For me, life isn't only about today or tomorrow.
Life is also about the past—about memories that cling too tightly, both sweet and bitter.
Memories aren't just events; they are rooms where emotions live. Certain places become their guardians, keeping them alive. And each time I return, it feels as if time itself rewinds—the laughter, the wounds, everything comes alive again.
And somehow, today… my heart led me back to one of those places.
A place that once held the most beautiful chapter of my life.
After leaving Nebula Creatives, I booked an online ride. My motorbike was still broken, and this time I didn't want to bother Elan. A quiet pull urged me to go alone—as if this journey wasn't about distance, but about something deeper inside me.
When I arrived, my steps slowed without warning.
The lake… it was still the same. Its surface mirrored the soft evening sky, the breeze carried the scent of wet earth—almost unchanged from the last time I had stood here. Only I had changed, dragged far away by time, leaving behind a gap that could never be bridged easily.
Then my gaze froze. On a bench by the shore sat a figure.
That back. That silhouette. My heartbeat stumbled—my instincts whispered: I know him.
I walked closer. And the closer I got, the clearer it became.
It really was him.
Saka.
He sat in silence, eyes fixed on the water. His gaze was dim, shadowed with grief—like someone carrying a burden too heavy to bear alone. For a moment, time stood still. I saw only him, fragile, in a place once filled with laughter.
Without thinking, I sat beside him.
"The air here hasn't changed, has it? Always calming," I said softly, hoping to touch his heart without pushing too hard.
Saka turned slowly. His eyes—empty at first—softened when they met mine. A quiet acknowledgment of my presence. He only looked for a moment before lowering his gaze again.
His eyes… they couldn't lie. There was pain there.
Perhaps about his father's illness? I wasn't sure. Ever since that meeting he abruptly ended at Nebula Creatives, I had lost track of his news.
Silence stretched between us.
Until finally, his voice broke the stillness—low, fragile.
"You're right. The air here never changes. Always calming… even when we're hurting."
I watched him quietly. His pain was undeniable.
Once, Saka had been the one who made me laugh when my parents fought. Now, perhaps it was my turn to be his anchor.
I stood, glanced at him with a small smile.
"Do you still remember what we used to do whenever we felt sad?" I asked, reaching for a memory we once shared.
Saka blinked, then a faint smile tugged at his lips. He rose, following me to the water's edge. I picked up a few stones and handed some to him. He accepted them wordlessly.
I threw the first stone and shouted,
"Hah!"
Saka turned, startled—but this time, his smile was genuine.
"What is it?" I teased.
He shook his head gently. "You… still remember all this?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
"I just thought you might have forgotten."
I chuckled softly. "Unless I lose my memory, I won't forget anything."
Our eyes met briefly. His smile grew—a smile I hadn't seen in years.
"Then… you haven't forgotten this place either?" he asked quietly.
"Of course not. This is one of the most special places in my life."
Saka lowered his gaze, then looked back at me. "Even the memories we shared here? Including the last time… when we promised to meet?"
Thud.
His question struck me hard. My throat tightened. I looked down and whispered,
"I'm sorry… for breaking that promise."
Saka turned to me. "Ayu, look at me," he said gently.
Slowly, I raised my head. A tender smile curved his lips.
"You don't have to apologize. Everything that happened back then… it was meant to be. God's way of reminding us that some things are more important than our teenage feelings."
His words were simple, yet they pierced deep, dissolving the regret I had carried for so long.
I exhaled, then smiled.
"Okay. Let's leave the past behind. We're old enough now to choose our own happiness, aren't we?"
I handed him another stone. Saka took it, then threw it into the lake, shouting:
"Stupid chicken!"
"Stupid goat!"
"Stupid cow!"
"Stupid elephant!"
"Stupid lion!"
I burst out laughing. Saka laughed with me.
Our laughter rang out—pure, free, unburdened. For a moment, time itself seemed to pause at the lakeside. The rippling water carried our joy, as if nature itself celebrated our reunion.
But when the laughter faded, silence returned.
The evening air grew cooler, the golden light spread across the lake. And in that twilight, his voice came softly.
"Ayu…"
"…thank you."
I turned. "For what?"
He drew in a long breath, eyes locking on mine with absolute sincerity.
"For choosing to be born into this world. For always being here in my life—then and now."
Thud.
My heart trembled violently. Those words… I had never heard them from anyone before.
They weren't just words of love—they were a prayer. A recognition of my very existence.
"Arda… thank you too. For always understanding me… even more than my own parents ever did," I whispered.
We looked into each other's eyes. The evening sky above the lake bore silent witness.
After a decade apart, we had finally returned to the place holding our most unforgettable memories—memories that would never fade.
~~~
Carrying responsibility was never easy. Many people underestimated it, but for Saka, anything entrusted to him had to be done right. There was no room for carelessness.
The consequence, however, was clear: his time was devoured by work. Lately, he was busier managing Ardhananta Group—his family's company—than his own Manterra, even though Manterra's newest product launch was only days away.
After abruptly ending the meeting at Nebula Creatives, Saka hadn't managed to refocus on his business. He should have been preparing for promotions by now, but reality dictated otherwise. The conflict between Ardhananta and Liora Capital grew more pressing—especially after his father suddenly collapsed in the middle of a board meeting.
Today, the issue was finally resolved, thanks to his father's assistant and trusted team. Saka immediately contacted Tasha to reschedule the postponed meeting. All that was left was to wait for her reply.
That evening, he drove to the hospital. The doctor's update was relieving: his father was stable, even allowed to go home after final tests. But just as Saka opened the door, he froze.
"If not for Saka, we would've divorced a long time ago!"
Thud.
His mother's voice.
"Why do you keep bringing up divorce? Didn't we agree to stop talking about it?" his father's tone was heavy.
"You started it, but you always act like the victim!"
"What did I start? Haven't I explained it was just a misunderstanding?"
"Only thieves deny it! They always say it's just a misunderstanding!"
Saka quietly closed the door. His chest tightened, old wounds tearing open. His parents' fights… again.
As he turned, he met Pak Gatra, his father's assistant.
"Please take Father home. I have something else to do," he said curtly.
"Yes, Mas."
It wasn't really work that held him back. It was his heart—too weary to watch his family shatter again.
In the parking lot, he stood still, lost. That was when his phone buzzed. A message from Tasha: the meeting was confirmed for tomorrow.
But work wasn't on his mind. Instead, Cayra's name surfaced. He hadn't seen her in days, buried under family matters.
Her name guided his steps to a place: the lake that held both pain and memories. Once, he couldn't bear to return there. But today, he wanted to.
He parked near a small store, then walked the familiar path. The same breeze, the same silence… and the lake, unchanged. The benches had been renovated, but the feelings remained.
Saka sat, staring at the water. His parents' arguments echoed in his head. How ironic—he could help solve Cayra's family problems, yet was powerless against his own.
Until a voice broke the silence.
"The air here hasn't changed, has it? Always calming."
Saka turned. His breath caught. Cayra.
She smiled faintly. His heartbeat stumbled, but the heaviness in his chest remained.
Their conversation flowed—about the air, the past, promises once broken. Then laughter erupted as they tossed stones into the lake, shouting animal names like children again. For a while, it felt as though their wounds dissolved into the rippling water.
But beneath the laughter, silence returned.
"Ayu…" Saka's voice was barely a whisper. "…thank you."
"For what?"
"For choosing to be born into this world. For always being here in my life—then and now."
Cayra's heart shook violently. She whispered back, "Arda… thank you too. For always understanding me… even more than my own parents ever did."
Saka fell silent, a smile spreading. Relief filled him—knowing that some beautiful things could be repeated… with the same feelings still intact.
But before he could speak again, his phone buzzed.
A message from Pak Gatra lit up the screen:
"Mas Saka, please come home immediately. Sir and Madam are still fighting. Something serious has happened, and even the family's name is at stake."
Saka's smile slowly faded. He glanced at Cayra, then back at the message.
And for the first time, he realized: happiness and sorrow may always walk side by side.
~~~
EPILOGUE ✨
A home is supposed to be the safest place for a child.
A place to return to, to lean on, to feel protected.
But for Saka, the word home had never been that beautiful.
From childhood to adulthood, what he saw wasn't warmth—but conflict. Raised voices, slamming doors, cold stares… those were far more familiar to his ears than words of affection.
And that wound lingered for so long that, sometimes, Saka couldn't help but ask himself:
Did I ever truly have a family?
He still remembered one of the worst arguments between his parents. The memory was so vivid it felt as though it had happened only yesterday.
That day, he had just come home from school. He was thirteen. His cheeks still thin, his uniform hanging loose on his frame, his steps light because classes had ended earlier than usual.
But his smile vanished the moment he entered the house.
His father's shouting from the study froze him in place.
Usually, the house was silent—both of his parents buried in their own worlds. Father at Ardhananta Group, Mother at her boutique and endless social events. But that day, both were home… wounding each other with words instead of absence.
Saka stood stiff behind a door left slightly ajar. He didn't mean to eavesdrop, yet the words pierced through walls, forcing themselves into his ears.
"I know you're having an affair!" his mother's voice cracked—quivering between rage and heartbreak. "You even have a child with her, don't you?!"
Thud.
Saka's world stopped.
At thirteen, he froze on the spot. His chest caved in. Even the word affair was too heavy for his young mind to fully grasp, yet its impact hit mercilessly.
"You're misunderstanding!" his father's reply came—loud, but fragile. "None of that is true!"
"Don't take me for a fool!" his mother's bitter laughter cut through. "I know who she is. She's your first love! Don't think I haven't seen the way you treat her!"
"Shut your mouth! Don't accuse me without proof!"
"WITHOUT PROOF?!" her scream shattered. "You never loved me! We only married because of an arrangement! All you ever wanted was a child from me—never my heart!"
Those words stabbed deeper than any mention of the woman she accused.
Then came the line that struck like lightning at midday:
"You'd rather choose her child than your own son!"
Saka staggered. His small chest tightened, breath caught in his throat.
Suddenly, an image from a few days ago returned. He had seen his father at the mall, smiling—beaming, even—while holding the hand of a boy about ten years old. They had just stepped out of a toy store, shopping bags in hand, joy written all over his father's face.
That sight had pierced him even then.
Why could Papi smile like that with another child?
Why never with me?
At first, Saka had tried to soothe himself: Maybe that boy is a client's son.
But after what his mother said today, that fragile defense collapsed. The weight in his chest crushed him.
The very next day, Saka fell ill. A raging fever, his body trembling. His school had to rush him to the hospital.
Yet the real pain wasn't the fever. It was the wait.
His mother came two hours later. His father never showed up at all.
And that day, bitterly enough, was Saka's birthday.
When his mother offered him a gift, all he could say with a hoarse whisper was:
"I don't want anything, Mi… I just want you and Papi not to separate. At least until I grow up."
That simple plea silenced her. Perhaps she had never realized how much of a burden her child had already been carrying.
From that day forward, she did cancel the separation. But the house never knew peace again. The warmth Saka longed for never arrived. They lived together like inmates in the same cell—bound, yet cold.
And that wound grew with Saka, hardening inside him as he became an adult.
Now, as he recalled his parents' fights, Saka sat in silence on the lakeside bench. Something inside him shifted.
Have I been too selfish? he thought. Have I only ever demanded my mother understand me, without once trying to understand her pain?
He remembered his own words to Cayra not long ago:
"life isn't just about demanding to be understood. Sometimes, life tests us… to see how far we can understand others."
Perhaps now, it was time for him to decide.
Would he continue clinging to togetherness that only bred wounds?
Or would he dare to make a choice—one that could finally break the cycle once and for all?
And for the very first time in his life, Saka realized something:
Happiness and pain… may always walk side by side.
But in the end, it is we ourselves who must choose
which one we are willing to hold on to.