Arga sat on one of the benches in the middle of the city. That bench held many memories, but the one that lingered most was the sweet memory of his time with Citra. He still remembered it clearly—three years ago, he and Citra sat on that very bench, vowing their loyalty to each other before she left to continue her studies abroad.
But that promise seemed like an empty echo now. A year ago, Citra disappeared without a trace—as if swallowed by the earth. Arga had a burning desire to find her, even if it meant going to the ends of the world. But what could he do? He was just a student from a modest family.
"Citra… where are you? I don't know where else to look," Arga whispered.
That day felt no different than the others. Arga stared blankly at the park and the vast sky above, forgetting everything—even his studies.
As the sun began to descend in the west, a man with a simple appearance sat on the same bench. His name was Serafim.
"You've been here a while, haven't you?" he asked calmly.
Arga turned and looked at him, slightly puzzled. "Quite a while. Who are you?"
Serafim smiled. "I'm Serafim. I'm curious—what keeps bringing you back to this place?"
"I'm waiting for someone. Hoping she'll come back here," Arga answered briefly.
"Has she ever appeared before you? Or maybe in a dream?" Serafim teased lightly.
Arga fell silent. He studied Serafim suspiciously, but for some reason, he felt warmth in his heart.
"You wouldn't understand," he muttered.
"Then help me understand. Maybe I can help," Serafim said gently.
After a brief hesitation, Arga began to tell him about Citra. About their promises. About how she disappeared without a trace, along with her family.
"I had a girlfriend named Citra. Three years ago, we made a promise here. She promised to come back after finishing her studies abroad. I was determined to graduate quickly so that when she returned, I could propose to her right away—so she'd have no reason to leave again. But maybe it was all just an empty promise. A year ago, we had a slight disagreement, and the last thing she said was that she'd come back to see me in person. That was a lie. I know she returned to Indonesia, but she never came back to me. I've searched everywhere. She didn't have many friends, so I checked all our usual spots and asked everyone I could. Nothing. I'd never been to her house, didn't know her parents. I even tried to find them, but again—nothing. When I finally found her childhood home, it had been sold years ago. She kept her personal life so private… I realized I didn't really know her at all."
Serafim listened patiently. "You did your best."
"Yes, I did everything I could. I should be out having fun with my friends, maybe with someone new. I shouldn't still be clinging to the hope of seeing her again. But I'm too foolish. I don't know what else to do. I still hope to see her, just to ask why she left me."
Arga's eyes turned red from holding back tears.
Serafim nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll help you. Let's try to find her—one last time."
Arga looked at him deeply. "Why would you help me?"
"It's simple. Because you need help," Serafim replied.
Together, Serafim and Arga began retracing the places that held memories of Citra. Their next stop was a second-hand bookstore.
"We used to come here often. Citra loved finding reprinted books in this shop," Arga said as he walked through the dusty old shelves.
Serafim wandered to a corner where stacks of old newspapers were kept. He pulled one out.
"Arga, look at this."
Arga read the headline: "Flight JF-834 Crashes Into Ocean—No Survivors."
At first, it seemed like any tragic news. But then he scanned the list of victims. His heart stopped—Citra Ardana's name was there, along with her parents.
"No… this can't be real. This can't be happening!" Arga trembled as tears streamed down his face.
Serafim gently placed a hand on Arga's shoulder. "I know it's hard. But this is the truth."
"How could I not know something this big? Why didn't she tell me she was really coming back? I wish she never returned. I wish she lived a happy life somewhere far away," Arga sobbed, collapsing to his knees.
After reading the news, Arga spiraled deeper into despair. He locked himself in his room, refused to eat, and let his studies pile up.
Serafim came to Arga's apartment and knocked on the door.
"Arga, please open the door."
Slowly, the door creaked open. Serafim entered.
"Why are you doing this to yourself? You still have a life to live," Serafim said gently.
"What's the point of life without her? I have no one left. My life means nothing," Arga replied weakly.
Serafim sat beside him. "If Citra were here, would she be happy seeing you like this?"
Arga said nothing, staring at the floor.
"She wants you to live, Arga. If you truly love her, honor her memory. Go to her. Say goodbye."
Arga remained silent, and Serafim quietly left, giving him space.
Afterward, Arga stood on the balcony, leaning on the railing, reflecting on Serafim's words. He realized Serafim was right.
Without thinking further, he grabbed his jacket and ran to find him. But at the stairs, a tall, shadowy figure blocked his path.
"Who are you? Move!" Arga demanded.
The figure turned. Its eyes burned like embers, and massive, charred wings stretched behind it. Its skin cracked with glowing red lines like molten rock.
Arga fell in terror. The dark figure flapped its wings, sending a force that knocked Arga down the long staircase.
As he surrendered to the fall, a blinding white light enveloped him. His body felt weightless, his pain faded, and then—darkness.
When he opened his eyes, Arga found himself lying on his bed. Serafim was beside him.
"You're awake," Serafim said softly.
"What just happened? I saw a terrifying black figure—what was that?" Arga asked, shaken.
"You fell down the stairs and passed out. There was no one there. Luckily, I hadn't left the apartment yet. I heard the loud noise and rushed to help. It was you," Serafim explained calmly.
"Maybe I was too tired and rushed. Serafim… you were right. I need to visit Citra's grave. I was trying to chase you."
With Serafim's help, Arga searched for Citra's final resting place. Eventually, they found that victims whose bodies weren't claimed by family were buried in a government cemetery.
Their journey ended at a small cemetery on the city's outskirts.
There, Arga found Citra's and her parents' gravestones. He knelt and cleared the dust and tall grass from the graves.
"Citra… I'm so sorry. I didn't know you were gone. I… I miss you so much," he said, weeping.
Serafim stood behind him in silence, giving Arga time to grieve.
Arga closed his eyes to pray. A gentle breeze swept over him. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself surrounded by light.
"Arga…" a soft voice called.
He turned—and saw Citra smiling warmly.
"Citra? Am I dreaming?"
"No, you're not," Citra replied.
Arga rushed to her, tears flowing freely. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home? Why did you leave without a word?"
Citra took his hand. "I wanted to surprise you, but I didn't know it would be my last journey. I'm sorry, Arga. But I'm happy… because I know you'll be strong."
"Citra… I can't live without you."
"Yes, you can. You must. I want you to be happy, Arga. Don't waste your life. I'm here… to say goodbye."
Arga sobbed as Serafim appeared behind Citra, wings outstretched.
"Arga, it's time for you to rise. You still have a long life ahead."
Citra's image faded… until she was gone.
Arga returned to the real world with a new spirit. He rebuilt his life. He finished his studies and chased his dreams. In every step he took, he remembered his final promise to Citra:
To live a better life.
Meanwhile…
Serafim had caught Arga's falling body midair, wings spread wide.
Above him, the dark figure growled in frustration.
"You stand there like some holy being. Are you sure this is all for their good? Or is it just to satisfy Heaven's unshakable pride?"
the figure hissed—and vanished into the shadows.
***