Chapter 19

 *

Everything has been planned out. Sharmini helped me call and reserve all the things I needed to make my proposal to Damia a beautiful and thoughtful one. I made a mental note to treat Shar to a nice meal after the proposal. Maybe even get her a gift.

All the necessary reservations have been made; tomorrow, I would bring Damia to The Dining Room at Carcosa Seri Negara, where, unbeknownst to her, it’s been set up for a private function for two. A live band, strings and piano, would be playing music throughout the night. There’d be roses and candles and a only the best service ever tomorrow. The ring is safely in my pocket.

When the time comes, I would take her hand, tell her that she’s been the one I’ve been waiting for all my life, and ask her if she’d allow me to (hopefully) spend the rest of my life making the rest of her life happy. It would be a lovely night, a charming night. I know she’ll make it lovely anway… now I just have to come up with the charm.

To be honest I don’t know what to expect. I’ve only ever seen this done in those stupid love stories and movies that I disdain so much. I’ve always doubted the veracity, even if the sentiment is sweet. But trying to pull this off in real life has instilled a fear in me, more than I would admit. I’m genuinely nervous and terrified about tomorrow. Doubt is gnawing at my feet, threatening to make me chicken out.

It is times like this that I need to remind myself that I am Dhani Ibrahim. Dhani Ibrahim, confident, smooth and cool. I would need to call upon all my strength and will to make tomorrow, like I’ve mentioned before, the best start ever to the rest of my life; and for Damia, too. I can do it; I must do it. Come on; if I could make girls drop their panties with just a smile and a hello, surely I’ll have the wits to ask Damia to marry me. Whoa, I said ‘marry’.

Who would’ve thought. Certainly not me. Not in a million years. But that’s exactly what’s on my fucking mind right now.

But first, today needs to be done with. I want to settle a lot of work, as much as I can, today, so I’d have a free desk and mind tomorrow. Do you think because I keep talking about my love life that I’ve forgotten work? Au contraire. See, that’s the good thing about being me; I get things done. So while I’ve been out on dates with Damia and having lunch with my sister and her babies, I still got work done. I do make it a habit not to bring work home though. I believe that can be cancerous to your life.

After breakfast this morning, Damia and I immediately went to our offices. I got on with all that I needed to do straight away; client calls, accounts etcetera. I was making good pace, working steadily with serious focus. Sharmini was also being most efficient today, handling calls and appointments and filing and other miscellaneous boring office shit with aplomb.

By mid-noon, I was half-way through my work. I stretched my back and limbs, ironing out the kinks and glanced at the clock. Pretty soon Damia would, as she normally does, message me, asking where would we be having lunch. I yawned, and wiped my face with a cold towel from the small refrigerator below my desk. I got up, went in front of the full-length mirror I keep in my office, and tidied myself up. I loosened my collar and unraveled my tie, undoing the first two buttons to give a more casual look. I used to go to lunch in full business regalia because I liked looking preppy and sophisticated. Then one day Damia had said that I could afford to loosen up a bit on the business suits. She said she liked me looking more casual. “Makes you look more loveable. More human,” she had teased. In turn I had made fun of the myriad styles she wore her hijab.

I smiled at the thought of her as I unbuttoned my sleeves and rolled them up. I sat down on a comfy lounge chair, where I usually entertain any guests who come to visit my office, and read through the days news.

But my phone kept silent. Odd, I thought. I peeked my head out of my office door and asked Sharmini, “Has Damia called? Or passed by?”

“No, Mr. D,” Sharmini said. “I haven’t seen her since this morning. Would you like me to call her office?”

I waved my hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I’ll call her.”

I called her mobile phone. Her caller ringtone (Bruno Mars’ ‘Locked Out of Heaven’, how ironic for me) came on, but she didn’t answer. I tried three more times. It wasn’t like her. Normally she would answer as soon as Bruno goes “I got locked outta--”. So I dialled her office extension, and her assistant, a demure Malay girl named Shima, answered.

“Shima,” I said, being careful with my tone. Shima has been with the company longer than Damia, and I know from office gossip (that I can’t help hear) that she used to like me, and I always notice how excited she gets whenever I pass by to visit Damia and extend her a smile. Damia noticed it, asked me about it, then had sort of frowned and told me I had been mean not to ask Shima out. When I pointed out that that could have meant we wouldn’t have ended up dating, or falling in love, Damia had laughed. Sometimes her humor can be a bit strange.

Anyway, Shima answered with her small, borderline squeaky voice. “Is it Mr. Dhani?”

“Yes, Shima, it’s Dhani.”

“Hello, Mr. Dhani.”

I paused, and couldn’t help but smile over the phone. “Okay, hello. Listen, is Ms. Damia still busy?”

“Busy?” Shima said. She sounded like a fifteen year old.

“Yes, I tried calling her cell, but she’s not answering. Is she in a meeting or something?”

“Uhm, no, Mr. Dhani,” Shima said. “She left her office an hour ago with this guy. She just told me she needed to discuss something outside.”

What? “She went out? Where to?”

“I think she mentioned that she’ll be at the Convention Centre’s café. She did say it’d only be a few minutes though.”

“Okay. Thank you Shima.”

“Thank you Mr. Dhani, I hope things are--”

I hung up before the girl could finish. Damia went out with a guy without telling me? I immediately went down and, walking quickly, headed towards the small café along Hall 5 of KL Convention Centre. But there was no one there. I tried calling her again, but she didn’t pick up. Where could she be? And why isn’t she answering? Who’s the guy she’s with?

I suppose I was being paranoid. Maybe it was her brother? Or a friend. But she would have told me she was going out. And that had been an hour ago. I begin feeling a little angry… at myself, for having these thoughts, and at her, for not telling me. Maybe it’s a little unfair, or clingy, but ever since we became a couple, we’d usually let each other know if we were going out or seeing people.

I walked outside the hall, and that’s when I noticed Damia, standing stiff, with her arms crossed, head bowed to the side, in front of this tall, buff looking guy who was talking to her animatedly. The guy looked angry but also sad. I immediately knew who it was, and with the thought of his name my mind went again to that dark corner where I thought about him and Damia fucking. But rather than immediately confront them, I chose to walk a bit further down from Damia, and approach them unsighted. I wasn’t threatened by the dude; I was actually curious as to what in the hell would he be talking about. He must be pleading to Damia to accept him back. I took a bench some steps away from them, close enough to listen but far enough to not be so blatant that I was eavesdropping. In any case, Damia didn’t notice me as she had her back to me, and the guy wouldn’t give a shit because he doesn’t recognize me. I pretended to be engrossed with my phone. A Chinese girl sat next to me and started eating her home-packed lunch while reading a Naruto comic book.

I listened to the guy I know now is Amir talking to Damia. He was taller than I am by a few inches, and was muscular in a lean way. Not totally buff or ripped, but broad-shouldered and chiseled enough that people would know he worked out. His hair fell on his forehead, and his eyes were dark and narrow.

“Please, Damia,” the guy said. You have to know now that I was trying hard to keep the image of him screwing the love of my life out of my head. Damia didn’t answer him; I saw how she just held her head down.

“Damia, sayang, please,” the guy said again. So he was pleading.

“I’ve already told you, not asked, told you to not call me that,” this time Damia answered. Her words were laced with anger. “You don’t deserve to call me that.”

The guy threw up his arms, then let them fall to his side as if admitting defeat. His voice was low. “Damia, believe me, I have changed. I am not that person anymore. I was a fool back then, naïve and, stupid. But I realize now that you were the one I always loved.”

Nothing from Damia.

“Damia, I have never stopped thinking about and loving you. After all that happened, even my family became distant from me. Damia, you’re the only one that can fix everything.”

Nothing from Damia.

“Babe, I just want another chance. To make things right. To make things better. WE were supposed to get married, kan Babe? I was going to take you to Bora-Bora, remember? Sayang? Remember all those dreams we planned, all those wonderful things we promised each other? We could still make all those things happen.”

“Fuck you, Amir,” Damia said. The guys eyes widened. The words came out so sharply, so suddenly and with so much venom, even I was surprised.

“What did you say?” Amir said, his voice more surprised than afraid. He took a step towards Damia, who took a step backwards. An alarm bell sounded in my head. My muscles tensed. There was something in those steps that told me that Damia hasn’t told me the whole story about Amir. And when she answered, “Nothing, I didn’t say anything,” it seemed to confirm my suspicions. She was clearly afraid of the guy, which meant only one thing; Amir has probably hit her. Anger stirred inside my heart, but I forced myself to stay put.

But Amir took a step towards her again. “You said fuck you, to me?”

I gripped my phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

“I came here, going through every floor of that goddamn building to look for you to tell you that I want you back and I wanna fix things with you, and you say fuck you to me?”

That was all I needed to hear as I read his body language. His shoulders straightened, and in a blink of an eye that seemed to last much longer, I saw his left hand rise in the unmistakeable posture of someone about to give a bitchslap; I should know, I’ve seen this happen in clubs and bars. And I reacted faster than I imagined possible, within seconds I was on my feet and covered perhaps the 9-10 feet that separated me and the two of them; as Amir’s hand descended and perhaps tried to find a landing spot on Damia’s beautiful face, I had stepped in front of my lovely girlfriend and raised my own lean arm to block the blow. His hand sort of bounced off my arm. I have to admit it stung. He staggered backwards a little bit.

“You wouldn’t want to hit a lady, my friend,” I said, as calmly as possible. In my head, I was already punching this motherfucker in the face, but I didn’t want to lose my cool. I don’t lose my cool. Especially not in front of Damia, who looked shocked, and was speechless to see I was there.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m her boyfriend,” I said, looking at her and looking at me. Then I looked Amir right in the eye. “And you must be Amir, the sad sack that she doesn’t deserve.”

Amir took a menacing step towards me but I held my ground. He came up to my face, and I was expecting him to maybe, I don’t know, curse me or hit me. Instead, his eyebrows furrowed and he looked perplexed. He took a step backwards, still with that perplexed look, as if he was scrutinizing someone. He looked at Damia, then back at me, then back at Damia. When I decided that he wasn’t going to do anything, I turned towards Damia. The poor girl looked terrified.

“Sayang, come, let’s leave,” I said to her. I turned my head to look at Amir. I took Damia’s hand in mine. “Come, he won’t bother you again.” I said that last bit loudly partly as a warning to him to never bother Damia again. I expected him to retaliate something, and was ready, my whole body and mind tensing up.

But instead, he called out, “Don’t I know you from somewhere, fuckface?”

I stopped. Damia looked at me, then at Amir. My mind was telling me to just ignore that bastards question and leave with Damia in tow. But I turned to face him. What made me do it? I don’t know. Perhaps it was the challenging tone of the question. Perhaps it was my ego.

“I don’t think so, my friend,” I said, mockingly. “I don’t hang around with trash.”

“No, no,” Amir said and walked towards me. His eyes were kept locked on Damia. He turned to face me again. “I know you, from somewhere.”

“Try again. Now leave us alone,” I said. I ignored his words, but secretly I thought, did this guy know me from somewhere? Where? A touch of worry creeped into my head, like a quiet, deadly snake into a birds nest. I tried to turn away and pull Damia with me, and that’s when Amir grabbed my shoulder and turned me around.

“Whatthefuck man?” I said, angered. But that rat-bastard didn’t fumble. He raised a finger at me. His eyes squinted. He opened his mouth and I was ready to listen to whatever he was going to say to me. But he spoke to Damia.

“Tell me, is this fuckers name Dhani? Dhani Ibrahim?” he said. Damias grey eyes widened and she couldn’t hide the shock from her face. I tried to signal to her to just say no, or to just ignore Amir, but she said, “How did you find out his name? Did you talk to my parents? My siblings?”

My mind was on red alert, though I forced my body to stay calm and not betray the alarm and shock I felt. Where the fuck did this guy find out who I was?

“No, no, I didn’t, haven’t, spoken to your family,” Amir said, his voice suddenly filling with cockiness.  He turned to me and suddenly offered to shake hands. I kept quiet, not taking it. Damia was looking bewildered and confused.

“Dhani, what’s going on?” she said. “Do you know Amir? Have you guys met?”

As calmly as I can, I said, “No, Sayang. I don’t have a clue.”

Amir raised his eyebrows and withdrew his hand. “Wow; incredible.”

“Amir what are you talking about?” Damia said. He ignored her and started to speak to me instead.

“Dhani Ibrahim, in real life,” he said. He eyed me up and down. “Man, you know you’re somewhat of a legend? Some people even doubt that you’re real.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about, brother. Just leave us alone,” I said. But I was actually desperate to know how he knew my name. I was beginning to have suspicions.

Amir shrugged mockingly. “I can’t believe it. The Flower Heart.” Then he looked at Damia. “And you’re dating. Damia is dating the muthafuckin Flower Heart himself. I guess that book is closed huh?” He turned his attention back to me. “Or is this another chapter?”

I stood still. I know now how he knows me.

“Well, la dee damn. I’ll fuck off for now, then,” Amir said, bowing in full sarcastic regalia.

He turned to Damia again, and said, “Be careful of that man.” Then he walked away into the crowd. I watched him disappear into the throngs of people in KLCC park. My heart was pounding and my head was beginning to spin. Even though Amir had left, the issue wasn’t settled. I know this wouldn’t be the end of this. My heart sank.

“Dhani,” came a lovely, husky voice. I felt her hand gently touch my arm. When I turned to face her, I could have sworn my knees turned to jelly as bolts of fear shot up my spine and limbs. Damia was looking at me, burning holes as her grey eyes stared directly into my brown ones. It was the look on her face that sent fear racing through my veins. It wasn’t anger or scorn.

It was doubt.

“Dhani,” she said again, her voice calm but cautious. It broke my heart. “Dhani, what was Amir talking about? Legend? What?”

I stood quiet. Then Damia asked me, “Dhani, what did he mean by The Flower Heart?”

*