6 – The Reunion That Should Never Have Happened

Several weeks earlier.

The city of Ebonridge.

For nearly five years, Hastan had been stationed here—a sprawling metropolis where steel and glass rose into the clouds, the nerve center of the nation’s most strategic military commands.

Today, duty brought him to the heart of one of its most secure institutions: The Bhayangkara Central Military Hospital. A fortress of white corridors, polished steel, and humming machines. It was more than a hospital—it was the sanctum where technology and war intertwined.

As the Lieutenant Colonel of the Cyber Division, Hastan bore the invisible armor of his era. His battlefield was not lined with trenches or barbed wire, but with servers, firewalls, and encrypted cables. Protecting this hospital meant protecting the very lifeline of countless soldiers and commanders. A single breach in its systems could mean a silent massacre without a single bullet fired.

This morning, three monitors illuminated his face, painting his sharp features in hues of blue and green. His fingers moved across the keyboard in precise rhythm, simulating a ransomware assault of his own design—testing the walls he had built against invisible enemies.

The door clicked open.

Captain Ragil entered, his stance rigid with military composure.

“Sir, the Project Manager from Medinova Teknosurgica has arrived. The board is waiting in the main conference room.”

Hastan shut the monitors down, collected a folder, and rose. His uniform clung to the breadth of his shoulders, the dark green fabric cutting a sharp line down his torso. Each step down the chilled corridor echoed authority.

When the conference door opened, he froze—not outwardly, but inside, where his pulse struck hard against his veins.

At the far end of the table stood a woman beside the projection screen. Her voice carried clearly, her presence commanding.

That profile. That line of her jaw. The way her lips shaped words.

Her.

Meira.

It had been years, yet it felt as if time folded in on itself. He masked the recognition with the discipline of a soldier. No flicker betrayed the storm inside him.

She noticed him too. Her eyes lingered on his face, searching, pulling threads of memory. Then, with professional grace, she extended her hand.

“Meira Adistya Pramudita. Project Manager, Medinova Teknosurgica.”

Her palm met his. Warm, alive. His name rolled low from his throat:

“Hastan Maheswara.”

For a heartbeat, she faltered. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes widening in silent recognition. She masked it quickly, but not quickly enough for Hastan’s predatory gaze to miss.

The Director spoke to fill the air.

“This is Lieutenant Colonel Hastan, head of Cyber Division. He leads the design and security architecture of our entire digital system.”

Meira inclined her head politely. But her eyes—those dark, familiar eyes—still searched his, as though trying to place the ghost that now stood in uniform before her.

The meeting commenced. The room dimmed, the projector came alive, and Meira began her presentation.

Her voice was steady, melodic. Each slide revealed diagrams of cutting-edge devices—the Mechatronic Surgical Arm M9, the BioSync ICU Monitor, the NeuroHeal Stimulator, the Medilink Hub. She spoke of sterilized data routes, power redundancies, and the seamless integration of machine to man.

But Hastan hardly absorbed the technicalities. His focus narrowed, sharp and unrelenting, on her. The curve of her hand as she gestured to the screen. The subtle rise of her chest when she drew breath. The soft cadence of her voice that, even cloaked in professionalism, still struck chords of memory within him.

It was her. Entirely her.

And the years between them did nothing to dissolve the hunger she had unknowingly left behind.

---

The meeting concluded near midday. Lunch followed at a refined restaurant near the hospital, where wood and glass softened the coldness of official duty. The table filled with dishes, conversation flowing easily between executives and officers.

Then—her voice cut through.

“Lieutenant, forgive me if I’m mistaken, but… did you ever attend Ravensworth High School?”

Hastan lowered his spoon deliberately, eyes steady on hers.

“Yes.”

Her face brightened with sudden recognition. “I knew it. No wonder you seemed familiar. I went there too.”

The Director chuckled with delight.

“So you were classmates! What a coincidence.”

Hastan’s lips curved, his voice calm, but edged with something more.

“She was my senior.”

The others exchanged puzzled glances. The Vice Director laughed. “The Lieutenant has an unusual sense of humor.”

Meira quickly smoothed the moment with a small smile. “It’s true. Hastan was actually my junior. I entered early through an acceleration program. In terms of age, of course, he’s the elder.”

A polite explanation. A safe deflection.

But Hastan only leaned back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes held hers with unspoken weight.

'That’s all you’ll admit to? That’s how lightly you intend to brush away what we were?'

Inwardly, his vow coiled tight and dark:

'Wait. I’ll remind you. I’ll make you remember what can’t be erased. I’ll make you pay the debt you thought you could abandon.'

And beneath the civility of clinking glasses and polite laughter, a dangerous current stirred between them—one that neither the years nor their careful masks could extinguish.