I watch him the way one watches the sea—awed, yet knowing that they can never be part of its vastness. He moves through the world like sunlight breaking through leaves, warm and kind, never failing to bring light to those around him. Even in his quiet moments, I can see it: the way his life must be filled with calm laughter, effortless joy, with a world that welcomes him with open arms. I imagine his path, lined with flowers, that he could carry himself with ease.

I have spent years wondering what it would feel like to belong in his world. To hear his stories, not as an insignificant outsider, but as someone he chooses. However, as someone with a cloud hanging over her head, I have always known that I do not belong there. I know that he deserves a woman with light in her eyes, someone who mirrors the beauty he carries. He deserves someone whose voice sparkles with optimism when she speaks of dreams. He should be with someone whose steps match his own—someone who walks beside him on a path just as beautiful as his.

He deserves a love that is radiant, uncomplicated, and full of life—everything I am not.

But if I can erase the stark contrast, I want to be someone he dearly calls home. I hope he will be looking forward to coming home because I am his safe space. I want to be the person he turns to when the world feels too heavy. How I wish coming home for him meant meeting someone who understands even the things he does not say. How I yearn that, when the day fades, he would find solace in sharing what happened with me over an afternoon tea. How I wish that even on his toughest days, he would smile at the thought of the deep conversations we would have after long hours of exhaustion.

But I know he wouldn’t want to come home to someone whose life is complicated like me. I am sure he doesn't want to spend his lively life with someone whose life is as dull as mine. 

Therefore, I will keep my distance so I don’t burden him. Instead, I will silently pray for him, asking for nothing in return. I hope he will spend his life with someone as bright as he is. I hope that person gives him a life as beautiful as the one he deserves. And when that day comes, when I see him happy, I will smile. Even as my heart breaks, I will definitely be pleased. Because if he is happy, then that is enough. That is also, sort of a happy ending for me.

--------

(As always, it's labeled fiction because it is fiction)

I sit across from him, the world humming softly in the background. The clatter of dishes and the conversation from nearby tables— all of it fades beneath his voice. He’s telling me about his past few days: work, silly annoyances, and random moments of joy. It never truly registers just how many years we’ve spent like this, having our regular conversations stretching for hours. We don’t flood each other’s inboxes with daily updates, nor do we call just to fill the gap between our Fridays. Instead, we patiently wait for the weekly after-hours catch-up in some Japanese restaurant.

He rolls up his sleeve so the food won’t stain his white shirt. It’s a small gesture that feels so familiar. I’ve seen him do it a hundred times before, and yet, I still find myself watching. He smiles while his eyes light up as his favorite ramen is placed in front of him. Just a moment ago, he told me he was feeling low. And yet, here he is, looking at the meal like it’s the one thing that can make the day a little better.

The sadness hasn’t entirely left his eyes. I can still see its traces, lingering in the quiet corners of his expression. But now that he’s smiling, I’m reminded once again that this delicate balance, this ability to acknowledge his own emotions yet carry them with such calm optimism—that’s what makes him him. And I think I could watch him like this forever.

“This week, I got a demanding task, so I bought a lemon cheesecake and finished it myself,” he says, laughing. His eyes curve into crescent moons.

And just like that, my heart stumbles. I can picture it: him, sitting alone on a gloomy day, in front of his computer, eating his favorite Japanese lemon cheesecake as if it were a small act of opposition against the weight of the world. 

Can I tell the whole room that I really like someone who laughs so innocently when talking about cheesecake? I want to turn to every stranger here and say: look at him. Look at this man who finds joy in the smallest of things. Look at this person who carries his burdens lightly, who never lets the weight of the world steal his laughter. Take a proper look at him because I believe there is something so joyful about being in his presence.

“What was the task?” I ask.

“Creating a project dashboard. I had to learn Power BI for it.” He furrows his brows slightly, thinking.

“That must’ve been tough. But we learned Tableau back in campus, so it shouldn’t be that difficult, right?” I say, recalling the memory of studying in Japan which made us best friends.

“Yeah. But Power BI isn’t as user-friendly or intuitive, I think,”. He starts explaining the dashboard he built, detailing how Power BI compares to Tableau.

At that moment, I realized that I never planned on falling for a tech geek yet enjoying a conversation like this. Also, I never thought love would feel like this—soft, unhurried, and soundless. It happened somewhere between these easy conversations and bursts of laughter over tech memes. Somewhere in the way his voice softens when he speaks just low enough for only me to hear. Somewhere in the way his jokes always work because I know almost all the inside stories. Somewhere in the way the world feels a little lighter whenever he’s near. 

And now, I can’t help but be curious: Am I the only woman who gets to see this storyteller side of him? People say that if the long-time person was meant to win, they would have won already. And yet, here I am, wondering if I was never meant to win his heart at all. What if someone new comes and instantly becomes his favorite person to tell stories to?

I want to stay still, and yet I want to tell the world. I want to write his name in my SNS, in the sand, in the lines of every application he has built, in the pages of every book he has ever loved, so that no matter where he goes, he will finally see. I want people to stop and ask, Who is it that makes you smile like this? Maybe then it would be easier for me to tell them about him.

But instead, I keep it a secret—not because I am afraid or unsure. I just want him to navigate his feelings freely, even if that means he will fall for someone else. When that day comes, I hope he tells me about the person who makes his soft eyes even softer. Tell me about the one who makes you tell stories even more frequently than you do with me, my heart hopes.

But until then, take a proper look at the way I always listen just a little more intently when you speak. Notice how I memorize your stories, even the ones you'll forget later. See how I treasure each of these moments, knowing that you might never see me the way I see you. And maybe, one day, you will look at me and see all the love I’ve carried so gently, so patiently. And if that day ever comes, please don’t hesitate to come closer.

As we part ways, he waves a hand. “I’m afraid tonight you won’t check your SNS. Don’t forget to check it after this because I posted something.”. SNS (Social Network Service), that’s what the Japanese call platforms like Instagram. We share the habit of rarely updating ours, so I can’t help but wonder: what could he have possibly posted?

I open his Instagram story, which features a picture of ramen and the caption ”#好きなんだ”, which is read as “#sukinanda” in Japanese — a casual way of saying "I like it". I call his name just before he walks too far from the restaurant. He turns around.

“You meant you like the ramen?” I ask. "We can visit this place often if you want,"

He smiles, slowly shaking his head. “Take a better look.”

I glance at the photo again. There, reflected on the table near his ramen bowl, is my faint shadow.

"See you next Friday,” he says, waving once more.

And I am left standing there—heart pounding, breath caught between realization and hope.

--------------------

image source: Wiktoria Labudzinska via artstation.com

--------------------

Background story: When I opened YouTube, a video of JKT48’s #kusangatsuka MV appeared on my recommendations. I randomly played the song and thought about how cute the lyrics were. Then, I searched for the original version performed by AKB48. The energetic and playful melody perfectly captured the feeling of young, reckless love—the kind where you secretly, but not-so-secretly, adore someone. The lyrics tell the story of a girl who posts #sukinanda (I like it) along with a picture of food, with the subtle shadow of the person she loves in it. They hang out together with their friends on the beach, playing the watermelon-smashing game.

The song ends on a happy note with these lyrics: "He replied to my post with a picture of me trying to smash the watermelon, captioned ‘with someone I love.’"

I wanted to write a story inspired by that lovely song but with a more mature, quiet kind of love. As always, this story is labeled as fiction because it is fiction :)

Tiba masanya periode sebelum hujan berdamai dengan getirnya tidak diinginkan. Bumi seakan tabah menyaksikan langkah tergesa-gesa sebelum hujan. Udara bersikap tenang saja mendengar keluh kesah yang berlalu lalang. Langit bersabar disesaki gumpalan pesan di pikiran manusia menjelang rinai. Kata-kata menggantung di awan hanyalah payung, secangkir teh, rumah, dan tentu saja rindu. Sementara dalam diriku bukan kaki, melainkan batin, yang tergesa-gesa. Di langit bergelayut pesan pencarian yang hampir putus asa.

Orang-orang hanya peduli pada hujan dan rumah--menyudutkan sebelum hujan pada sepi yang kumengerti. Aku, seperti sebelum hujan, mengenali betul rasanya tidak diinginkan. Jiwa ini, sama seperti sebelum hujan, memahami riuh yang mengabaikan kami. Maka kami duduk bersisihan menikmati hening yang dikurung agar tidak gaduh mengaduh.

Meski demikian, sebelum hujan dan aku tak yakin apakah kami baik-baik saja dipeluk sunyi. 

Pada aroma hujan yang bersiap mendekap bumi aku bertanya, seperti inikah perasaan rindu1? Aku telah melewati puluhan ribu hari sibuk mempertanyakan datangnya perjumpaan yang memporandakan raga dalam duga. Jika belum akan dipertemukan, mengapa aku harus memikul perasaan semacam itu? Jika takdir persuaan masih jauh dari harap, tidak bolehkah nanti saja kutanggung beban rasa sebesar ini? 

Maka sebelum hujan aku berdoa agar seseorang melintas begitu saja. Saat hujan nanti, aku ingin mengenali wajah yang bersembunyi atas nama rindu. Namun, sejauh mana pun aku bertanya, dia tak kunjung menjelma di hadapku. Hujan telah mempertemukan bumi dan langit sore ini. Sejauh apa dia saat ini untuk bertemu denganku? Apakah ia tidak berdiri di bawah hujan yang sama denganku? 

Kenyataan bahwa aku tidak mengetahui apa-apa tentang perkara ini sungguh mengoyak batin.

Aku pulang bersama senyap yang telah nyenyak tertidur di tas punggung. Lengang adalah satu-satunya yang tersisa membersamaiku. Jika aku berkawan baik dengan sunyi, lalu berapa lama lagi topeng bahagia ini bisa kuperankan dengan baik?

Sejujurnya, telah sejak lama aku tak ingin menyeberangi hujan seorang diri.

----------------------------------------------

1 Terinspirasi dari puisi Hujan Bulan Juni karya Sapardi Djoko Damono bahwa hujan begitu tabah merahasiakan rindunya kepada bumi.

"Tak ada yang lebih tabah dari hujan bulan juni

dirahasiakan rintik rindunya kepada pohon berbunga itu"

---------

image source: Muhammad Rifki Adiyanto via Pexels

source: pixabay

Aku senang mendengar suara-suara lirih yang nyaris tidak terdengar di perpustakaan. Di antara bunyi-bunyi itu, aku bisa memisahkan alunan jemarimu membalik halaman buku. Aku bisa mengenali ayun matamu yang berdansa dengan aksara. Aku bisa mendengar tulang-tulang rusukmu terangkat ketika menghela udara. Di tengah riuh rendah itu, aku bisa membedakan suaramu ketika kau berbisik menceritakan sesuatu kepada kawan-kawan. Aku juga tak luput menyadari gelak tawa yang dirahasiakan agar petugas perpustakaan tidak menoleh ke arah kalian.

Aku jua mampu mengidentifikasi nada jarimu melangkah di atas papan ketik. Begitulah kau, membaca buku seolah waktu bisa dihentikan lalu menulis selama dua kali lipatnya. Aku berhasrat mengintip puisi yang tengah kau pijarkan melalui sepuluh jari-jarimu. Jadi sajak apa yang tengah berdenyut bersama jantungmu kini?

Irama lirihmu dalam melakukan segala sesuatu di perpustakaan begitu lain. Di tengah kegaduhan yang hampir terdengar hening itu, aku menemukanmu dengan mudahnya. Sementara udara yang dingin tak mampu meredam deru senyummu. Sementara wangi buku seolah memasung sepasang lingkaran matamu dalam dunia yang lain. Sementara larik-larik puisimu tampak tak ingin berbagi pujangganya dengan siapa pun.

Akankah kau datang tepat waktu ke perpustakaan hari ini? Apakah kau masih akan duduk di tempat yang sama seperti biasa? Akankah teman-temanmu akan menyusulmu tigapuluh menit kemudian seperti yang sudah-sudah? Akankah matamu bergerak dengan kelambatan yang sama ketika menelusuri satu per satu kalimat? Apakah jemarimu masih akan sesekali mengambil jeda di atas papan ketik ketika kau tengah berburu kata? Akankah kau melepas kacamata dan mengusap mata dengan cara yang sama?

Aku menemukanmu di sela-sela narasi yang kaukumpulkan. Aku menyelami bersama keingintahuan tentang sajakmu selanjutnya. Sementara sepuluh huruf namamu adalah puisi yang paling ingin aku lantunkan. Kau adalah buku yang ingin aku baca berkali-kali tanpa penghujung. Seperti kau menulis untuk orang lain, aku juga ingin menulis untukmu. Maka bolehkah aku meminjam sedikit senyummu untuk kuselipkan di antara kata-kata yang tengah tersedu itu?

Lalu mengutip Helvy Tiana Rosa, "Bolehkah sekedar kupinjam punggungmu untuk menulis puisi-puisi yang tak henti menangis?"

----------------

(latar: saya rindu menulis cerita fiksi)

Ada kerinduan menulis dalam bahasa ibu, seperti kehendak menyimak sepasang bola hitam di wajahmu tatkala aku tenggelam dalam kerumunan bola biru dan abu-abu. Terdapat keinginan kembali menyusuri jalanan kota di mana kau berada--walau berdebu, walau kelabu. Aku tersenyum meski menghabiskan waktu mencuri pandang sedang jarak pandangmu ke arahku sesak oleh debu. Aku masih akan menatapmu seolah ikan yang kaujerat dengan bubu lalu kausimpan dalam kumbu. Apakah ini yang Sapardi sebut sebagai “Aku ingin mencintaimu dengan sederhana dengan kata yang tak sempat diucapkan kayu kepada api yang menjadikannya abu”?

Apa kabar, pria yang tersenyum bak sari tebu? Kalender menunjukkan hari Rabu di mana umumnya beban pekerjaan tengah sibuk-sibuknya menyerbu. Kuharap di hari seperti itu, hatimu masih sekokoh terumbu. Semoga di sana langitmu tak mengabu di tengah hentak lari di sekeliling nan menggebu. Kudoakan agar kegaduhan yang beriak dari klakson kendaraan di ibukota tidak mengusik sudut kalbu.

Apakah kau sudi mendengar kabarku, lelaki berpipi merah jambu? Hari-hariku menjemukan seperti masakan di kota ini yang miskin bumbu. Aku kemudian teringat bagaimana pagi harimu kerap diwarnai semangkuk lontong sayur labu. Kadangkala aku iri bagaimana matamu berbinar menceritakan makanan berkuah seharga lima ribu.

Kau pasti luput menyadari bahwa jiwa ini, terpaut benua denganmu, bak air di atas lumbu. Seperti sumbu yang berusaha ditegakkan dalam lampu minyak tetapi ia tetaplah sumbu. Maka aku menulis dengan bahasa ibu agar kerinduan memiliki keberanian berpindah kubu. Barangkali kau tidak sengaja membacanya lalu mengerti perasaan yang kubawa lelap di balik kelambu.

Sedari mula aku tahu bahwa berperang dengan perasaan tentangmu ibarat menghadapi pasukan bersenjata lengkap dengan hanya bermodal sebilah bambu. Hanya saja aku tetap menulis dengan bahasa ibu agar kau menyadari makna tatapan yang tersembunyi di balik debu.

-----------------

image source: adriansart

(Belum lama ini, saya menjuri lomba cipta puisi Hakordia 2022 dan kala menyelami bait-bait indah, saya tersenyum sembari berujar, "bahasa Indonesia sungguh cantik". Maka saya pun rindu menulis dalam bahasa ibu, bahasa yang meski saya mencoba memasuki gelanggang bahasa mana pun, akan tetap menjadi bahasa paling cantik karena kekayaan kosakatanya. Raga saya dapat berada di benua mana pun, jiwa saya dapat mempelajari bahasa mana pun, tetapi bahasa ini akan selalu menjadi yang tercantik. Lalu, saya mempersonifikasikan bahasa ibu itu sebagai seseorang. Kerinduan akan sesuatu yang kita sangat familiar dengannya bukankah selalu terdengar dramatis?)

source: farmanddairy.com

Walked through the alley of deciduous trees

A soul's empty stare ahead froze my feet

That coppery gleam in thou--was it bonfire or fallen maple leaf

Someone’s gaze so dull yet blinding

Those sorrowful pools were an eternal maze

Thy eyes, the world’s autumns in entirety

Shall I look away from thy brown pearls

A pair of ice lumps

of an expressionless snowman

On this lengthen frosty night

But thy eyes, the crescendo wail I can’t escape from

Thou howled for help in silence

Immeasurable depth of misery I was scared of

As if a smile was once there then faded forever

The leaves fell as my heart fell

Was it me or was the season overdramatic?

'Tis I

Did all autumns act in theatrical?

Did I

Someone’s gaze so dim yet dazzling

A perpetual labyrinth I involuntarily stepped into

Might be I unreasonably longed for autumns

Thy eyes, the world’s autumns in entirety

------------

P.S:

1. Very much inspired by my sentimental melancholic-yet-consoling arrival in Australia when it was autumn. It was intriguing that something is both sad and comforting. I tried to personify that season into someone that has eyes containing the whole autumn seasons of the world. We can't help but fall for that season as if we fall for him. I also utilize autumn’s synonym “fall” to strengthen the emotions. Heavily influenced by Shakespeare’s Sonnet writing style and diction (did you notice the archaic words?) but of course, it was just my attempt. There is no way my writing could come close to Shakespeare’s quality.

2. I must say that I had so much fun writing this part:

"Was it me or was the season overdramatic?

'Tis I

Did all autumns act in theatrical?

Did I"

*'Tis: It is (archaic)

I wrote it on purpose as "did I" instead of "I did" to rhyme "'tis I" while at the same time making it sound like I questioned myself as well. It is I who is overdramatic. It is I who acted in theatrical. Don't blame the beautiful innocent autumn :)

source: deviantart.com/hadila

Tuhan, aku akan mengetuk pintu-Mu bak pengemis

Bersandar seraya menyeka gurat-gurat tangis

Seperti gelandangan tak berpayung di bawah gerimis

Pada lindap suratan aku mengais

source: fullhdwallpapers3d.com

"Tonight I can write the saddest poem of all. To think I don't have her to feel that I've lost her." (Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Poem – Pablo Neruda)

Dua suku kata namaku seharusnya tidak perlu terdengar menyayat seandainya bukan dia yang mengucapkan. Suara itu seolah bergaung, tidak berbelas kasihan pada deretan waktu yang telah kuhabiskan untuk melupakan. Kuharap tak seorang pun memiliki kekuatan semacam ini. Dia hanya memanggil tetapi mengapa seluruh kenangan membanjiriku, hendak menenggelamkanku.

source: giphy.com

Aku membenci laut

Barangkali sebab berkeinginan kau sudah di tepinya menyambut

Dengan kembang api yang diam-diam kausulut

Debur ombak yang kalah ribut ketimbang denyut

Jantungmu yang kibang-kibut beserta bersimpuhnya lutut

source: tenor.com

Tersita, terlunta-lunta di Jakarta

Mengudeta derita agar tak terlampau nyata

Di pusaran gegap gempita ibukota

Yang berpesta, dengan setumpuk harta