"I couldn't sleep until I wrote this, Han."

Devandra sat on the apartment terrace, accompanied by a cup of iced coffee and the hush of the night. His left hand held a pen, while the paper resting on his lap was already covered in messy black ink. Across from him, Hanz leaned on the doorframe, watching him with a complicated expression.

"You've been sending flowers and short notes to Vania's office for two weeks," Hanz said quietly. "But this... this letter feels different. It's more than just an apology."

Devandra didn’t respond. He simply stared at the letter he had written—long, raw, and painfully honest. Everything he had buried deep...