That night, while he sank into sleep beside me, I lay wide awake. His arm was draped across my waist, heavy and warm, like an anchor. I could smell his skin—faint traces of sea salt, soap, and the musk of travel. His steady breathing filled the room, but instead of calming me, it pressed against my chest like a stone.
I should have felt safe. I should have felt his presence was enough.But instead, silence echoed louder than thunder.
The message.The name.The emptiness between us that no kiss could seal.
I bit my lip, tasting metal from the wound I had made earlier, holding back too many words. My body trembled with the urge to shake him awake, to scream, "Who am I to you? What am I in this story you hide from me?"
But my voice stayed locked in my throat.
And then—my grandmother's whisper surfaced from memory, soft as incense smoke curling through the night:
"When silence wounds you, remember sukma raga. The path where the soul leaves the body to find what the eyes cannot see."
I closed my eyes. Inhale. Exhale. Slow. Deeper. Until even my heartbeat grew faint. My fingers tingled, my skin grew cold. Yet inside, something loosened.
At first, it was only blackness. A weight pressing down. My ears filled with a low hum, like the earth itself was breathing. The mattress pressed against my back, pinning me—but my spirit grew lighter, like vapor rising from hot tea.
Then came the vibration. A subtle shiver through my bones. My chest expanded with warmth while the rest of me melted into stillness.
And suddenly—I was no longer bound.
I stood by the bed, yet I also lay in it. I saw my own body beneath the thin sheet, hair spread across the pillow, lips parted as though asleep. Janis lay beside me, chest rising and falling with unshaken rhythm, his face softened by dreams.
The air in the room was different now. Thicker, denser. I could hear the hum of the ceiling fan louder, sharper, each blade slicing the silence. I reached for him—not with my hands, but with a current of light, a thread of myself stretching out like smoke toward his sleeping form.
The world cracked open.
Images bled into each other:The crunch of snow under boots.The frozen air of Riga stinging lungs I didn't own.The laughter of a child, clear and innocent, calling "Papa."The faint smell of woodsmoke clinging to winter coats.
Then—her. A woman, standing at a doorway, her silhouette soft yet unyielding. I could not see her face, but her presence was heavy, real, undeniable.
And him. Janis. Not the man who had traced lines down my spine under Bali's stars. This Janis was different—restless, burdened, shadows clinging to his shoulders. His smile did not reach his eyes.
And then—he turned.His gray eyes, sharp even in the dream, locked onto mine.
"Moringa," he whispered. My name, this time. His voice cracked, raw, like glass breaking under pressure. "Forgive me."
The weight of his voice shattered the vision. The snow, the doorway, the child—all torn away like paper burning in fire.
I jolted back into my body, breath caught in my throat. My eyes flew open. My skin prickled with cold sweat. Beside me, he stirred, muttering faintly in his sleep, but did not wake.
Tears pooled hot in my eyes and slid down my temples into my hair. The ceiling above me blurred, but the truth was sharp, undeniable.
I was not the only one.I had never been the only one.
And yet—the question burned. If his heart belonged elsewhere, why had the universe crossed our paths? Why had he come all the way to me?
The first rays of dawn crept through the curtain, painting his face in pale gold. I lay still, the salty taste of tears on my lips, my grandmother's voice echoing inside me:
"The sukma reveals truths, but truths can wound more than lies."
In that fragile morning light, I made a vow.
If he tried to slip away, leaving me with nothing but pieces of memories and silence, I would not let him vanish so easily.
Not without knowing who would claim his soul in the end.
And for the first time, I felt something awaken in me. Not only love. Not only longing. But the sharp edge of something darker. A hunger to know. A will to fight.
The sukma had awakened. And with it, so had I.