From last night until this morning, I kept cursing in my heart, hoping that Damar would really get sick again so that I wouldn't have to see him today. The last sentence he said to me before we parted last night made me so angry. My intention to mock him by calling him 'sir' ended up only fueling my irritation.
It was as if Damar wanted to make it clear that despite being older than him, my age didn't guarantee my success. In reality, he was the one who got promoted to head of the division. Over the past few days, my emotions had started to settle, but his words last night stirred them up again. I hated that annoying man!
In my frustration, I kept hoping that Damar would get even sicker than yesterday so that he would realize how much his words had hurt me.
After contacting my regular auto repair shop and providing the location of my car so it could be fixed as soon as possible, I quickly left my apartment. The morning sky looked bright after a night of heavy rain.
Before leaving my room for good, I whispered my wish once more—may Damar fall ill and be bedridden at home with no one to care for him. I felt like a terrible person, but who had hurt me first? Him, right?
From my apartment, I had to walk a few meters to reach the busway station. This morning, I chose to take the busway because I wanted to observe the bustling commuters. I found it an effective way to distract myself from my annoyance.
As I walked, a car horn blared repeatedly. The incessant noise made me turn my head in irritation. I was walking on the proper path and not blocking traffic, so why was this inconsiderate driver honking so persistently?
A curse nearly escaped my lips, but I held it back when I recognized the car. How frustrating—just when I had wished for him to be sicker, he was here, doing something even more irritating.
I guess my prayers weren't working. But then again, when had prayers fueled by hatred ever been granted?
"Get in," he said as his car window rolled down. I narrowed my eyes, and his words from last night echoed in my ears.
Damar's car moved slowly, waiting for me to turn around and get in. That made some other road users visibly impatient. More honking followed, making me panic. Not wanting to cause a scene, I quickly got into his car.
Once again, my stubbornness proved useless.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the man behind the wheel. I cursed inwardly—he looked so fresh, without a trace of the exhaustion he showed last night.
"I didn't ask…" I paused, almost saying a word he disliked.
"I didn't ask you to pick me up," I corrected myself.
"Just consider this making up for not picking you up yesterday," Damar replied.
I glanced at him again, wondering how he could look so healthy this morning.
"Your car…"
"I already called the repair shop this morning to pick it up," I cut him off before he could finish. Even without being reminded, I knew I had to get my car out of his house as soon as possible.
"If not, I can call my usual repair shop," he offered.
"No need, I can handle it myself," I replied. How fake—like he would actually help me with something so trivial.
"While your car is in the shop, you can ride with me," he added. I smirked cynically—his words sounded so insincere.
"It'll be done today anyway," I bluffed, though I had no idea what was wrong with my car.
"That's great," he responded.
"You see for yourself, right? I'm not sick this morning and made it to the office just fine," Damar said after a brief silence. I glanced at him with a furrowed brow. He seemed way too pleased to prove that he could come to work today.
"As you should," I replied indifferently. Did he expect me to excitedly ask about his miracle cure? Like I had nothing better to do.
I busied myself with my phone, avoiding further conversation. He, too, remained silent, focused on the road ahead.
"Are you still taking leave next week?" Damar asked just as we entered the office building's basement parking. I suddenly remembered that I had casually mentioned taking leave, just to avoid going on another out-of-town trip with him.
"Yes," I answered firmly. I needed to submit my leave request quickly before Damar got suspicious that I was making up an excuse to avoid him.
"Mr. Hardi usually asks for detailed reasons when approving leave at the end of the month. Not that he forbids it, but if it can be postponed, he prefers employees not to take leave at that time," Damar said, as if trying to intimidate me.
"You can tell me your reason for taking leave next week so I can help explain it to Mr. Hardi," he added. Acting so considerate—when I was sure he actually wanted me to cancel my leave. After all, it seemed like I was the only truly dedicated employee in the marketing division.
"I'll talk to Mr. Hardi myself. I'm sure he'll approve it," I said confidently, though deep down, I was worried about what excuse I could use to convince my boss.
I had only two options: cancel my leave or come up with the most convincing reason to get it approved. Just to avoid going on another trip with the man beside me, I was willing to resort to absurd measures.
"Not necessarily," Damar said. "Mr. Hardi is very selective when granting leave. If he thinks your leave isn't urgent and can be taken another time, he won't approve it."
My eyes widened at his words—this man was truly unbearable. He was deliberately trying to scare me into canceling my leave.
"But leave is a right for all employees," I argued.
"That's true, but if an employee's leave disrupts office operations, management has the right to reject it," he countered.
I took a deep breath, thinking hard. Mr. Hardi had always approved my previous leave requests, but then again, I had never taken leave at the end of the month before.
"What if I tell Mr. Hardi that I'm taking leave to get engaged?" I asked.
"That's a very important matter and definitely not something that can be postponed, right?" I added, smiling triumphantly.(*)