Page 191 of Exposé

I slipped past the families and tourists crowding the narrow street, the sounds blending into a low, disjointed hum as everyone waved hello. A man waved a glossy calendar at me,flipping to the current month. I averted my eyes, stepping into the edge of the market traffic.

Seven months.

I don’t need the reminder.

The tropical air clung to my skin and filled my lungs with a mix of sea salt and charcoal smoke from nearby braziers.

A boy with a machete cracked open a coconut for a pair of German backpackers who laughed as the juice spilled over their hands.

I smiled and adjusted the strap of my knapsack, the sweat soaking the fabric under the canvas against my shoulder.

A child with a bundle of frangipani blossoms approached, her smile bright."Káwai man i manumukó anggam?" Do you want some flowers?

I gasped at the spiraled, oval pink leaves, then nodded."Mananya duber" They’re beautiful.

I slipped her five thousandRupiahand carefully tucked the flowers into my knapsack.

Small transactions had become routine over the months as I'd learned the island's rhythm and language. It was enough time to stop and listen to the locals raving about the freshest mangosteen, or which fisherman docked early at the southern pier.

But seven months wasn’t enough to shake the silence.

No messages.

No sign of Nate.

I glanced toward the water, past the longboats tied to the docks. The calm emerald sea dotted with limestone islets under a blazing June sun.

Yet it offered no answers.

Only the crush of the market, the motorized tuk-tuks, and the heavy churn of too many days without a word.

Where was he?

Why hasn't he reached out?

Was it all for nothing?

My thoughts spun in endless loops, questions piling onto questions without a single answer in sight. All I could do was bide my time, try to blend in, and adapt to this new life he'd set me up for. At least Raja Ampat offered a stunning backdrop—waters so clear I could count every coral head, white sand soft enough to sink into, and a vibrant culture that hummed in the air around me—something he'd taught me over the course of the two weeks we'd been locked in a motel together.

He couldn't have picked a better place to hide out.

I stopped at a weathered stall, crates of fruit stacked haphazardly under a faded tarp. The heat radiating off the pavement bit at the soles of my sandals, and the air was thick with the sharp, sweet scent of ripe mangoes and dragon fruit. I adjusted my shoulder bag and nodded at the vendor, an older man with calloused hands.

“Hello,” he said inBiak. He picked up a dragon fruit and turned it over as if inspecting it, then placed it in a smaller basket.

I gave him a tight smile, scanning the table. “A few of those,” I said, pointing at the dragon fruit pile.

The man handed me the bag of dragon fruit as I placed money in his other hand.

"Wa wa.Selamat tinggal."Thank you. Goodbye.

"Hati-hati ya."Take care.

I put the dragon fruit in my knapsack.

"Learning the language is the first rule to adapting."

I froze, my heart seizing as his voice wrapped around me like silk. "I thought it was just to blend in?"

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