Knock, knock, knock.
The porch light cast a warm glow over the woman standing at her neighbor's door, holding two things: a stacked lunch container and a paper bag. The quiet night was now filled with the sound of her own heartbeat.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Saka appeared, dressed casually in a plain black T-shirt and shorts, his expression the usual flat one of someone who'd just paused a book or a documentary.
Cayra, who had been carefully controlling her breathing, immediately shoved the lunch container toward him.
"Here. From my mom to you," she said flatly but politely, as if she wasn't working hard to keep herself composed.
Saka frowned at the container. He didn't move—just looked at her as though she were holding a ticking time bomb, not home-cooked food.
"What is this supposed to mean?"
Cayra sighed. "Oh, for heaven's sake. Just take it. It's a welcome gift from my mom because… well, you're our neighbor now."
Saka finally nodded slightly. "Alright. Please thank her for me."
He took the lunch container—but she wasn't done.
Switching the paper bag from her left hand to her right, she handed it to him without further explanation.
Saka, perhaps having learned from the earlier exchange, took it right away. Still, confusion lingered on his face.
"That's everything you gave me these past few days," Cayra explained calmly. "The umbrella at the bus stop, the mask—which I replaced, by the way—and the raincoat from this afternoon. All of it."
Saka froze with the paper bag half-open. His gaze lifted to hers, his face edging toward panic.
"What do you mean all of this is from me?"
Cayra brushed aside a stray strand of hair from her forehead. "Don't play dumb. I know that bookworm sticker. That's your thing. Only you use it."
Saka blinked slowly, as if trying to process what he'd just heard.
"You still remember that sticker?" he asked softly, almost like a whispered hope.
Cayra instinctively turned away. Not looking at him. Not looking at anything—not even at her own reflection in the window behind him.
"Please. Of course I've forgotten," she shot back, her tongue moving faster than her brain. Even she was surprised at how defensive she sounded.
Saka almost laughed—but didn't. He held it in, hiding warmth, nostalgia, and a sudden rush of old memories.
"Really? Then why are you so sure all of this is from me?" he teased.
"Because back then… only you had that sticker!" Cayra replied quickly, almost angrily.
That answer was enough for him.
The awkwardness grew heavier, so Cayra turned to leave.
"I'm sure it's from you, so I'm returning it. And don't forget to return the lunch container," she said, stepping backward.
But his voice stopped her mid-yard.
"No matter how much you deny it, I know you still remember. The sticker. And me."
Her steps halted—but only for a moment. The next second, she walked faster, entering her house and closing the gate. As if shutting the gate could also lock away the memories she'd been pretending to forget.
Saka watched her retreating figure with a faint smile. Somehow, she could still make him smile, even though the same old wound still felt as fresh as yesterday.
He stepped back inside, carrying the lunch container and the paper bag. It felt… like carrying back something he'd once lost.
Across the street, Cayra opened her front door in a rush. Her face still hot, her heartbeat a mess. She walked past the living room where her parents were watching TV without saying a word.
Her mom frowned. "Ca, did you give the lunch container to Saka?"
No answer.
Cayra was already climbing the stairs, moving like a daydreaming zombie in the middle of a workout.
"Why isn't she answering?" Mom asked Dad beside her.
Dad shrugged casually. "If she didn't bring it back, she gave it."
Mom sighed. Her daughter's moods were unpredictable—sometimes calm like a late afternoon sky, sometimes stormy, and sometimes like the final episode of a Korean drama that made your head hurt and your eyes tear up at the same time.
She had only one hope: that the man Cayra married one day would be endlessly patient. Patient like her dad, who still watched soap operas with her mom every night.
Upstairs.
Cayra passed her brother Elan's room, the door open. He happened to step out, grinning wide. Perfect timing.
"Kak! Where's my two hundred thousand?"
She glanced at him briefly. Exhausted. Resigned. "Fine. Come in."
Elan blinked. No protest? No drama? This was the first time his sister had handed him money with the expression of someone who'd just finished a long prayer session, not a scolding.
She walked to her vanity, grabbed her wallet from her work bag, and pulled out two red bills, handing them over without unnecessary words.
"Thanks, Kak!"
"You're welcome."
Elan studied her face. Something was off. Usually, he'd be sent on an errand or lectured first. But now? Silence.
He left the room, closing the door slowly—just in case this was a trap.
Behind that door, his sister was fighting a battle she didn't even want to name.
After the door clicked shut, Cayra sat on her bed, ruffling her hair like someone regretting going to a high school reunion.
She wasn't possessed. She wasn't PMS-ing. But her heart wasn't okay.
Saka.
That name played again, flooding her mind like a sad playlist on repeat. If she could, she'd return that playlist too—the one that suddenly auto-played in her head.
Saturday nights were supposed to be for snacks and K-dramas. But now?
She was just sitting in her room, thinking about a past she should've thrown away… but secretly missed.
~~~
Unlike Cayra, who was lost in thought across the street, Saka was enjoying a warm homemade meal prepared by Cayra's mother.
He had known the woman quite well in the past. Saka knew that behind her sharp tone, she was a deeply caring person. Back in high school, she often encouraged him—even when he lost a competition.
If it had been his own family, they would have been busy blaming him. But Cayra's mother came with a hug and words of encouragement. She wasn't even his homeroom teacher, but as the vice principal in charge of public relations, she often involved herself in students' matters—especially when they needed support no one else could give.
Saka still remembered how Miss Widya's kindness was always genuine. Not like other teachers who suddenly acted sweet when they learned he was the son of the school's foundation owner. Some became overly respectful, others showered him with excessive praise.
Fortunately, only a few knew about his status. The students never found out, and that was exactly how he wanted it. Saka hated being the center of attention.
Miss Widya knew who he was, but she treated him the same—before and after she knew. No change. No small talk. No flattery. And that was exactly why she seemed the most sincere.
Saka didn't just like her attitude; he liked her cooking too. Back when Cayra used to bring lunch to school, she would sometimes offer him a few pieces of side dish, claiming she had too much. But Saka had always suspected that was just a sweet little excuse only teenagers would make.
That memory resurfaced with the last bite he put in his mouth. He suddenly froze. Those little fragments from the past rushed back like waves—especially after recalling the bookworm sticker Cayra claimed to have forgotten. But Saka knew she hadn't really forgotten.
After finishing his meal, he headed to the living room. The house was quiet. The silence felt strangely unfamiliar, even though he had long been friends with solitude since his college days abroad.
His eyes accidentally fell on the paper bag Cayra had given him earlier. The brown shopping bag sat on the table, untouched since he had been too tempted by the food.
Slowly, he opened it. Inside were an umbrella, a mask, and a raincoat—exactly what he had once given her. The only difference was the mask. Cayra seemed to have bought a new one. Same model, but without the bookworm sticker on the packaging.
One by one, Saka took the items out. And one by one, the memories of how it all began came back to him.
The umbrella.
That afternoon, he had just finished a meeting at a café with Gilang. As he was about to leave, he heard a commotion inside. At first, he didn't pay attention—until he spotted a very familiar face. Cayra. Standing with a well-built man.
Saka was about to leave, but then stopped when another woman approached them. Things suddenly got interesting, and Saka instinctively gave a signal to Gilang.
"I'm going to the restroom first. You can wait in the car."
Gilang nodded and walked out, but Saka never went to the restroom. He stayed seated, watching from a distance like a paparazzi stalking their idol.
The conversation was clear enough to hear. Saka caught every word—from Cayra breaking off her engagement to the revelation that the woman who had just arrived was actually the fiancée of Cayra's own fiancé. Yes, it was that messy.
A strange feeling tightened in his chest. A mix of pity and ache. He didn't know if it was because he felt her pain… or because his own heart wasn't done with her yet.
Saka left the café. Rain had started to fall. He saw Cayra walking slowly, like someone who had lost her way.
He told himself he shouldn't care. But the truth was, he couldn't pretend not to see her.
He got into the car Gilang was driving. Sat there in silence. The rain streaking the windows made him feel restless.
"Drive slowly, Lang. The road's slippery," he muttered.
Gilang just nodded, saying nothing. But Saka kept glancing at the sidewalk as they drove—searching. Or more precisely… waiting.
Then he found her. Cayra, standing under a bus stop shelter with a few other people.
"Stop here," Saka said quietly.
Without any explanation, he opened the glove compartment, took the umbrella he always kept there, and got out. No umbrella for himself. No raincoat. Straight into the downpour.
He walked toward the shelter, not too close. Instead, he approached a woman who was also taking cover there.
"Excuse me, could you please give this umbrella to that woman standing over there?"
"But… please don't hand it to her directly. You can just place it beside her when she sits down later."
The woman gave him a puzzled look, but eventually nodded and accepted the umbrella. Saka bowed slightly in thanks before quickly returning to the car—soaked from head to toe.
Gilang stared at him like he was looking at an alien.
"What did you just do, Boss?"
Saka didn't answer right away. He just let out a breath and said softly, "Gave an umbrella to a friend."
Gilang nodded, though inside his head a hundred questions swirled.
The car began to move again. As they passed the bus stop, Saka glanced through the window. There she was—Cayra—already sitting, the umbrella beside her. His chest warmed.
He silently prayed she would know it was meant for her. And that she would get home safely.
Because even in silence, Saka still wanted to be the place where she could find shelter.
Saka placed the umbrella back where it belonged—the same one he had secretly given to Cayra a few days ago. This time, however, his hand reached for something else: a face mask. The design was exactly the same as the one he had given her before. He was sure this was a new one. Maybe she bought it herself because the old one had been used.
His mind wandered back to the morning when he first worked up the courage to give her that mask.
That day, Cayra was eating chicken porridge alone at a food cart near the neighborhood gate. She looked nonchalant… but sweet.
Saka hadn't planned to follow her. He was actually on his way to visit his parents when he happened to see her stepping out of her house—sitting on the fence steps, putting on her socks and shoes.
Her jacket was zipped neatly. Her leggings looked like she was about to go jogging. But Saka had his doubts. Was she really going for a run? Or did she have another destination in mind? He couldn't tell for sure.
His hand was already holding his car key, yet his body stayed frozen behind the car, watching her quietly. Her lips kept moving, mumbling to herself as if she was talking to the morning air. Slightly crazy, but somehow… adorable.
Then she sneezed. Loudly. More than once. Saka immediately guessed it was because of the rain the day before. He knew very well—Cayra caught colds easily.
Suddenly, she turned around. Instinctively, Saka crouched behind the car like a thief caught on CCTV. His heart pounded hard, afraid she'd seen him.
One second. Two. Three.
When he felt safe, he peeked again. She was already walking away. He exhaled in relief—but his heart was still racing like he'd just escaped from the police.
He stood up and unlocked his car. Just as he was about to get in, his phone buzzed. A message from his eldest brother: Buy chicken porridge for my kid, they're staying at Mom and Dad's.
Saka replied briefly and started driving slowly through the neighborhood he'd only lived in for a few days.
When he arrived, he spotted Cayra sitting near the porridge cart, scrolling on her phone. He froze. So she was here too.
Coincidence? Or fate quietly arranging their story?
He parked near a lamppost, not far from the cart.
Before getting out, he opened the dashboard—not for the umbrella, but for a mask. He took a sealed one and put it on, making sure his face was covered.
Then his eyes caught another mask. The one with a tiny bookworm sticker. The only mask he had "signed" without writing his name.
He slipped it into his pocket.
Saka stepped out and walked slowly toward the cart. Cayra had her back to him, but from the side, he could see her wiping her nose now and then. She must have caught a cold. He smiled faintly.
There were no other customers. He ordered his porridge and pretended to study the street while waiting.
A few minutes later, the order was ready. Saka paid, then handed the mask to the seller, pointing toward Cayra.
"Please give this to her. Thank you."
The seller only nodded, unfazed—maybe used to strange requests from stranger customers.
Saka returned to his car, setting the porridge on the front seat. But he didn't drive away. His eyes stayed fixed on the rearview mirror, watching Cayra from afar.
She stood up, paid for her porridge, and the seller handed her something. She accepted it. Saka narrowed his eyes. It was the mask. But instead of putting it on, she folded it and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
He frowned. Why not wear it? She'd just been sneezing moments ago.
A moment later, a motorbike taxi pulled up. Cayra walked over to the driver.
Saka's brows furrowed. A motorbike taxi? For jogging?
It didn't make sense. If she was going to work out, why eat porridge first? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Something felt off. Or maybe he was just too curious for his own good.
The bike passed right by his car. Reflexively, Saka ducked—only to chuckle a second later. His windows were tinted; no one could see inside.
Still, his heart was pounding, carrying that strange thrill of doing something he probably shouldn't.
And the weirdest part? He didn't regret it one bit.
He leaned back and stared blankly ahead, replaying the whole scene in his mind.
What had he been doing to Cayra these past few days?
If someone asked whether he liked helping people, he would say yes. But this… this didn't feel like just "helping." There was another meaning behind it.
He couldn't lie to himself. He hadn't moved on from Cayra. Whether it was because of the memories that ran too deep, or because of a wound that still hadn't healed—he didn't know.
What annoyed him the most was that if he truly was hurt, why did his heart still choose to care? Logic should have won. But his feelings were far more stubborn.
The more he tried to forget her, the more the universe seemed to push them together in unexpected situations.
Even earlier that day, when he was about to go home, he ended up seeing Cayra arguing with her younger brother over a raincoat that was supposedly too small.
Saka had planned to ignore it. But sitting inside his car, his body had already made a decision before his mind could stop it.
He called out to one of Nebula's staff passing by—a young woman in a rush.
"Excuse me. Could you please give this raincoat to the woman standing with that man on the motorcycle?"
She looked a little puzzled but accepted it politely after seeing how neatly it was folded.
Saka got back in his car and started the engine, but before driving away, he glanced in the rearview mirror.
Cayra was speaking to the young woman.
Seeing that, Saka's lips curved into a small smile. Relief washed over him, like he'd just lifted a weight off his chest.
He hoped she would wear that raincoat—just like she had used the umbrella he'd once slipped into her hands on a rainy day.
It might seem silly, but for Saka, small gestures like that were enough to keep his heart warm.
Thinking about it made him run his hand through his hair in frustration. One truth surfaced in his mind again.
He wasn't done with his feelings for Cayra.
People could call him foolish, pathetic, or hopelessly stuck on his first love. But for Saka, there was no reason to erase her from his heart.
After all, he still kept the very first thing Cayra had ever given him—a tiny bookworm sticker.
It was simple, but to him, it meant everything. A symbol that reminded him of the girl who once filled his days with laughter, tears, and a kind of feeling he could never call coincidence.
And to this day, Saka knew one thing for sure.
He still cared. And he still kept that bookworm sticker as a quiet witness to a love story that had never truly ended.