Felzein, at last, became aware of the inquisitive stares fixed upon him, unspoken questions flickering in the eyes of Rosa and Melati like candlelight dancing on a draught.
"Ahem…" he cleared his throat gently, the sound slicing through their silent wonderings like a pebble into still water.
Both young women startled slightly, caught mid-thought as though a spell had been broken.
Turning his gaze towards Rosa, Felzein's tone was light, almost teasing in its simplicity.
"Ocha, has my prescription been prepared?"
Rosa, still somewhat flustered, nodded quickly, "Oh... Y-Yes, it's ready," she replied, her words laced with a nervous tremor she couldn't quite suppress.
A smile, warm and unhurried, curved behind Felzein's mask, "And what do I owe you?"
Rosa, grateful for the shift to something routine, busied herself with the register, "That'll be fifteen thousand, sir," she said, more confidently now.
Without pause, Felzein slipped a hand into his trouser pocket and produced a single note, twenty thousand rupiah, and passed it to her with quiet ease.
She took it deftly, opened the drawer with a practiced motion, and counted out the change.
"Here's your change, sir," she said, offering it across the counter.
But Felzein didn't reach for his pocket, nor did he count the banknotes.
Instead, with the graceful certainty of someone guided by habit rather than impulse, he turned and dropped the money into the small charity box beside the till, a simple act, yet one that carried the weight of unspoken principle.
Rosa and Melati exchanged glances once more, but this time it wasn't just curiosity that passed between them.
It was the shared awareness that the man before them, quiet, courteous, and mysterious, was perhaps far more than he appeared.
Felzein made his way to the door, his steps unhurried, the soft creak of the floorboards accompanying his quiet departure.
But just as he reached the threshold, Rosa's voice, barely above a whisper, halted him.
"Mr Felzein… my parents send their regards."
There was a delicate tremor in her words, a hesitance that betrayed her uncertainty, unsure, perhaps, if the message ought to have been spoken at all.
He turned, not abruptly, but with the calm grace of one well-accustomed to the weight of unspoken things.
His eyes, just visible above the edge of his mask, crinkled with the hint of a smile.
"Wa Aleykom Assalam… Thank you kindly," he said, his voice warm, almost intimate in its gentleness. "Please do extend my gratitude to both your mother and father."
Rosa merely nodded, her gaze lowered, cheeks tinged with a blush that spoke of emotions not yet ready to surface.
A quiet moment passed between them, fleeting, but not easily forgotten.
Meanwhile, Melati, standing quietly beside her, found herself gripped by an ever-deepening curiosity about the exchange that had just unfolded between Rosa and the masked young man, Felzein.
At length, Felzein stepped forth from Koba Baru Pharmacy with a measured calmness.
He placed his helmet upon his head with unhurried grace, mounted his pristine white scooter, ignited the engine with a gentle hum, and began to glide away from the scene.
"Huff…" Rosa released a soft breath, striving to steady her fluttering nerves.
Yet Melati's inquisitiveness only intensified, pressing ever more insistently.
"Ocha, do explain. I'm utterly befuddled," she said, eyes narrowed with a keen suspicion. "When did you two first meet? And you said your parents sent their regards to him? So, he's been to your home before?"
The rapid succession of questions left Rosa visibly flustered, a delicate blush blooming across her cheeks as hesitation tugged at her features.
"Er… I-It's just that…" Rosa faltered, words failing her under Melati's unyielding gaze. The longer she hesitated, the more impatient Melati's expression grew.
"You must tell me!" Melati pressed, her voice firm and commanding.
Rosa's discomfort deepened, but before she could muster an excuse, Melati pressed on without pause.
"You were the one insisting I be truthful earlier, weren't you? You wouldn't relent until I confessed about Welly!"
The memory silenced Rosa momentarily.
Indeed, she had been relentless in coaxing Melati's painful confession about the torment she suffered at Welly's hands.
Now, the roles were reversed. Melati's eyes locked onto Rosa with an intensity that bespoke both curiosity and expectation.
At last, under the unwavering scrutiny of Melati's keen eyes, Rosa conceded.
With a hesitant breath, she began to unravel the tale of the previous evening, how she had found herself trapped within the quiet confines of the pharmacy, long past closing time, still waiting for a ride home.
Her uncle, Feri, the appointed chauffeur, had been waylaid by misfortune.
A punctured tyre on his motorbike had rendered him unable to reach her in time.
Panic, like a shadow, had crept upon Rosa as night deepened, the streets emptied, and uncertainty gnawed at her resolve.
Yet, just when hope seemed most frail, a figure emerged from the dusk.
At first, Rosa could not place him. His features obscured beneath a mask and jacket, an enigma in the gloom.
But as the veil lifted ever so slightly, recognition blossomed, he was one of Koba Baru Pharmacy's familiar patrons, the man who always wore a mask, his countenance a mystery until this very moment.
A great burden lifted from her heart, and relief flooded through her veins.
Without ceremony or fanfare, the stranger, Felzein, as she would come to know him, offered safe passage home.
Thus, she arrived at last within the sanctuary of her own doorstep, escorted by the man who now, more than ever, intrigued her deeply.
To Melati, she recounted every detail, the creeping dread, Felzein's timely arrival, and the profound comfort she felt in his quiet company.
Yet, there remained one secret Rosa guarded closely, she said nothing of his face.
She chose silence over confession, reluctant for Melati to glimpse the striking handsomeness that had captured her attention.
For in her heart, Rosa knew full well, were Melati to behold Felzein's visage, she too would be ensnared by the same subtle, unspoken fascination that gripped her soul.
"So that's how it is, Mel," Rosa explained, her voice steady and clear.
Melati's lips curled into a relieved smile, "Well, that's a comfort. He seems a decent sort," she said with genuine warmth.
Yet a flicker of curiosity still danced in her eyes, "But tell me! How does he look? Is he handsome?" she asked, eyes alight with intrigue.
Rosa hesitated briefly. Deep within, she yearned to confess her truth.
"Handsome beyond words!! Truly, if you saw him, I'd wager you'd fall headlong in love," she thought, though the words remained unspoken.
Melati, growing impatient, pressed again, "Come on, Ocha! Be honest. Is he handsome or not?"
With a playful chuckle masking a blush, Rosa chose to deflect, "Handsome enough, I suppose. After all, he's a man, not a lady!" she teased.
Melati rolled her eyes with affectionate exasperation, "Ah, no wonder your status reads like that…" she teased slyly, her tone laden with implication.
Rosa's brow furrowed, "What do you mean?" she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice.
Grinning, Melati quipped, "A touch romantic… just a touch, mind," accompanied by a knowing wink.
"Hmph!" Rosa scoffed, cheeks tinged with a delicate flush, caught between annoyance and amusement.
Melati let out a soft, amused chuckle before casting a glance towards the clock mounted on the pharmacy wall.
Unwittingly, the hands had crept up to quarter to one in the afternoon.
"Ocha… we should start preparing. Soon, we shall be on our way home. It's almost a quarter to one," Melati remarked, gathering her belongings with a graceful efficiency.
"Huh? Already? It feels like the day's barely begun," Rosa muttered, her brow furrowing as she grappled with the swift passage of time.
"That, my dear, is the gift of work well enjoyed. Hours slip away unnoticed, like sand through fingers," Melati said, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
Rosa offered a reluctant nod of assent, the sensation of the day's swift flight settling warmly within her.
Without hesitation, she set about arranging the clutter upon the counter and methodically counted the day's morning takings, the rhythm of routine grounding her amid the day's fleeting moments.