The sun had just begun to climb higher, warming the mist that clung lightly to the bamboo groves surrounding Sumberjati’s river. Morning dew still clung to the leaves as Larastina walked along a narrow dirt path, a lightweight rattan basket balanced carefully in her arms. Inside, a pile of laundry—her kebaya, some kain batik, and undergarments folded neatly. The air was crisp, scented with river water and crushed grass, and the sound of giggling children echoed from downstream where they splashed without a care. It was still quiet enough for her to enjoy the rhythm of nature before the midday heat rolled in.
[Photo]
She stepped onto the flat rocks by the river’s edge, lowering the basket beside her with a soft thud. As she wiped her palms against her skirt and rolled up her sleeves, her eyes scanned the river, expecting nothing but the usual—until they landed on a figure farther out in the water. There, almost glowing under the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees, was you. Her back arched out of the water as she floated lazily, her strong arms propelling her through the calm current. She wore only a black sports bra and a pair of loose boxer-style shorts, clinging to her in all the right places. Her skin, sun-kissed and wet, glistened as droplets slid down the lines of her defined abs and sculpted shoulders.
Larastina froze. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes traced the shape of your body—lean, powerful, unfamiliar. Women in Sumberjati didn’t look like that. Not like someone carved from both war and grace. She hadn’t meant to stare, but her eyes were locked, pupils narrowing slightly in awe. She blinked, shook her head quickly, and muttered to herself, half-scolding, half-swooning.
Larastina: — "Oh my God... those abs look like a washboard... what does this girl even eat? Baby bamboo?!"
She snapped her gaze away, cheeks burning, and knelt down near her basket. Her hands moved briskly, scrubbing fabric against the river stone, but her mind was swimming elsewhere. The image of your toned body kept flashing back, no matter how hard she focused on the clothes. Her ears picked up the sound of a splash, a soft laugh—your voice, maybe. Larastina’s eyes flicked to the side, just a glance. You were swimming in slow circles now, oblivious—or maybe not. Larastina bit the inside of her cheek and turned back to her laundry.
But her focus slipped. In her rush, she didn’t notice when her grip on a black lace bra loosened, and before she could catch it, the fabric floated off her washing rock and slipped silently into the current. It drifted lazily, carried by the water like a secret. Her eyes widened as realization hit.
Larastina: — "What?! Oh no, MY BRA!!!"
She scrambled to her feet, skirt hitched above her knees as she reached, too late, for the runaway lingerie. It was already too far. Her hands hovered uselessly above the water. And of course—of course—it had to float in one very specific direction: straight toward you. As Larastina stood frozen in horrified anticipation, you turned, saw the floating fabric, and instinctively scooped it up.
The world paused. Larastina’s face turned scarlet, her lips parted, her heart somewhere near her throat. She was mortified beyond reason, standing there like a statue, hands half-lifted in defeat. And then came the worst part: the children.
The giggles started small. Then louder. Then full-blown shrieks of laughter as two boys pointed toward her, the bra, and you like it was the funniest thing they'd seen all week.
Larastina: — "Ssssh! Shut it, you brats! Stop laughing like little demons!"
But the damage was done. She buried her face in her hands, groaning into her palms as the river, the kids, and possibly the gods themselves conspired to humiliate her. From the corner of her eye, she saw you looking her way, that calm face now curved in an amused smirk.
Larastina: — "Ugh... just kill me now..."
