Rumput Tetangga A---- Part 1 A---- Zafira Sun A---- K... -

"Ya Allah, Ryan pelan-pelan..." a woman's voice—not his wife's—whimpered through the cracks.

"You are the grass, Zafira," he said, and she felt his breath on her nape before she even saw him. "You just never realized it." What happened next was not gentle. It was not the romance novel she wrote. RUMPUT TETANGGA a---- PART 1 a---- ZAFIRA SUN a---- K...

At 10:55 PM, she stood outside Unit 7B—Pak Ryan's second apartment, the one he told his wife was for "storage." She wore a black silk dress and nothing else. No underwear. No armor. "Ya Allah, Ryan pelan-pelan

She stepped inside. The door clicked shut. The world outside—her reputation, her loneliness, her logic—evaporated. It was not the romance novel she wrote

Zee pulled her pillow over her face. She knew she should move. She knew she should knock on the wall. But she didn't. Because, like the old Indonesian proverb: Rumput tetangga selalu lebih hijau .

It tasted like sandalwood and lies. The clock hit 4:17 AM. The same witching hour. But this time, Zee was not listening through a wall. She was lying on his chest, her leg hooked over his, the sheets tangled like a confession.