For three months now, Indah had been sharing her little world with someone named Bagus. Through screens, through voices, through words that at times felt more real than the world she stood in. And now, she stood in the bustling crowd of Soekarno-Hatta Airport, waiting for a man she had never touched, yet who had made her heart tremble countless times.
She wore a blue dress—one that Bagus once said would look good on her. And strangely, there in the middle of a sea of strangers, she felt more nervous than on the day of her first job interview. Her hands were cold. Her breath short. Her eyes darted around, searching for a familiar face—though truthfully, she had no real idea what Bagus actually looked like.
Photos could lie. Voices could be altered. But feelings? Feelings could not deceive.
She was sitting in the waiting area, her eyes scanning every man who passed. Until a voice called out, right behind her.
"Hi, Indah."
She froze.
That voice... deep, calm, and full of certainty. Slowly, she turned around.
And there he was, a tall man in a blue shirt that matched hers. His eyes were sharp but not intimidating. His face looked nothing like the photos. It was far more real. More alive. More… human.
"Bagus?" Indah's voice cracked, barely a whisper.
The man nodded. "Yes. It's me. Your virtual friend. And maybe now... a bit more than that."
Indah didn't know what to say. Her heart pounded wildly, as if all her doubts and hopes had collided at once. She stood frozen, staring at him as though afraid to touch a dream that might vanish any second.
"I know... I might look different," Bagus said. "But I'm the one you talked to every night. The one you told about the rain you hate, and the coffee you love. I'm the one who made you laugh when the world felt too heavy. I'm the one who always hoped to make you feel enough, even if only through a signal."
Indah stayed silent. Her eyes glistened with tears. "I'm scared... that you're not the Bagus I knew."
Bagus gave a faint smile. "And I'm scared you'll regret meeting me."
A long silence fell between them. Then slowly, Bagus held out his hand.
"If you still want to believe... come on. Let's start from here."
Indah looked at that hand. She trembled. But finally, with a deep breath and tearful eyes, she reached out and took it.
"To my place?" she asked, almost like a whisper.
"If you don't mind."
"No. I... want to get to know the real you."
Bagus held her hand tightly, as if he never wanted to let go.
And for the first time, Indah felt... maybe, she wasn't alone anymore.
They stepped out of the airport terminal, their hands still intertwined, though the touch felt unfamiliar to Indah. Bagus walked lightly, casually, as if he already knew every corner of the world. Meanwhile, Indah's steps were hesitant, nervous, as though she was walking on unfamiliar ground.
Bagus occasionally glanced at Indah, smiled a little, and threw a light-hearted joke.
"You know what? I almost wore training pants to this meeting. Good thing my conscience alarm was loud enough this morning."
Indah gave a faint smile, but it wasn't like it used to be. The laughter that once came so easily with a single joke from Bagus now felt frozen.
Bagus noticed. "You're really tense. I swear I'm not a scammer. Just a regular guy who loves midnight snacks and sings off-key in the shower."
Indah sighed. She stopped by the side of the road, looking at Bagus with eyes that hadn't yet dared to fully trust.
"I... I'm still stiff, sorry. You're too different from what I imagined. I mean, you—" Indah searched for the right words, "—you look much more charismatic. More mature. More real."
Bagus raised an eyebrow, as if confused. "And that's... a problem?"
Indah shook her head. "Not a problem. Just... I'm afraid this is all just my illusion. We talk every night, you make me laugh, you make me feel important. But I'm still scared. Scared that you'll... change. Or that you're not really the you I thought I knew."
Bagus was silent. His gaze was gentle, not judging. He raised Indah's hand slowly and held it again, more firmly.
"Indah, I'm scared too. You think I didn't overthink a hundred times before flying here? I also wondered, 'What if Indah doesn't like me in real life? What if all this is just a dream?' But I still came, because the feelings are real."
Indah lowered her gaze, her voice soft, "You're too good for me."
"You're wrong," Bagus replied quickly. "You're too hard on yourself."
A moment of silence.
Bagus stepped a little closer, looking straight into Indah's eyes without hesitation. "You can take your time, it's okay. I don't need an answer today. I just want to know... may I stay here, by your side, as the me you've known—and more?"
Indah finally returned the gaze. In her eyes, there was a tremble. But there was also relief.
"You may," she whispered.
And when the car came to pick them up, they sat side by side in a silence that no longer felt frightening. No need for many words. No need for perfect answers.
Because sometimes, trust takes time.
And their time... had just begun.
---
Beautiful House sat at the corner of a quiet neighborhood, slightly hidden among frangipani trees whose flowers fell gently to the ground. Not too big, but enough to hold the entirety of her life story—one she nurtured in silence. The walls were pale white, a small porch with two rattan chairs, and a wind chime that tinkled softly whenever the evening breeze passed by.
As soon as Bagus stepped inside, a warm yet quiet atmosphere welcomed him.
"This house... it's peaceful," Bagus remarked as he looked around. "Maybe a little too peaceful?"
Indah placed her bag near a small table in the living room. "Yeah. I live alone here. My family is all back in Garut. I prefer it this way... maybe because I've gotten used to it."
Bagus looked at her for a moment, then sat on the slightly worn but clean cream-colored sofa. "Isn't it lonely?"
Indah was quiet for a moment. "Sometimes. But I've learned to befriend the silence."
She walked into the small kitchen and began preparing two cups of warm tea without having to ask. She remembered Bagus once said, "Sweet tea is a small reminder that the world isn't always as bitter as we think." And she kept that memory close.
"Why don't you live with your family?" Bagus asked when Indah returned to the living room.
Indah handed him the cup, then sat at the far end of the sofa. A long pillow separated them.
"Because I need space. I need peace. In Garut… I couldn't be myself. Here, I'm free to build my life, even if it gets messy sometimes."
Bagus nodded, turning the cup in his hands. "You seem strong. But I know... you're fragile too."
Indah laughed softly. "That sounds like a line from a romantic movie."
"But it's true," Bagus replied gently, his gaze fixed on her. "You're good at hiding your wounds. But I can see it—sometimes you just want to be heard. To be understood. To be accepted, without needing to explain too much."
Indah didn't answer. Her gaze dropped. The cup in her hands trembled slightly.
"I didn't expect you to understand this quickly," she said softly.
"I don't understand everything," Bagus replied, "But I want to learn. Slowly. If you'll let me."
Silence returned, but it wasn't the kind that pushes people away. It was a silence like a warm blanket, embracing their individual wounds.
"I'm afraid to hope too much," Indah confessed. "I did once. But all I got was loss. And pain that quietly grew in the lonely nights."
Bagus set his cup down and moved to sit closer. He didn't touch her—just sat close enough so that Indah would know: he was there.
"I can't promise I'll never disappoint you, Indah. But I promise I'll always be honest. And I'll stay... as long as you'll let me."
Tears finally fell down Indah's cheeks. But this time, not from sadness.
"I don't know what to say..."
"Just say, 'Welcome'," Bagus whispered.
Indah turned to him, smiling through her tears.
"Welcome, Bagus."
And in that quiet little house, two hearts that had long lived in doubt finally began to build something. Slowly, but surely.
---
Night slowly descended. Indah's house looked warmer in the soft glow of the yellow lamp hanging in the corner of the living room. Soft jazz music played from a small speaker in the corner, filling the silence with gentle, non-intrusive notes.
Bagus stood alone in front of a small shelf near the television. His hand brushed against the photo frames arranged neatly. Among the several photos, his eyes fixated on one: Indah wearing a dark blue graduation gown, a wide smile on her face, holding a bouquet of flowers and a certificate. Beside her stood a respected-looking professor, and at the bottom of the frame, it read:
"Indah Permatasari, S.I.Kom. – Best Graduate in Journalism."
Bagus froze for a moment. His eyes reread the words again and again, as if his mind refused to accept a new piece of truth about the woman he was getting to know more intimately.
"Journalist?" he muttered softly.
"Why?" Indah's voice came from behind, carrying two small plates of caramel pudding she had made.
Bagus turned quickly, forcing a smile. "Oh, nothing. I was just… looking at your graduation photo. Best graduate, huh? That's impressive."
Indah smiled, slightly shy. "That was a long time ago. Now I just write freelance articles, sometimes for online media. Not as glamorous as you might think."
"But that's amazing, Indah. You've got an education, a career, a good name… and I…"
Bagus stopped his sentence. He didn't want to sound pathetic.
"You what?" Indah asked, sitting on the sofa and handing him a plate of pudding.
Bagus sat slowly beside her. He stirred the pudding with his spoon, but didn't take a bite.
"I'm just an online novel writer. Some of them get read by a lot of people, sure. But I'm nobody. I don't even have a physical book I can hold. Even my real name isn't known. I'm just… Bagus—the one you met in that little chatroom."
Indah looked at him for a long moment.
"Do you feel inferior?"
Bagus didn't answer immediately. His eyes were on the floor, his voice low. "Maybe."
Silence lingered between them. Then Indah spoke, her voice gentle but firm.
"Do you know why I enjoyed talking to you for those three months?"
Bagus turned to her. His eyes searching for an answer.
"Because you never pretended to know everything. You never lectured me. You actually listened—really listened. You made me feel human, not just some 'pretty woman' being judged by looks or a degree. You saw me as Indah."
Bagus nodded slowly, though doubt still lingered in his eyes.
Indah continued, moving closer. "And you know what, Bagus? I was afraid you'd pull away when you found out who I was. Because I'm tired of being 'the woman who must be matched.' I just want to be an ordinary woman… who is respected, loved, as she is."
Those words cracked something inside Bagus. He looked at Indah, and this time there was something new in his gaze—like a wound slowly healing after being touched with warmth.
"If you don't care about my degree, then I don't care about your status," Indah went on. "As long as you're honest. As long as you're here."
Bagus nodded. Then, with a deep breath, he said:
"Then… let me stay as Bagus. The one you know. The one who wants to learn to love you better, every day."
Indah smiled.
And that night, for the first time, they saw each other without the lenses of status, without the masks of achievement—just two hearts wanting to believe that love could grow in the simplest of places: in a quiet living room, between caramel pudding and photo frames that quietly held their stories.
---
Continued...