I had been standing there quietly, watching Suci move slowly between the trees like she was searching for something—but not in the usual "I dropped my phone" kind of way. She kept glancing over her shoulder, crouching low, brushing leaves aside with this odd mix of urgency and caution, like whatever she was looking for wasn't just misplaced—it was deliberately hidden. I hadn't said anything yet, mostly because I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be a part of this, or if I had just stumbled upon something I wasn't meant to see.
The park was nearly empty, the lights barely piercing the darkness, and every rustle of leaves felt louder than it should. I kept asking myself—should I go up to her and ask, or pretend I didn't see any of this? Because whatever was happening, it didn't feel casual. It felt... secret.
So I decided not to get involved and instead just enjoy the quiet atmosphere of the park. If I was still curious, I figured I could always ask her about it another time. About what she was doing out here tonight.
But fate, as always, had other plans. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps approaching. When I turned toward the sound, I saw that it was Suci. She was walking toward me, holding the notebook that had become something of her signature.
Suci Restu. From what I knew, she was a wise and optimistic girl—generally calm and not afraid to speak her mind. At first glance, she seemed confident, but according to Ardianto, she actually struggled with self-esteem, often comparing her writing to that of her mother—a famous and accomplished author. Despite the fact that they wrote in very different fields (her mother in educational books and academic papers, and Suci in science news articles, especially biology), the comparisons frustrated her deeply.
According to Ardianto, she also had a tendency to be harsh toward men due to past trauma with her father. That was the main reason I'd avoided approaching her without the support of her female classmates.
Our previous meeting had been an accident, but it ended on a good note. I hoped this one would too.
"Hi," she greeted kindly.
"Hey," I replied just as warmly.
"What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" she asked curiously.
"I had trouble sleeping, so I decided to take a walk through the park and call my sister. What about you?"
"Oh, okay. As for me, um…" she hesitated, unsure how to answer.
"If you'd rather not say, that's okay. I don't want to intrude on your privacy."
"It's not really private. I'm just… not sure how to explain it. I mean, I don't want you to think I'm weird," she replied, still looking hesitant.
"Alright, I promise I won't judge. So if you want to tell me, I'm ready to listen," I reassured her.
"Okay then… um… I'm looking for a ghost," she said, shyly.
After hearing that, I looked at her carefully, then turned my gaze upward, closed my eyes, and smiled. I tried to recall something pleasant—something that would help me forget what I just heard. I was fighting the urge to laugh so I wouldn't hurt her feelings.
Once I had regained some composure, I opened my eyes and looked back at Suci. Her face was starting to flush, and she looked a little panicked—probably embarrassed about what she had just said. I mean, in today's modern world, ghost hunting shouldn't be something shameful if we really think about it. If we open our minds a bit more, looking for ghosts can be seen as a spiritual exercise—an exploration of the unseen side of the universe.
Still, I knew I needed to respond carefully, so I wouldn't hurt her feelings. A short reply—nothing sarcastic or jokey—would probably be the safest route. I'd met a lot of strange people over the past two days since arriving in the past. Meeting one more shouldn't be a problem. At least, that's what I kept telling myself. I believed I could get through this gracefully.
"Okay… pfffft huhuhu," I said, unable to hold in my laughter as I covered my mouth.
I glanced at Suci, who now looked completely flustered and embarrassed. I didn't know whose idea this was, or why she was doing it, but it was honestly kind of hilarious. You're at one of the best, most high-tech schools in the country, and you're a scientific writer—and yet you're ghost-hunting in a park? And not even a haunted house or something—just a quiet little garden. And it's not even midnight! Maybe ghost shifts start earlier these days? And what's with the notebook? Shouldn't you bring a camera instead? Are you planning to get an autograph or what?
Okay… I was spiraling. I tried to stop laughing and calm myself down.
"I'm really sorry," I said sincerely.
"It's fine. I kind of expected that reaction," she replied, still looking a bit embarrassed.
"When I met you yesterday, I didn't expect you to be someone who believes in the supernatural. I mean, you're known for your science articles and reports, so I apologize again for my reaction."
"Yeah, I feel the same way. But what can I do? I still have to pursue it. If I want to be the top journalist one day, I have to be open to writing about everything—even things like this," she said, starting to regain her confidence.
"I guess that's fair. By the way, is this related to the ghost rumor in the park?"
"Yeah… wait, how did you know?" she asked, surprised.
"My sister mentioned it on the phone earlier. I thought she was joking. But if someone like you—someone with journalistic ambitions—is investigating it, then maybe there's some truth to it after all."
"Well… I'm not saying I'll definitely write an article about it. But something about the stories I've gathered so far felt… off."
"Something off?"
"Yup."
"Would you mind sharing what you've found?"
"I'd be happy to, but are you sure you want to hear about it now?" she asked, glancing at the watch on her left wrist.
"Good point. Maybe another time. This really isn't the best hour for ghost stories," I said with a slight sigh.
"Exactly," she replied with a smile.
Just when I thought the night's events were finally winding down, we both heard footsteps approaching. We turned to look and saw someone in a black school uniform with gold buttons and white cuff linings, worn open over a white undershirt. His face was hard to make out at first in the dark, but as he came closer under the garden lights, I recognized him—a student with dark brown hair styled in a high, voluminous pompadour. Judging by his expression, he didn't look happy.
"Oh god… at least try showing up with a friendly face, Laswi," I muttered, sighing.