But Izwan wasn’t done. He watched Iyaan work for a moment, his eyes flicking between the screen and his colleague before he continued speaking, his tone now more deliberate. “The senior reporter is coming, apparently. Someone called Tenuk. Tenuk Megat.”

The name hit Iyaan like a bolt of lightning. His hand, mid-motion as it reached for his coffee, froze for a split second before it jerked, knocking the cup over. Hot coffee spilled across the desk, the dark liquid spreading quickly and scalding his hand.

“What?” Iyaan’s voice was sharp, his eyes wide with shock as he looked up at Izwan, the burning sensation in his hand momentarily forgotten.

Izwan reacted swiftly as the steaming coffee poured across Iyaan’s desk and onto his hand. Without missing a beat, he grabbed a hand towel from his own desk. Moving aside from the divider, he gently placed the towel over the back of Iyaan’s palm, dabbing carefully to avoid causing any further discomfort. His movements were unusually delicate, not something often associated with Izwan’s usual playful demeanor, but there was a quiet understanding in his actions—one of camaraderie, even if it was rarely spoken of.

After wiping away the coffee, Izwan hurried over to the water dispenser situated near the elevator at the far end of the room. He filled a cup with cold water and quickly returned to Iyaan, gently guiding his hand into the chilled liquid. All the while, Iyaan sat in his chair, visibly dazed, his mind distant as though the mention of the name ‘Tenuk’ had struck him with the force of a freight train.

Izwan, ever the opportunist for comic relief, slapped Iyaan lightly on the back, grinning as he helped him soak his hand. “King of dork. Pay attention, will you?” His tone was mocking but good-natured, aimed at snapping Iyaan out of his stupor.

The slap, combined with Izwan’s casual chiding, jolted Iyaan back to the present. He blinked, looking up from his chair, his focus finally returning as he noticed his hand submerged in the cold water cup. “My bad, Izwan,” he muttered, yanking his hand out of the cup with a sheepish expression.

Izwan, quick on reflex, steadied the cup just in time, preventing another spill. He raised an eyebrow at Iyaan, clearly unimpressed by his clumsy behavior. “What was that about? What had you so rattled that you spilled hot coffee all over yourself?”

Iyaan shot him a sharp glare, defensive as usual. “Why do you care? You don’t meddle in other people’s business, right?” His tone was biting, but it was more a reaction to his own inner turmoil than anything Izwan had done.

But Izwan wasn’t the type to take offense. He simply shrugged, unbothered by the venom in Iyaan’s words. “True. But this time, it’s kind of interesting.” There was a glint of curiosity in his eyes as he leaned back against the divider, folding his arms.

Iyaan’s brow furrowed. “What’s so interesting?”

Izwan’s grin widened. “Your reactions. They’re amusing, honestly.”

“You’re as evil as they come, Izwan.”

“Oh, my god, you overreact so much,” Izwan snickered, enjoying the banter far more than Iyaan did. But before their verbal sparring could escalate, another officer approached them, interrupting the exchange.

“Sir Izwan. Sir Iyaan. The senior reporter is here to interview you both,” the officer announced, his posture formal and his expression slightly nervous.

Izwan, ever the nonchalant one, raised an eyebrow. “Why us?” he asked, casting a glance at the officer. Meanwhile, Iyaan remained silent, his mind still reeling from the mention of Tenuk’s name. He was surprised, unsettled even, and the last thing he wanted was to face Tenuk again. The fear that Tenuk had specifically come looking for him gnawed at the back of his mind.

The officer, sensing the tension, quickly explained, “Senior Inspector Johan wants Sir Iyaan there because you two handle most of the big cases together. And the reporter asked specifically for three officers to get perfect alibis when needed, so Senior Inspector Johan asked for you as well, Sir Izwan.”

Izwan scoffed, unimpressed. “So I’m not really needed, then?” His tone was sarcastic, though his smirk revealed he wasn’t particularly bothered.

The officer, visibly sweating under Izwan’s scrutiny, stammered, “N-No, no, sir. They think you’re more than capable of handling a reporter—”

“Save it,” Izwan interrupted, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand. He stood up straight from his leaned position against the divider, stretching his arms out with a slight groan before making his way toward the elevator. “Let’s go, Officer Iyaan,” he called over his shoulder.

Iyaan, still caught up in his thoughts, barely registered Izwan’s words. After a moment, he stood and walked toward the stairs, choosing to avoid the elevator. Izwan, already inside as the doors began to close, shook his head in mild amusement. “See you on the first floor,” he called, knowing Iyaan preferred his own way of doing things.

Iyaan jogged down the stairs, his mind swirling with a mix of dread and anticipation. Reaching the first floor, he straightened his tie out of habit, smoothing down the fabric with a quick motion. The station’s main lobby was large and open, its architecture a blend of modern efficiency and classic design. The floors were beautifully carved, intricate patterns running across the stone that gleamed under the soft lighting. In the middle of the lobby, a plush couch was positioned around a low, polished coffee table that held an assortment of snacks—Malaysian kuih and crackers, along with glasses of chilled water and steaming tea, all arranged neatly for visitors.

On the far side, the reception desk stood like a sentinel, manned by an officer who kept an eye on the glass doors that served as the main entrance. The doors were tall and framed with sleek, minimalist design, allowing natural light to flood into the room during the day. Beyond them, the hustle and bustle of the city were faintly visible, a reminder of the world outside the station’s protective walls.

Leaning casually against the wall in front of him, Izwan stood with his arms folded across his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he saw Iyaan approaching. “Took you long enough,” he teased, pushing himself off the wall with an effortless grace.

Iyaan, as usual, didn’t respond. He walked past Izwan, ignoring the remark, and made his way to the couch in the middle of the floor. Seated on the couch, looking unbothered and completely in control, was Senior Inspector Johan. His sharp gaze flicked over to Iyaan as he approached, but his expression gave nothing away.

Iyaan sat down next to Johan, his mind still racing. He couldn't shake the feeling that Tenuk’s presence wasn’t just a coincidence. Something was about to happen.

“I’m sure you know who Tenuk Megat is,” Iyaan said coldly, his sharp gaze drilling into Johan from across the coffee table. His voice carried a weight that was impossible to ignore. As soon as the words left his mouth, Izwan, who had just settled right next to Johan, straightened slightly, his curiosity piqued.

“Why?” Izwan asked, his tone casual but with a trace of genuine curiosity. “Is he a recorded criminal?”

The moment those words escaped Izwan’s mouth, Iyaan snapped, his temper flaring. “Shut up. How dare you call him that—”

Before Iyaan could finish, Johan raised a hand, his calm but firm voice cutting through the tension. “Iyaan,” he said, a measured tone in his voice. “It’s not Izwan’s fault for asking a question. You know that.”

Iyaan clicked his tongue in irritation and turned away from both men, glaring off into the distance. For a few moments, silence fell between them, the air thick with the unspoken history swirling around Iyaan’s mind. His hands clenched into fists, resting on his thighs. He couldn’t bring himself to look at either of them, his thoughts too tangled to offer anything more than resentment.

After a brief pause, Iyaan broke the silence, still refusing to meet their eyes. “What are you playing at, Officer Johan?” His voice was low, but the accusation was unmistakable.

Johan, taken aback, narrowed his eyes. “What? Now you’re blaming me?”

“You know what happened with us,” Iyaan hissed, his tone trembling with anger and frustration. “You know I can’t face him like this, yet you still called me here? What sick joke is this!” His fists slammed against his thighs, a raw expression of the turmoil brewing inside him. But even in his frustration, Iyaan still couldn’t bring himself to face Johan or Izwan, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the floor.

The room grew heavier as the weight of Iyaan’s words hung in the air. The guilt, the regret—it all bore down on him, suffocating him in that moment. He and Tenuk had been separated for so long now. What had once been a close bond had slowly withered away, consumed by Iyaan’s relentless pursuit of capturing Nur, a criminal who had eluded him for years. At first, he and Tenuk had stayed in touch, exchanging the occasional message or call, but over time, their connection had faded, slipping through Iyaan’s fingers like sand.

And now, after all that time, Tenuk was here. The guilt clawed at Iyaan’s chest, reminding him of the promises he had made and failed to keep. He had sworn to Tenuk that he would never leave him alone, that he would always be there. But somehow, despite his best intentions, that promise had crumbled under the weight of his responsibilities.

Johan shook his head, his tone softer now, understanding the burden Iyaan carried. “Some promises are harder to keep than others, Iyaan. It’s not your fault that things turned out this way.”

Izwan, sitting quietly, listened intently to their conversation. He was beginning to realize that something far deeper was at play here—something personal, perhaps even secret. Despite his usual lighthearted nature, he found himself intrigued by the intensity of the exchange, a rare glimpse into Iyaan’s guarded emotions.

Iyaan, still staring down at the polished floor, bit back a retort. “Officer Johan,” he started, his voice quieter now but no less intense, “I should be the one to decide if I can move on or not—”

Before he could finish his thought, a cheerful voice cut through the tension like a burst of sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

“Oh my! Good afternoon, officers! Sorry it took me so long to get here!” The voice was bright and full of energy, accompanied by the familiar sound of a hand scratching the back of a head—a gesture of innocent self-awareness.

Iyaan’s breath caught in his throat as he slowly turned to see Tenuk Megat, standing there with the same bright smile that he had always known. His presence seemed to light up the room, making it feel as though the entire world had suddenly become warmer, more vibrant. Tenuk was always like that—a walking embodiment of positivity.

Tenuk beamed at the group, his excitement palpable as he approached. “I am Tenuk Megat—oh!” His eyes locked onto Iyaan, and his smile grew even wider. “You? It really is you!” Without a second thought, he bounced over to the couch opposite them and plopped down with all the enthusiasm of a child, his eyes never leaving Iyaan’s face.

Iyaan managed a smile, but it was shaky, uncertain. He was caught completely off guard, unsure of what to say or how to react. The flood of emotions—guilt, nostalgia, and something else—swirled inside him, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Izwan, watching the interaction with a cold expression, leaned back on the couch. His gaze flicked between Tenuk and Iyaan before finally settling on Tenuk. “You know him?” Izwan asked, his tone even but laced with suspicion.

Tenuk’s large, animated eyes turned toward Izwan, his grin never faltering. “Yeah! Me and Iyaan used to be acquaintances. We knew each other since before college.” His tone was casual, as if the years hadn’t passed at all, and everything was just as it had been.

But the word hit Iyaan like a slap to the face.

Acquaintances? Iyaan thought, his mind reeling. Is that all he thinks we were? Just acquaintances?

The word felt cold, distant—far removed from the bond Iyaan had once shared with Tenuk. They had been so much more than that, or at least, Iyaan had believed so. And now, after all this time, Tenuk had reduced their relationship to a simple, impersonal label. The smile on Iyaan’s face faltered slightly, but he quickly masked it, unsure how to feel as the flood of emotions continued to churn inside him.

*2122 words*