---
After the live stream ended, Indah remained seated at the edge of the bed. Her chest was pounding, her mind filled with haunting questions.
"That voice... that writing style... it's Bagus. But... what if it's just a coincidence? What if I'm wrong?"
In the darkness of the hotel room, lit only by the glow of her phone, Indah hugged her knees, trying to calm her heart. A surge of longing welled up inside her, but she knew... rushing things could ruin everything.
And finally, she made a decision.
She wouldn't meet Mister Faceless tonight.
She would wait until tomorrow — at the film gala — and see for herself who was behind that mask.
For that, Indah prepared a small plan:
Tomorrow, she would attend as a press reporter. But not as herself.
She opened her suitcase and took out a simple black mask, then laid out a formal, dark-colored outfit — neutral, unremarkable.
With her hair neatly tied in a bun and a pair of fake round glasses, she would blend in with the crowd of journalists — not as Indah, not as someone who once loved Bagus, but as an observer from afar.
"If it's really you, Bagus... let me see you from this distance first."
"If you're truly still waiting for me... I want to know, without reopening old wounds."
Indah looked at her reflection in the hotel room mirror — a woman who seemed unfamiliar, yet strong.
That night, she closed her eyes with a single certainty:
Tomorrow would be the deciding day.
The day when the mask would fall, and the truth could no longer be hidden.
---
---
That morning, the city of Samarinda was still veiled in a thin mist. Indah pulled the zipper of her hoodie up to her chin, her hair tucked neatly inside the hood. She walked quickly toward a small food stall across from the hotel—just craving a box of yellow rice and a cup of hot coffee to soothe her empty, anxious stomach.
Her steps were light, but her mind was heavy.
The film gala was only a few hours away.
But as she stepped out of the stall and turned back toward the hotel, her stride halted.
Someone stood just a few meters in front of her.
A tall figure, clad in a black leather jacket, a thin mask, and dark sunglasses.
Mister Faceless.
Indah froze.
His face was hidden, but his posture... the way he stood... the way he held a small notebook in his hand...
That was Bagus. She was sure of it.
Panic seized Indah's chest in an instant.
She immediately lowered her head, pretending to fiddle with her phone, then veered sideways, walking along the sidewalk toward the hotel's side entrance.
But before she could get too far...
> "Excuse me," the deep voice called out. Calm, but sharp.
"Sorry, but... have we met before?"
Indah nearly stopped in her tracks. Her heart pounded violently. That voice. That tone.
She knew it as intimately as her own pulse.
Still, she kept walking, eyes down.
"No, you've got the wrong person," she replied softly, steadying her voice as best as she could.
"I'm in a hurry."
She kept moving without looking back, only hearing the footsteps of Mister Faceless remain rooted in place.
But deep down, Indah knew...
Bagus suspected her.
And that was enough to turn a morning that was supposed to be about breakfast into an emotional minefield.
Indah returned to her room, her breath short and sharp.
"He suspects me... he knows!"
"But I'm not ready... not now... not in this place."
She shut the curtains tightly and stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Today, she had to be stronger.
Because at tonight's gala... there would be no more place to hide.
---
Indah sat at the edge of the hotel bed, morning light peeking through the curtain's gap. Her hand trembled as she took her old phone out of her bag.
She hadn't touched it in a long time—it was like a time capsule, holding memories she'd tried to bury... but that never truly disappeared.
Taking a deep breath, Indah pressed the power button.
The screen slowly lit up, and notifications began appearing one by one:
32 unread messages.
18 missed call alerts.
From: Bagus.
Her heart sank.
With hesitation, she opened the last message Bagus had sent.
> "Indah... I don't need a trillion. I just need you."
Her throat tightened.
Then the earlier messages appeared:
> "Are you still in Jakarta? I left my latest novel at a small bookstore near Gambir station. It's about us."
> "Are you okay? I'm in Kalimantan now, but my heart is still in the same place—at the point where we last spoke."
> "If you read this, even if you don't reply, I'll keep writing. Because you're my inspiration, and maybe… the only reason I'm still holding on."
Tears welled up in Indah's eyes.
And then suddenly… a new message appeared.
Sent just a few minutes ago.
> "You're in Samarinda, right? I think… I just saw you this morning. But maybe I was wrong. Or… maybe you're just not ready to meet again. But I'll still wait for you tonight. At the gala. The stage isn't my place to speak… but tonight, I will speak. For you."
Indah clutched the phone to her chest, her tears falling freely.
She knew… this was no longer about social status, a mother's approval, or the past.
This was about two hearts still searching for each other… hidden beneath the fog and masks.
And tonight—might be the night when everything is revealed.
---
That Night's Film Gala
The Samarinda Convention Hall shimmered luxuriously that night. The dazzling spotlights, flashing cameras, and guests dressed in elegant attire created a dreamlike atmosphere. Soft music flowed from a grand piano in the corner, while the scent of perfume and fresh flowers filled the air.
Among the crowd of media and distinguished guests, Indah stood in her new black blazer, a stark change from her usual hoodie. She blended in as a professional journalist. In her hands, the camera was ready to capture every important moment. She kept her distance, still wearing a cloth mask that hid part of her face.
> "Indah, can you move to the stage area? They said there'll be a special reveal from Mister F," said a fellow journalist.
Indah simply nodded, but her heart began to pound faster.
At the center of the stage, a large photo remained covered with black cloth.
Tall. Mysterious.
The host referred to it as "Mister F's Inspiration Photo" — a single portrait said to be the origin of the entire story behind the film.
Indah swallowed hard. Her fingers gripped the camera tighter.
> "Could it be... a photo of me?"
She tried convincing herself it could be anyone. But her instincts — sharp from years as a journalist, and even sharper as a woman who once knew love — screamed louder than reason.
She moved closer to the side of the stage, the best spot to get a clear shot.
Indah's eyes never left the gently waving black cloth, stirred by the AC breeze.
Then, the host announced:
> "And now... we will unveil one of tonight's biggest mysteries. The woman whose image inspired the novel and film 'Shadows Behind the Window', by Mister F!"
A spotlight focused on the center stage.
Someone stepped forward...
Mister Faceless.
Still wearing his signature mask — a plain black one with a small slash motif on the right side. His voice was still filtered through a light modulator. But Indah knew — every step, every breath of that man — was Bagus.
He reached for the edge of the black cloth.
> "This woman once appeared as light in my life… then vanished… but she has always been the reason I write."
The cloth was slowly pulled away.
Indah held her breath.
And as it fell…
There was a candid photo.
Indah. Sitting on a bench at Soekarno-Hatta Airport. Wearing a blue dress. Her eyes stared blankly toward the arrival gate.
She wasn't fully aware she was being photographed — but that was exactly what made it so human, so beautiful.
Indah was stunned.
Her eyes glistened with tears.
Her hands trembled, and the camera nearly slipped from her grasp.
That was her. That... was their moment.
Every question, every doubt, every wound she had kept tightly locked in her heart... was laid bare before the public that night.
But there were still no answers.
No clarity.
Because Mister F only stood in silence, gazing at the photo, before finally whispering into the microphone:
> "I never stopped writing... because I never stopped loving her."
---
Continued.....