Chapter — 3.

That night, Leya truly left. She dragged a suitcase packed with her belongings out of the house she had lived in for years. In the front room, Arkana sat watching. His gaze was cold as Leya walked past him.

"Leya, if you apologize right now... I'll forgive you." Arkana's tone was dripping with condescension as he leaned back, casual, as though nothing had happened. "After that, you forget everything you saw today. Go back to being the wife you've always been — stay home, take care of me and our son. Show some self-awareness. You've been living off my money this whole time."

Leya stopped. She was silent for a few seconds. Then she smiled, full of mockery, her sharp gaze cutting straight through her husband. "You're unbelievable. You should be the one apologizing to me. And remember this — if the day ever comes that you beg me to come back to you... it'll be too late."

Back straight, she pulled her suitcase forward and walked out of that house without looking back. Only one suitcase, nothing else. This was temporary. Everything she was entitled to — she would claim in court. The marital assets and custody of their child.

A ride was already booked. Before long, a car pulled up at the curb. She got in without a word, and it drove away from the house.

Behind her, Arkana stood with both fists clenched tight, face flushed with a fury he could barely contain. But beneath the anger was another feeling he couldn't quite name — something unfamiliar, pressing against his chest. It surfaced because of one thing he hadn't anticipated: Leya had actually left.

"Tch! She won't last. She'll come crawling back soon enough!" he muttered.

The journey wasn't far. Her parents' house was still in the same city. When the car stopped at their front door, it was already late. Leya stepped out and walked to the entrance. Before she could knock, the door opened. Her mother stood there — no questions, because Leya had already explained everything over the phone.

Her mother simply smiled gently and pulled her daughter into a tight embrace. "Sweetheart, this will always be your home. You can come back anytime."

She just held her mother, saying nothing. A few seconds later, her father appeared. He looked at his daughter with quiet understanding and softly stroked her head.

"Everything's going to be all right. We'll always be here for you," he said, full of tenderness.

And that was when her walls crumbled. The tears she had held back since that afternoon finally fell. She wept in her mother's arms, pouring out all the pain she had been carrying. Her mother cried too, and even her father couldn't hold back his tears at the sight of his only daughter broken like this.

After a while, the crying slowly faded. Drawing a long breath, Leya walked down the hallway of the house she had known since childhood. At the end of the corridor, a bedroom door stood slightly ajar. A soft, dim glow spilled from inside. She pushed the door open gently.

Her son — her son with Arkana — lay fast asleep on the bed, hugging his favorite toy airplane, the one he carried everywhere.

Leya walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling up the blanket that had nearly slipped off his small body. Arsen's face was so peaceful, so innocent. He knew nothing about the adult world collapsing around him. Her expression softened. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep tight, my little champion," she whispered, then lay down beside her son.

But her eyes didn't close. She stared up at the ceiling with a gaze full of determination and calculation.

"I will prove that I can still fly high in the sky!"

* * *

That morning, the sky was clear above the Nusantara Flight Academy. Small training planes sat in neat rows on the apron. The drone of engines from the hangars overlapped with the footsteps of trainees moving back and forth in their training uniforms. Leya stood at the academy gates. Six years ago, she had walked away from aviation without looking back. Today she returned — as someone who had come to reclaim her place.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. A few trainees glanced at her in passing — their expressions indifferent, nothing more than idle curiosity at a woman who looked noticeably older than most of the students there. She headed straight for the administration building, where a female staff member was typing at a computer.

Leya stood before the desk, her face composed. "Excuse me. I'd like to re-enroll in the captain certification program."

The staff member stopped typing, looked up, and studied Leya from head to toe.

"Name?"

"Kataleya Sarasmita."

The woman typed something into the computer. A few seconds later, her expression shifted.

"Kataleya Sarasmita?" The staffer looked at Leya again. "Our records show you withdrew six years ago."

"That's correct," Leya answered.

"Why come back now?"

"Because I want to reclaim my future and embrace the sky again." There was no hesitation in Leya's voice.

The staffer paused, then spoke with a note of doubt. "This program is typically for active pilots looking to upgrade to captain."

"Then consider me active again."

The woman didn't look convinced, but eventually rose from her seat. "One moment."

She disappeared into a back office, and a few minutes later a middle-aged man emerged. He wore an instructor's pilot uniform and studied Leya with a furrowed brow.

"Kataleya Sarasmita. You stopped flying six years ago. The aviation world moves fast — a pilot who's been out that long usually doesn't come back."

"I'll be the first exception. I'll put in the work." Leya's reply was steady.

Before he could continue, laughter erupted from behind. A group of trainee pilots had just entered the room. One of them spotted Leya and whispered to his friend.

"She's applying too?"

"Seriously?"

"She looks like somebody's mom."

The whispers carried, and some of them openly snickered.

"This program is intense — it's not some hobby course. Especially with a face and body that far from the mark," one of them said, his mockery aimed squarely at Leya's appearance.

Their laughter grew louder. Every word landed, but she didn't respond — just kept her eyes on the instructor. "Is there a problem with my age?"

The instructor shifted uncomfortably. "It's not about age — it's about capability."

"Then test me." Leya's gaze was absolute conviction.

A few trainees behind her laughed again. "Is she serious? Six years grounded and she wants to go straight for the captain exam?"

"This is hilarious!" another chimed in.

Leya finally turned to face them, her stare razor-sharp. "If you're all done laughing, you'd better start studying. Don't waste your time just to put someone else down."

The room went dead silent. One trainee scoffed, but in the end, nobody said a word.

The instructor let out a long breath. "All right. We'll start with a simulator test. If you fail, don't waste our time again."

A firm nod. "No problem."

She signed the registration form without hesitation. But as she finished and turned to leave the desk, her eyes met those of someone standing at the far end of the room.

A tall man stood watching her with keen interest. His pilot's uniform was simple, but the way he carried himself set him apart from everyone else. Sharp eyes that took in everything — and unlike the others, he hadn't laughed. Hadn't shown a trace of disdain. He simply watched with an expression that was hard to read, as though assessing something.

For a few seconds they held each other's gaze. Then he looked away, as if not wanting to seem like he was staring. She didn't know who he was, but something about the way he looked at her was different.

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