Alya's Side
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
It's already 8 PM. Gadis should've been home from work by now, right? The day had felt far too long since she rushed out the door this morning—without a goodbye, without even a glance back. Not a single message from her since.
And yet here I am, missing her like we've been apart for days. It's ridiculous, really. We were just together a few hours ago. But longing has no logic. Longing doesn't care about numbers or time.
I opened the email I sent her earlier. It's still marked unread. That stung a little more than I expected. I don't have her new phone number. She's not active on social media—never was. So email felt like the only door I could knock on.
Still, silence.
I glanced at the calendar on my phone. Tomorrow is Saturday. The thought of spending the weekend with her, just the two of us, like lovers who had stolen time from the world—it made me smile like a fool.
After two years of aching, this reunion felt like healing.
But then I remembered: I didn't even know where she lived now.
Should I ask Ujo?
But back in Indonesia, he must already be asleep by now. Then again, maybe he'd reply when he wakes up. That'd be enough. Just in time for me to find Gadis before the day truly begins.
Alya:
Ujo…
Ujo:
Whoa, look who's texting me! It's been forever. You finally remember your bestie?
Alya:
You're awake?
Ujo:
It's only 8 PM here. Who sleeps this early?
Alya:
Wait… I must be dreaming.
Ujo:
Haha, nah. I haven't told you—I'm in Cambridge now.
I thought you'd run into Gadis already.
Alya:
Whoa. You're here too? I did see her… But we haven't really talked about anyone else.
Ujo:
Ouch. 'Anyone else'? Really? I'm just 'someone else' now?
I ended up chatting with Ujo until I dozed off. When I opened my eyes again, it was already 9 in the morning. He said he couldn't come visit, tied up with work. But he asked me to visit him in Cambridge sometime. Three and a half hours away. It sounded far, but my heart fluttered at the idea—me and Gadis, on a little trip together. A stolen escape, after all this time.
I began to imagine it. Three and a half hours on a train. Her beside me. Just us. Like it used to be.
Maybe like it never really was.
By 11 AM, I was dressed and packed. I even cooked her favorite—nasi goreng gila—with spices I brought from home. I rushed through the kitchen, half-dancing with excitement.
And now here I was, walking down the hallway of her apartment building, searching for the number.
27A.
This is it.
I pressed the bell with a fluttering hope. My heartbeat was louder than the chime.
The door opened.
"Oh, hi, Miss Alya," said a voice I wasn't ready for.
Ruben.
Of course.
The air in my lungs turned heavy. My heart shrank. I forced a smile, the most natural one I could manage.
He invited me in politely, and I scanned the room for signs—signs that they lived together.
"She's still sleeping," he said, offering me coffee. I nodded. No words. Just the sting behind my eyes.
He sat with me for a few minutes, then mentioned he had to leave for a family gathering. Just me, then.
Just me and a cup of coffee.
I looked at it on the table, steam rising like the thoughts I was trying to suppress. A few hours ago, I was cooking her favorite meal. Smiling. Humming. Forgetting one crucial thing:
She isn't mine.
Not anymore.
Maybe never.
I forgot that what we shared the night before wasn't a promise. It was a moment. A beautiful, fleeting, painful moment.
Tears began to fall before I could stop them.
"Alya?"
Her voice—soft, raspy from sleep—cut through the silence. I turned, quickly wiping my face.
"Good morning," I said with a smile I couldn't control.
She stood there in an oversized t-shirt, blinking at me. She looked… confused. Guilty, maybe. She knew how I got in.
I stood and opened the container of nasi goreng, placing it on the table as casually as I could. Pretending nothing was wrong. Pretending the ache in my chest wasn't tearing me in half.
But she stopped me.
Her hand on mine.
Her eyes saw too much.
And then… she hugged me. Tight. Desperate.
I broke. Again.
We sat on the couch. She held my hands like she was trying to memorize the shape of them. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't speak.
"You'll keep hurting like this," she said, her voice edged with anger and sorrow. "If you keep holding on."
"I'll hurt more if you push me away again," I replied. "You have no idea what those two years were like for me. You were gone, and I was alive in a place that didn't want me alive."
Her face froze. My words hanging heavy in the air.
"I don't care if it's wrong," I whispered. "I don't care if no one ever knows about us. I just need you."
"Stop," she said, almost trembling. "This is a mistake."
"I don't care."
I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my head between her shoulders.
"I don't care if I'm the mistake. Just don't leave me again."