times faster than normal. "And honestly... their drum composition is insanely good. Wild, messy, but with an incredibly precise rhythmic structure hiding underneath all that brutality. Whoever's behind that kit has the hands of a genius who somehow took a wrong turn in life."

Michi swallowed extremely hard. She didn't know whether she should feel flattered, being praised to the skies by the most perfectionist composer on campus, or want to faint on the spot at discovering that the man she loved most was busy dissecting the performance of her own secret identity as a nighttime fugitive!

Michi forced herself to breathe and arrange her expression as naturally as possible. She took a sip of her iced latte to hide her nervousness, then glanced at Rimba with a deliberately probing look. "Oh really? That good, huh? Careful, or you might end up falling for the drummer's playing style instead of me, composer."

Rimba laughed softly, his low chuckle sounding warm and easy in the middle of the busy afternoon café. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of Michi's hair away from her eyes, then took hold of her hand on the table.

"No need to get jealous of that anonymous drummer, Maestro," Rimba whispered gently, his gaze softening, full of sincere love. "That drummer might be able to flip this whole city's rhythm upside down with her playing... but you're the only person alive who can make the score sheet in my head finally stop making noise."

A warm flutter immediately crept through Michi's chest, wiping away the last traces of her earlier panic. She smiled genuinely, squeezing her boyfriend's hand tightly in return. Beneath the enormous secret still zipped tightly away inside her backpack, that afternoon Michi knew one thing for certain—no matter how dangerous it was to keep hiding her double identity from a composer as brilliant as Rimba, she never wanted to let go of the warmth that had, by now, become the safest home she had ever known.