Work might just be the most exhausting thing in the world.
But coming home from work? That's heaven. Everyone looks forward to it.
Usually, I do too. But today… something feels different.
Even though, on the surface, nothing really changed.
I left the Nebula Creatives office earlier than usual. Mbak Rania told me to go home — said my tasks were done. So I obeyed without question.
I booked an online ride right away. No way was I riding with Saka again. He still had business with Mbak Rania, and honestly… sharing a car with him one more time? That would've been unbearably awkward.
But the second I opened the front door, my steps froze.
Mama and Papa were sitting on the living room sofa, their expressions far too serious.
Too serious. Like something life-changing was about to happen.
I tried to walk past, pretending not to notice. I was too tired to deal with… whatever this was.
But Mama's voice cut through the silence.
"Ca, come here. Mama wants to talk."
Thud.
My heart sank straight to my stomach.
With heavy steps, I sat down at the edge of the sofa. "What is it, Ma?" I asked carefully.
Things between us hadn't fully healed since I broke off the engagement.
She hesitated, then let out a sigh. "I ran into Bima earlier."
Thud. That name again.
Bima. My ex-fiancé. The man who already had another fiancée. (If you forgot, flip back to Chapter 2.)
I stayed silent, bracing myself.
"Bima told me the reason why you ended things," Mama continued.
Panic hit me. Please don't let him twist the truth. Please don't let him lie.
"He said… you broke off the engagement because his fiancée claimed she was pregnant."
Mama's gaze sharpened.
"Is that true, Ca?"
I lowered my head, my voice trembling. "Yes, Ma. I didn't want to ruin someone else's relationship."
Her face grew even more serious.
"But Bima said… it was all a lie. That girl was only arranged with him because his family owed hers money. She was never pregnant. She faked it all… so you would leave him."
My chest tightened.
"And he said," Mama whispered, "that he only ever loved you."
The words struck me like a rock to the head.
So… he wasn't actually cheating?
Then why… why did it have to end this way?
My mind spun. Just days ago, I'd been slapped in the face. That wound hadn't even scabbed over. And now this? Fresh salt poured straight into it.
I drew in a shaky breath. "So… you want me to get back with Bima?"
Mama shook her head quickly. "No. I just thought you should know. And… I want to apologize. For slapping you back then."
Silence.
"When I called Bima for dinner and he told me you had ended things… I snapped. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
I lowered my gaze. "I've forgiven you, Ma. And… I'm sorry, too, for not telling you everything from the start."
She nodded softly. "Good. Then… have you forgiven Bima as well?"
My voice was barely a whisper. "I see it as fate. Something that had to happen."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Then maybe it's time to open your heart to someone else, right?"
…What?
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes softened — but her words cut sharp.
"I want to introduce you to the son of my friend."
Thud.
I shot up, slamming the table. "No! I'm not ready for another relationship!"
Mama and Papa stood quickly, trying to calm me down.
"You don't have to be lovers right away. Just… start as friends," Mama said gently.
I glared at her. "I thought your apology meant you wanted to give me space to heal. But it turns out… you had another plan all along."
"Ca," Mama said softly, "we only want what's best for you. One day, Papa and I won't be here anymore. We want someone by your side."
I clenched my fists, fighting back tears. "I've given up enough already, Ma. My dreams are gone. Don't make me sacrifice my love too."
The memory of my crushed dream stabbed at me again. A wound that never closed.
Papa sighed. "We're sorry about that dream of yours."
I forced a bitter smile. "It's fine. But at least… when it comes to love, let me choose for myself."
Mama's tone sharpened again. "Your dream has nothing to do with this arranged marriage. The son of Mama's friend is a good man. I'm certain he can make you happy."
"It does have something to do with it! I just want—just once—to find happiness from my own choice."
Her gaze softened again, though her words didn't.
"Cayra, you're my daughter. We interfere only because we want what's best for you. Look—your dream might have collapsed, but at least you still landed a decent job."
"Collapsed? Mama calls it that? You don't know what it feels like, to watch the dream you've cherished for years shatter right in front of you."
"Ca, you're being too dramatic. Wasn't that dream just about money? You have a good salary now."
Tears burned my eyes. "No, Ma! It was never about the salary. It was about passion. About something I wanted with all my heart. Imagine burying your lifelong dream for reasons that weren't even your fault. Hurts, doesn't it?"
Silence. Then Mama whispered, "I do know that feeling. But what's the point of clinging to the past?"
My voice cracked, rising. "Because it hurts too much to forget!"
Her voice rose to match mine. "Then what do you expect Mama to do? That was your fate."
"You don't need to do anything, Ma. Just… don't interfere. Don't set me up with someone I don't even know!"
"What's wrong with trying? What if he's your destiny?"
"No, Ma! I want to find my own love. My own destiny. Without anyone else's help!"
I spun around, storming out before the neighbors could hear our shouting match.
In the hallway, I saw Kak Raka sitting quietly. I gave him a fleeting glance before heading upstairs.
The second I reached my room, everything broke.
Tears spilled out, unstoppable. I buried my face in the pillow, sobbing until my chest hurt.
There's nothing more painful than realizing your own family can't understand the deepest wound you carry.
My dream might have been buried long ago.
But the wound from its funeral? It never healed. And today, it came back — raw as ever.
Some wounds don't bleed.
But they kill you slowly, from the inside.
And no amount of time, prayers, or even a parent's love can make them disappear.
~~~
The city park was alive that afternoon.
Couples strolled hand in hand, joggers passed by in steady rhythm, children ran across the grass, and families paused to watch the sky shift into shades of gold.
Among all those smiles and laughter, I must have been the only one carrying sadness.
But then again, who knows? Everyone hides their own scars somewhere deep inside.
Slowly, I made my way to an old wooden bench — the one I used to claim as mine. Back when coming here was a ritual. Back when sketching was more than a hobby; it was my escape, my second breath.
And today, for the first time in years, I dared to return to it.
From my tote bag, I pulled out a sketchbook.
The same one I used to carry everywhere.
Its cover was worn now, yet familiar — like an old friend I had abandoned out of fear, not hate.
Ever since my dream crumbled, I couldn't bear to touch it. Not because I no longer loved drawing… but because I was terrified of the tears it would bring. So I buried it away, hoping one day I'd find the courage to face it again.
That day… turned out to be today.
I traced the rough edges of the cover, and before I knew it, memories spilled open. Dreams of studying visual communication design. Years of planning, working, hoping… only for it all to collapse under the weight of circumstances I couldn't control.
Not because I gave up.
But because life forced me to.
A bitter thought crossed my mind — was this karma? A debt from some past life, maybe even this one? I didn't know.
I was still lost in that thought when a small voice pulled me back.
"Excuse me, Kak?"
I lifted my head. In front of me stood five children — two girls, three boys. Their clothes were old, their hair messy, but their smiles… bright, innocent, unshaken.
I softened. "Hello. Can I help you?"
They shook their heads, until one pointed at the sketchbook on my lap.
"That's a drawing book, right?"
"Yes," I nodded. "Why?"
The smallest girl stepped forward, her eyes wide with hope.
"You're a really good artist, right? Can you draw us?"
For a moment, I froze. Those words… I had heard them before. And just like before, something warm bloomed quietly in my chest.
"Who told you that I was a good artist?" I asked gently, brushing a hand over her hair.
Her smile widened. "A handsome man said so. He told us to ask you."
My heart skipped. A handsome man?
I glanced around quickly — but there was no one. Just mothers, children, and strangers passing by. No familiar figure.
Still, I smiled and nodded. "All right then. Stand here. I'll draw you."
Cheers erupted from the five of them. They posed clumsily in front of me, trying so hard to look serious that it only made them more adorable.
I lifted my pencil. The moment the tip touched paper, something inside me loosened. My hand moved almost on its own, every line light and free, as though I was reconnecting with a version of myself I had thought was long dead.
And slowly, as the sketch took form, my heart… began to heal.
The children laughed, nudged each other, and beamed at me with eyes full of joy. And without realizing it, I was laughing with them.
It reminded me of years ago, when I had drawn kids in this same park. Back then, too, their delight had been so pure, so unfiltered — as if a single sheet of paper could be treasure.
Happiness doesn't need to be grand. Sometimes it's hidden in the smallest of gestures. A pencil stroke. A smile shared. A fleeting moment where laughter erases pain.
When the drawing was done, I handed it to them.
"Wow! It's amazing!"
"This is so cool!"
"You're the best, Kak!"
Their voices overlapped, showering me with praise I didn't feel I deserved. Yet somehow, their words felt like a warm blanket wrapping around me.
"Can we take it home?" one asked eagerly.
"Of course," I said, tearing the page out carefully and giving it to them. They held it like it was the greatest gift they had ever received, their eyes glowing brighter than the sunset behind them.
"Thank you, Kak! We'll go now."
"And thank you," I replied softly.
One of the boys tilted his head. "For what?"
"For making me smile. I was… sad before you came."
They grinned. "Then thank that handsome man. He was the one who sent us to see you."
My breath caught. Him again?
Before I could ask, they waved and ran off, their laughter trailing like the wind. And just like that, they were gone — little messengers of the universe, carrying pieces of my sorrow away with them.
I sat in silence, watching the sky bleed from orange to purple. The breeze brushed gently against my cheeks, and for the first time in a long while, I felt… calm.
Maybe it really was him.
Because who else would know? Who else remembered that drawing was the only way I could breathe when the world grew too heavy?
He still cared.
Whether it was pity or something deeper, I didn't know. But the truth was enough — and it made me quietly happy.
My eyes shifted to the old tree at the corner of the park. The one spot where he could have been watching unseen. And before I could stop myself, the words escaped, soft but carried away by the evening wind:
"Terima kasih."
If he was still there, I hoped he heard it.
Because no matter how complicated things had become between us — client and worker, past and present — one thing was undeniable.
He still saw the side of me I thought I had lost forever.
And for that… I was grateful.
~~~
EPILOGUE ✨
We never truly know whether our arrival at a place comes at the right time—or at the worst possible one.
Just like what happened to Saka.
The man had no idea that stepping over to the house right across from his new place would turn out to be such a mistake in timing.
His only intention was to return the food container that Cayra had lent him. A few days ago, she had brought him home-cooked meals made by her mother as a warm welcome for the new neighbor.
But forget the container. What mattered now was Saka, standing still by the fence of Cayra's house.
He froze when he was about to step in. Voices—Cayra's and her mother's—spilled clearly from inside. They sounded like they were in the middle of an argument.
The front door was slightly ajar, and that gap allowed him to hear their conversation.
At first, the voices weren't too sharp. But slowly, they rose, heated with emotion.
"Your dream has nothing to do with this arranged marriage. The son of Mama's friend is a good man. I'm certain he can make you happy."
Saka hadn't planned to eavesdrop. In fact, he almost turned away. But the moment he heard the word marriage, curiosity tightened around his chest.
"It does have something to do with it! I just want—just once—to find happiness from my own choice."
"Cayra, you're my daughter. We interfere only because we want what's best for you. Look—your dream might have collapsed, but at least you still landed a decent job."
"Collapsed? Mama calls it that? You don't know what it feels like, to watch the dream you've cherished for years shatter right in front of you."
What?
So Cayra's dream… had never come true?
No wonder, when Saka saw her photo banner at Nebula Creatives with that polished title under her name, something about it had felt… off. As if that wasn't the dream she once shared with him.
So what had really happened that forced Cayra to bury it?
"Ca, you're being too dramatic. Wasn't that dream just about money? You have a good salary now."
No, Mama. My dream wasn't about salary. It was about passion. About something I longed for with all my heart. Imagine if your own lifelong dream had to be buried because of circumstances that weren't even your fault. Wouldn't it hurt?"
"I do know that feeling. But what's the point of clinging to the past?"
"Because it hurts too much to forget!"
Saka's chest tightened. He understood those words. Too well. He had lived through the same thing.
"Then what do you expect Mama to do? That was your fate."
"You don't need to do anything, Ma. Just… don't interfere. Don't set me up with someone I don't even know!"
"What's wrong with trying? What if he's your destiny?"
"No, Ma! I want to find my own love. My own destiny. Without anyone else's help!"
Silence finally followed. That was when Saka quietly stepped back, retreating to his house across the street—still holding the container he hadn't been able to return.
He sat on his porch, heavy with emotions he couldn't shake. Somehow, listening to Cayra's argument left him feeling just as hollow as if he had been the one in her shoes.
He had only just returned from Nebula Creatives after meeting Rania. His initial plan had been simple: to give back Cayra's food container, now refilled with dishes he bought along the way.
But instead, he ended up stumbling upon something else—her pain.
And the truth hit him: Cayra's life was just as heavy as his own. For some reason, that realization stirred an overwhelming sense of empathy in him.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. Why should he even care about Cayra? The woman who once wounded him so deeply, leaving scars that had yet to fully heal.
But more than the marriage talk, what haunted him most was the revelation: what had truly happened to her dream?
Back in school, they had promised each other—they would both chase their dreams. Saka hadn't even had one until Cayra pushed him to believe everyone needed one. And thanks to her, he eventually found his path, building his own business from scratch.
Yet Cayra—the girl who had once burned with passion—was now the one who had lost hers.
That question kept gnawing at him until his eyes caught movement outside. A motorcycle taxi stopped in front of Cayra's house.
Moments later, she stepped out with a tote bag, speaking briefly with the driver before climbing onto the bike.
Her eyes were swollen. Saka's chest tightened with unease.
He hurriedly placed the food container inside, locked his door, and started his car.
Yes, it felt like stalking. But he didn't care. He just wanted to make sure she was safe. He couldn't bear the thought of regretting it later, if she did something reckless in her fragile state.
The ride ended at the city park. Relief washed over him—it wasn't a bridge or a rooftop.
Parking nearby, he trailed behind on foot. Hidden behind a large tree, he spotted her sitting alone on a bench—the very same bench he once claimed as his own for sketching.
Cayra pulled out a sketchbook. Then she just… stared at it, lost in thought.
Saka's chest ached. He wanted to approach, to comfort, to hold her. But the weight of their past held him back.
That's when he noticed five children by the street corner. Their clothes were worn, their laughter faint but resilient.
He crouched near them. "Hey, what are you doing? Can I ask you for a favor?"
The kids looked at him warily. One boy piped up, "What kind of favor? We don't have money."
Saka smiled softly. "No, not money. I just need your help to cheer up that girl over there."
He pointed to Cayra.
"Why is she sad?" a little girl asked.
"She's a great artist," Saka explained. "Maybe right now she feels down because she hasn't found something worth drawing. What if you ask her to draw you? That might make her smile again."
The kids exchanged glances, then nodded. "All right! Let's go meet her."
"Thank you," Saka whispered. "Trust me, her drawing will be amazing—because she is amazing."
The children's faces lit up, and soon they ran toward Cayra.
From his hiding spot, Saka watched as Cayra's lips curved into a smile—then into laughter—while sketching the children.
It was like déjà vu. Years ago, he had seen her just like this. And the feeling it stirred in him hadn't changed.
He pressed a hand to his chest, almost ashamed. For what? For caring about someone who had once hurt him? Maybe. But no matter how much sense argued otherwise, his heart whispered the truth: Cayra still mattered to him.
She had been the first to show him love, joy, and the courage to dream. No one else had ever filled that place in his heart. No matter her mistakes, no matter the scars.
The pain hadn't erased his love. If anything, it had made it more cautious—but no less deep.
And as he watched her laugh again after such heaviness, Saka felt an unexpected relief. Because her happiness… still had the power to heal him too.
When the children finally left, Cayra lingered on the bench, calmer than before. She glanced around the park, and for a moment, her gaze brushed dangerously close to where Saka was hiding.
He panicked, retreating behind the tree, heart pounding like a guilty spy.
Then—her voice drifted on the evening wind. Soft. Unexpected.
"Terima kasih."
Saka froze.
Did she know? Did she somehow realize it had been him?
In Indonesian, terima kasih is often translated simply as thank you in English.
But the essence of terima kasih carries something far deeper, something the word thank you can never fully embrace.
Terima means to welcome, to open your hands and heart to receive.
Kasih means love — affection, care, a gift of sincerity that flows without asking for anything in return.
So when we say terima kasih, it is not just gratitude spoken in passing.
It is a tender acceptance of love, a quiet acknowledgment that what we receive is more than kindness — it is a piece of someone's heart.
To say terima kasih is to welcome love into our lives, softly, sincerely, and without walls.
He didn't know. And maybe it didn't matter. Because in the end, all that mattered was this:
He had managed to bring her a little bit of happiness again.
Even if it had to be from the shadows.