My phone buzzed softly inside my jacket pocket. The sound wasn't loud, but it was enough to pull me out of my reluctant sleep.
The name on the screen made my head throb.
Tasha Ardelia.
My chatty coworker-slash-best-friend who's two years younger — and loves calling over and over until you pick up. I'd already declined her calls a few times.
Thud.
"Ow," I muttered, rubbing my forehead after it had just slammed into the seat in front of me thanks to a sudden brake.
If you're picturing me sleeping peacefully in a cozy bed, think again. I was napping in a cheap public minibus and had just kissed a plastic seat like I was possessed. Cute, right?
I was exhausted.
It wasn't even 9 a.m. yet, and I was already halfway through an absurd journey. Usually, I'd be sitting at my office desk around this time. But not today.
Today was... different.
A secret mission. A mysterious road trip.
The kind of ridiculous adventure that would make my mom faint if she ever found out.
The conversation I overheard at the food stall last night was still echoing in my head. I couldn't sleep. And like someone who had lost all common sense, I decided to do the most irrational thing I've ever done in my life:
Go see a fortune teller.
Alone.
In secret.
Without telling a single soul.
If anyone finds out, I'm doomed.
The girl known for being the most logical at work, suddenly veering off into the land of mystics… all for love.
I'd probably end up as a meme on X, with the caption:
"When love breaks your brain."
My phone buzzed again.
This time, with the last ounce of rationality I had left, I picked up.
"Cayra Astagina, where are you?!" Tasha's voice pierced through my eardrums, shrill enough to make pigeons change direction.
"On the road," I mumbled.
"What road?! Yudha's been looking for you! Don't tell me you skipped work?"
"Why's he looking for me? I already texted Mbak Rania last night."
"Did she approve it? It's chaos here. A new client's asking for you directly — and you're MIA!"
Okay, fair.
I did text Mbak Rania, the founder of our office, last night. She replied at dawn, wishing me a quick recovery.
I told her I was sick and needed a consultation.
Technically, not a lie.
Heartbreak counts as sick.
Consultation? Well... with a mountain mystic.
Also, I was starting to get a cold. Just to be safe, I wore a thick jacket. The place I was heading to was known to be chilly — highland air that stabs your dignity, faith, and will to live.
I wasn't even sure what exactly I was hoping for.
I just wanted to feel… fought for. Even if it meant trying the mystical route.
Maybe this wasn't just bad luck.
Maybe it was past energy — unresolved, still clinging to me.
If that could be cleared, maybe I could finally live normally.
Get married.
Say "I'm happy" without feeling like a liar.
Eat meatballs without someone asking, "So… when's your turn?"
"Caca! Are you even listening?!"
"I am. Mbak Rania even wished me a speedy recovery."
"Recovery from what?!"
Silence.
If I said heartbreak, she'd know I'd just had another breakup. And then she'd go into full-blown revenge mode.
Tasha has predator instincts.
The last time I got dumped, she almost punched my ex in a convenience store parking lot.
I told her to let it go.
But Tasha can't stand seeing her friend hurt — especially by a guy whose face looks like a failed Instagram filter.
To this day, I still laugh at myself.
I got engaged just because I replied to a green bean emoji in my DMs.
And only later realized…
I was the other woman.
The plot twist was so good, I deserved my own primetime drama.
"Caca, did you disappear or did your ears take a vacation with your logic?"
"Sorry, my sweet Sasaku. Must've lost signal," I replied with a dry laugh.
She didn't answer right away. I could faintly hear her talking to someone else. The voice wasn't from the office — it sounded... familiar.
"I'll hang up now. You better come in tomorrow. We've got an important client."
Click.
I sighed, opened WhatsApp, and scanned the flood of incoming messages.
Dozens from coworkers, my dad, big bro Raka, Elan... even Mom.
What a team effort.
Usually, only Dad remembers I'm still alive.
I couldn't be bothered to reply.
Phone back in pocket.
I looked out the window.
The scenery had changed — rice fields, rolling hills, trees.
So much green.
The air felt cleaner, and somehow... unfamiliar.
Candraloka Village.
The home of Mbah Sarmini, the fortune teller.
Last night, I stalked her name online.
They say she's helped save marriages, heal affairs, and even summon love from thin air.
Once I got off this minibus, I still had to take a motorcycle taxi.
The road ahead was too narrow for cars. Signal was spotty. No ATMs.
But rumor has it there's a Padang food stall that stays open late — so still somewhat modern, mountain edition.
Just thinking about all this effort made me tired again.
But I'd come this far. No turning back now.
I just hoped the results would be worth it.
Or at least, I wouldn't end up as a ghost segment in "Haunted Indonesia: Special Episode – Mount Tungguljati."
~~~
Half an hour later…
The minibus stopped in front of the local ojek station. A few passengers got off.
Including me.
I zipped up my jacket.
The cold air greeted me like an ex texting "hi" at midnight —
annoying, but still made my heart skip a beat.
I walked toward the line of ojek drivers.
They stood in formation like soldiers awaiting battle.
I picked one based on the motorcycle — I'm a matic scooter lover, and lucky me, he had one.
Fate.
The ride began, weaving through narrow, foggy roads.
It felt like entering another world.
Not haunted, but... absurd.
A place where logic gets left behind in exchange for hope.
"You heading to Candraloka to see Mbah Sarmini, Miss?" the driver asked.
I leaned closer to his helmet.
Don't worry — we both wore helmets.
Safe physically, though mentally, I wasn't so sure.
"Yes, sir. First time. Just... giving it a try."
"Many say that. Then they keep coming back."
Like iced coffee.
Or a toxic ex who only shows up when you're happy.
"Is it always this busy on Friday Kliwon?" I asked, wiping fog off my visor.
"Very. You'll need to take a number. Like a clinic."
I chuckled.
A mystic with queue tickets.
The only difference between this and a doctor's visit was the use of tarot cards.
"How many usually come?"
"Could be twenty. Sometimes close to a hundred."
Impressive. Even Tasha's favorite beauty clinic couldn't compete.
"She's helped many. Who knows — maybe she'll help you too."
I gave a faint smile.
Not because I believed it.
But because his words felt like a prayer I didn't realize I needed.
The air got colder.
The road narrower.
Tall trees on both sides swayed gently.
Fog thickened like a blanket hiding something beneath.
The scent changed.
A faint smell of incense lingered — like a quiet invitation to come closer.
A black bird flew low.
The sky turned pale.
The silence deepened.
But oddly... I wasn't afraid.
What I felt was something else entirely.
Calm.
Maybe because, for the first time,
I wasn't pretending to be okay.
I knew I was broken.
I knew I was tired.
And I was finally okay admitting it.
If healing meant coming to a place like this...
believing in things I couldn't explain...
then maybe that wasn't weakness.
Maybe it was my way of learning to trust again.
In love.
In myself.
And if happiness happened to begin
on a misty mountain
with incense and an old woman named Mbah Sarmini…
Then so be it.
At least I didn't give up.
At least I was still trying.
And maybe... just maybe…
I wasn't here to find love.
Maybe I was here to find the version of me
that finally believed she was lovable again.
~~~
A few minutes later, the motorbike I was riding stopped in front of a house far too luxurious for a remote mountain village. It was simple, yes—but suspicious. Suspiciously simple.
But it wasn't the house that made my jaw drop. It was the crowd in front of it.
The ojek guy said there could be a hundred visitors per day. I thought he was exaggerating. Turns out, he was being humble. It's not even 9 a.m., and there are already thirty people queueing like it's a government rice handout. Maybe more. I didn't bother counting. My mental stability is more precious.
"Miss, are you getting off?" the ojek guy asked, probably numb from having me cling to the back seat like a koala.
I quickly jumped down, took off the helmet, and handed him a crisp red bill—way more than the regular fare.
"This is too much," he said, confused.
"It's fine. Consider it a bonus. Please pray my love life gets sorted out, okay?" I replied with my best polite smile.
His eyes sparkled. "Thank you so much! I hope you meet the right one soon."
Amen, Bang. I muttered internally while keeping the fake smile alive. Though what I really hoped was that my soulmate wouldn't be as hard to reach as Candraloka.
"Alright, I'm heading in."
After he drove off, I stepped onto the yard of Mbah Sarmini's house. And wow—it was spacious. Big enough to shoot a full-on love-mystic reality show.
She must be rich. Or maybe she became rich because of this love-psychic business. Modern-day fortune tellers are basically entrepreneurs now.
Cayra, focus. You came here for love consultation, not to audit a shaman's financial records. Though if fortune teller accounting ever becomes a thing, it might actually pay well...
I was about to walk forward when I spotted two women who looked... familiar. Oh no.
They were the ones gossiping about Mbah Sarmini at the angkringan.
Panic.
What if they realize I'm here because I eavesdropped?
I immediately reached into my jacket, looking for something to hide my face. And just like in movies—when the universe intervenes—I found a sealed face mask. Clean, untouched, with a little bookworm emoji sticker on it.
Again. A bookworm sticker.
Exactly like the one on that umbrella handle.
Okay. This is getting weird. Am I being followed? Or is the universe sending me clues? For a plot twist? A soulmate? Or a mystical trap disguised as soft romance?
Before I could untangle the conspiracy, the two women turned in my direction.
I quickly bowed my head and slipped on the mask.
Thank you, whoever you are. This mask just saved me from a potential gossip massacre.
With my face now hidden, I stepped deeper into the property. But just as I did, an older woman handed me a small piece of paper.
"Here's your queue number, Miss. They're only on number eighteen right now."
Mine: forty-eight.
Current: eighteen.
That's thirty people.
I looked up to the sky. "Dear God... I'm strong, I'm strong, I'm strong," I whispered, searching for a place to sit.
Of course, the only empty seat was right next to the angkringan ladies. Between risking exposure and physical pain, I chose physical safety.
They were still chatting away. I exhaled in relief. But I barely had two seconds of peace when—
"Hi, Miss. You're here for a consultation too?" one of them asked. Friendly. Too friendly.
I nodded slightly.
"Love problems too? What's the issue?"
Ma'am, that's private. Even God allows His followers some personal space.
"A lot. Too many to list," I replied sweetly... and curtly.
"Wow, that many? Can Mbah Sarmini even handle that?"
"Of course she can," the other one chimed in. "She's a fortune teller."
"What's your number?" she asked again.
Reluctantly, I showed her the slip.
"Oh, that's gonna be in the late afternoon. Maybe evening."
Afternoon? Evening?
Dear God, is this Candraloka or the ER?
Getting home wasn't the issue. There were plenty of ojeks around, and even the elf van was still parked nearby. But I had work tomorrow. Okay, technically tomorrow's Saturday, but our agency only closes on Sundays. I'd only taken one day off for this. I had a client meeting lined up, like Tasha reminded me earlier.
"What number are you?" I asked back.
"Twenty-five. Almost there."
"What time did you leave home?"
"Four a.m. Got here by six."
Wow. My competition was on national-level love pilgrimages.
I thought I was already hardcore for taking an elf at six. Turns out I'm not the only desperate soul here.
Now the question is...
Just how magical is Mbah Sarmini that people are willing to queue since dawn?
And more importantly...
Can love really be cured with mantras, chants, and tarot cards?
Or...
Am I just queueing up for another kind of heartbreak?
~~~
EPILOGUE ✨
It was only half past six in the morning. Normally, I'd still be tangled up in my favorite pajamas, grumbling at my alarm. But today, I was standing in front of the mirror, fully dressed in a jacket and long pants. Seriously. My hair was already tied up neatly too. Not the look of someone going to visit a fortune-teller—more like a lost tourist who puts too much faith in Google Maps.
No bag. Just my phone and wallet tucked safely inside a zippered jacket pocket. Secure. Efficient. Most importantly—non-suspicious. If I walked out of the house with a bag, my mom might jump out of a closet like a horror movie character and start interrogating me.
Where are you going? With whom? When will you be back?
Too many questions, not enough trust.
Dressed like this, people would think I was just going jogging.
Little did they know I was on my way to see a psychic.
What a wild detour from civilization.
I opened my bedroom door slowly, peeking out like a thief sneaking away from a crime scene. My room was between Elan's and my sister's. To get downstairs, I had to pass by Elan's room—and that guy was a one-man gossip site and the family's intelligence officer.
If he caught me, my secret mission would be doomed.
Tiptoeing like a cat burglar, I made it past his door. Small victory.
I crept down the stairs like the heroine of a thriller film—except this wasn't a mansion. It was just my own home.
The living room was empty. Mom was probably in the kitchen. Dad? Definitely out back with his beloved birds.
Clear.
At the main door, I unlocked it slowly and slipped out.
Fresh morning air hit me like freedom after a prison break.
But just when I was about to celebrate—
my nose twitched.
"Hachoo."
One sneeze. I could handle it.
But then—
"Hachoo. Hachoo."
I hadn't even made it to the mountain yet, and I was already catching a cold.
My sneakers were waiting by the gate. Socks were stuffed inside. I had to wear them standing up, which was obviously a pain. I muttered the entire time like an old lady who lost her TV remote.
After finally wrestling my shoes on, I sneezed again.
My nose must've been tomato-red by now.
But I was still cute. I'm Cayra, after all.
Right as I turned to leave, my eyes drifted to the large house across the street. It had been empty for a long time, but someone had moved in a few days ago.
For some reason, I felt like I was being watched.
I glanced at the window.
No one.
Just a sleek black car parked in the yard.
It was the kind of car you see in Korean dramas—right before the male lead steps out in slow motion, wind effects and all.
Whatever. Probably just my imagination.
Or maybe not.
I started walking through the neighborhood. The morning air was fresh, cool—and it made me sneeze again.
My first stop: Pak Tarno's chicken porridge cart, just outside the neighborhood near the angkringan.
Not because I was hungry.
But you can't visit a psychic on an empty stomach. Stomach growls during spiritual consultations? Rude.
When I arrived, I ordered confidently, "One regular porridge without soybeans, one sweet tea, and one quail egg skewer."
"Coming right up, Miss Caca," Pak Tarno smiled.
Not the magician Tarno. This one was more of a stomach wizard.
While waiting, I sat down and booked a ride-share.
Plan: take a ride to the terminal, then hop on an elf minibus to Candraloka village. After that—hopefully—some rural ojek still operated.
Just as my food arrived, my phone buzzed.
My ride was almost here.
I ate fast. My nose still wasn't cooperating.
Between all the sneezing and tissues, I barely tasted the porridge.
After eating, I handed Pak Tarno a twenty.
"Fifteen thousand, Miss," he said. But instead of giving change, he handed me a small plastic packet.
"Someone left this for you. A mask."
I blinked. A mask?
Sure, I had a cold. But I wasn't famous enough to have fans who cared this much.
"From who?"
Before he could answer, a motorbike horn honked.
My ride was here.
"Thank you, Pak," I said quickly, grabbing the mask and my change. No time for questions.
I shoved the mask into my jacket pocket—right next to the cash.
My red nose practically begged me to wear it.
"Miss Cayra Ayudhia?" the driver asked.
"Yes, that's me."
I put on the helmet and hopped on.
As the bike pulled away, I glanced back—not at the house anymore, since we'd left it behind.
Still… the feeling lingered.
Like I was being watched.
Like someone was still looking.
I turned forward.
And there it was again.
That sleek black car.
Now parked by the streetlight—outside the neighborhood.
Not in the yard like before.
Now it was outside.
Following me to get porridge, maybe?
My chest tightened.
Could be a coincidence.
But even in cheesy soap operas, coincidences don't happen twice.
Fine.
Whoever you are—
curious neighbor, stylish stalker, or a fashionable ghost—
Thanks for the mask.
"Psychic, here I come."
But maybe… just maybe… something was coming for me instead.
And if he'd been watching this whole time, I hope he noticed one thing—
Even when I sneeze, I'm still fabulous.