Without realizing it, time had slipped by so quickly in that small warung. The sweet tea that was warm earlier had turned cold, and the streetlights outside now shone brighter than the fading sunset. Yohanes flinched slightly, realizing how late it had gotten after being carried away in conversation with Uncle Burhan.
"Uncle…" he said, taking a deep breath to ease the tightness in his chest. "I have to go home now. If I'm late, the Alister family will start to wonder."
Uncle Burhan nodded, his eyes still fixed on the key in Yohanes's hand. "Remember what I told you, Yoh. Don't rush to untangle every thread. Some strings… can choke you if you pull them carelessly."
Yohanes gave a faint smile and stood up. He patted Uncle Burhan's shoulder as a farewell gesture. "I'll come back again sometime. Don't worry, Uncle—I'm not stopping here."
There was a flicker of pride and worry in the old man's eyes. Yohanes then stepped outside, pulling his jacket tighter as he walked into the quiet street.
On his way back to the Alister mansion, Yohanes's steps were faster than usual. His mind was still filled with echoes of their conversation—about the key, about his father, about Pointless. But amid the storm of thoughts, his instincts began to notice something else—another set of footsteps.
At first, it seemed like coincidence. But every time he turned a corner, the sound followed. The rhythm matched his own—slowing when he slowed, quickening when he sped up. Yohanes glanced over his shoulder—the street looked normal: a half-lit shop sign, rows of closed stalls, and long shadows cast by the streetlights.
Yet that uneasy feeling grew stronger. It felt as if a pair of eyes were watching him from the darkness.Yohanes reached into his pocket, gripping the cold metal key tightly. His heart pounded hard.
He walked faster, heading toward the mansion that wasn't too far away now. But the closer he got, the clearer it became—someone was following him. Not just a shadow, but something real. Something patient. Waiting for its moment.
And Yohanes knew then—this walk home would not be as simple as he thought.
Chased by the Shadows of the Night
Yohanes walked quickly through the emptying streets. The night air was sharp against his skin, carrying the smell of wet asphalt and dry leaves. His footsteps echoed clearly—but there was another rhythm behind him, heavier, slower, yet never fading away.
He glanced back. The street was empty, lit only by a pale streetlamp. But his instincts screamed—someone was following him.
Yohanes quickened his pace and turned into a narrow alley, hoping to take a shortcut toward the mansion. But as soon as he stepped in, he froze. At the far end of the alley, a dark figure stood still—as if it had been waiting for him.
Yohanes's breath caught. He turned around, trying to run the other way. But after only a few steps, another shadow appeared from the opposite side, standing silently, blocking the path.His mind raced. They know I came here. They've known all along.
He kept moving, searching for an escape, forcing down the panic clawing at his chest. Every street he turned into, there was always someone there—a figure watching, unmoving. They never approached, yet never let him pass. Like hunters tightening a trap around their prey.
His heart pounded faster, cold sweat dripping from his temples. He broke into a run, heading for the main road where lights still shone, hoping the faint signs of life could protect him. The figures no longer appeared clearly, but the feeling of being watched clung to him like fog.
His steps grew frantic, his breath ragged. Then, at last, the outline of the Alister mansion appeared ahead—tall and solid like a fortress in the night. Yohanes nearly stumbled as he reached the gate.
When he stopped at the door, his body trembled violently. His face was pale, cold sweat ran down his temples, and his breathing came in short gasps—as if he had just escaped a pack of wild dogs. His hand groped for the door, searching for something solid to hold.
Behind him, the street looked empty again—silent, harmless, as if all the shadows that had followed him had vanished into thin air. But Yohanes knew the truth—tonight, someone had been hunting him. And it was only by chance that he made it back to the mansion alive.
The Shadow at the Door
The front door of the Alister mansion opened with a soft creak. From inside, the warm light of the living room greeted Yohanes, who stood at the doorway drenched in sweat. His hair was messy, his shirt wrinkled, and his breathing heavy—like someone who had just run for miles.
"Yohanes?" Nadine's voice was the first to break the silence from the living room. She was arranging scented candles on the dining table but immediately turned, her eyes widening when she saw him.
Moments later, Gibson appeared from the study with a worried look. "Where have you been, son? We were about to call the police."
Yohanes swallowed hard, trying to speak, but his voice came out rough. "I… I'm sorry. I just… came home a little late."
"Late like this?" Deon came out from the kitchen, still in a casual shirt and trousers. He looked at his younger brother sharply but with concern. "Look at you, Han. You're pale."
Una came down the stairs carrying a small towel. "You're sweating like you just ran a marathon! What happened?"
All eyes were on him now. The warm, homely air turned into tense silence. Only the ticking of the wall clock filled the room.
Yohanes exhaled slowly, trying to calm his still-racing heartbeat. He knew that if he told them the truth—that someone had been following him home—it would only make the Alister family worried, or worse, get involved in something he didn't even understand himself.
"I'm fine," he finally said, forcing a small smile. "I just… talked too long with someone, and the way home was kind of far. I guess I'm just tired."
Gibson looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to read between his words. "With someone? Who?" he asked quietly, his tone gentle but cautious.
"Uncle Burhan," Yohanes replied quickly, now calmer. "I stopped by his shop for a bit. We just talked."
Nadine stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure you're okay, dear? Your heart's still beating so fast."
Yohanes gave a small, reassuring smile. "I'm okay, Mom. Just startled a bit… the streets were kind of dark."
Deon sighed and patted his shoulder. "Next time, let someone pick you up or take you there. Don't push yourself like this."
Una chimed in, half teasing, half worried. "Or at least bring your phone and text us, so we know you're safe."
Yohanes nodded quickly, trying to hide the faint tremor in his hands. "Okay… I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
Despite the casual tone of their conversation, the air in the room still felt heavy. Gibson looked at him once more before saying quietly, "Get some rest, Yohanes. But if there's something you're hiding… don't keep it to yourself. This house is a safe place."
The words made Yohanes's chest tighten—not from fear, but from a sudden pang of guilt. He lowered his head slightly, hiding the unease in his eyes.
"Yes, Dad," he whispered softly.
Then, he slowly climbed the stairs to his room, leaving the Alister family exchanging worried glances downstairs. And with every step he took, Yohanes could only hope—that whatever had followed him earlier, hadn't found a way into the house he now called home.
The Shadow Behind the Calm
Yohanes's steps on the stairs felt heavy. His leg muscles were tense, and his breathing still uneven even though the air inside the mansion was much cooler than the dark street he had just walked through. He was almost at the second floor when a deep, calm voice—one filled with quiet strength—called out behind him.
"Yohanes."
That voice was impossible to ignore. He turned slowly—and there, at the end of the corridor near the living room, stood Effendi Alister. The old man no longer looked like the gentle figure who usually sat reading the morning paper. His eyes were sharp but full of concern, as if he already knew that his grandson was hiding something big behind his silence.
"Come here for a moment, son."
His tone was gentle, but Yohanes knew it wasn't a request—it was a command wrapped in kindness, impossible to refuse. With hesitant steps, he walked back down the stairs toward Effendi, who was now standing tall in front of the fireplace. The soft flames lit the old man's face, revealing the deep lines of worry etched on his skin.
"You don't just look tired, Yohanes," Effendi said slowly. "Your face… it's not pale from exhaustion. It's something more than that."
Yohanes lowered his head. His hands clenched at his sides, trying to stop the slight tremor in his fingers. He could feel the old man's gaze piercing through him. The mansion's quiet night air grew heavy, like a blanket of tension hanging between them.
"I… I'm fine, Grandpa," he said, his voice hoarse and low. "I've just… been thinking too much."
Effendi stepped closer, his movements slow but steady. "What kind of thoughts make you come home in such a state?" he asked gently. "Your shirt is soaked in sweat, your eyes are red, and your shoulders are stiff. You look like you just ran away from something."
The words made Yohanes hold his breath for a moment. He wanted to tell the truth—to admit that someone had followed him, watched him, and chased him through the dark streets. But how could he explain something he didn't fully understand himself? What if those people weren't a coincidence? What if his past really was dragging the Alister family into danger?
He couldn't bear the thought.
He bit his lower lip softly, trying to find a believable excuse. But Effendi didn't give him much room.
"Yohanes," the old man said again, his voice deeper now—not angry, but filled with sincere worry. "You know I won't judge you, no matter what. But keeping silent will only make things heavier."
Their eyes met. In the reflection of the fire, Yohanes saw his own shadow—weak, afraid, and full of secrets. In Effendi's eyes, he saw pure affection, but also the firm resolve of a man who had lost much and learned to understand the pain of others.
At that moment, Yohanes felt his chest tighten.
"I… I just don't want to worry anyone," he said softly. "Really, Grandpa. I'm just a little unwell. Maybe I've been thinking too much about things I shouldn't."
Effendi narrowed his eyes slightly, weighing every word. He knew the boy was lying. He could read it from Yohanes's restless hands, his long silences, and the uncertain tone in his voice. Yet instead of pushing further, Effendi sighed deeply and chose to ease the tension.
"Not feeling well, huh?" he said gently. "Then why didn't you say so earlier? Nadine can make you some tea—or I can call the doctor if you need one."
Yohanes quickly shook his head. "No, it's okay, Grandpa. I just need some rest. Maybe I'll drink some warm water later."
Silence filled the air again. From outside came the chirping of crickets, followed by the soft patter of rain. The dim light emphasized the fatigue on Yohanes's face—and the hidden tension he still refused to let go of.
Effendi watched him for a moment before speaking softly. "You're a strong boy, Yohanes. But remember, real strength doesn't mean carrying everything alone. Sometimes… the greatest courage comes from being honest."
The words pierced Yohanes's heart like a gentle knife. He swallowed hard, unable to answer. Inside him, fear and the longing to be trusted fought silently.
"Thank you, Grandpa," he finally said, his voice trembling slightly. "I'll try."
Effendi nodded, though his eyes still held a shadow of doubt mixed with deep concern. "Alright. Go get some rest. But promise me one thing, Yohanes."
"Yes, Grandpa?"
"If tonight—or anytime—you feel something isn't right, come to me first. Don't keep it to yourself. I've seen too many young people destroyed by secrets they thought they could bear alone."
Yohanes only nodded quietly.
After Effendi gently patted his shoulder and left, Yohanes stood for a few seconds in front of the fireplace. The flames danced in his eyes, reflecting two worlds colliding inside him—the calm life of the Alister family, and the dark one slowly pulling him back into his past.
As he climbed the stairs toward his room, his heart pounded hard. His breath was heavy, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the lie he carried.
"Not feeling well, huh?" he whispered softly when he reached the top of the stairs, staring at the large window bathed in moonlight. "If only that were true."
Downstairs, Effendi was still standing, watching the stairs where his grandson had just disappeared into the shadows. The old man sighed deeply.
"That boy is carrying something…" he murmured to himself, eyes fixed on the dying fire. "And I fear… it's not something small."
Outside, the rain grew heavier, tapping steadily against the windows. Upstairs, Yohanes stood silently at his desk, staring at the small object he had hidden in his pocket—a gift from Uncle Burhan. A tiny piece of a larger puzzle, one that reopened old wounds and pulled him toward a mystery he wasn't ready to face.
And that night, between the rain and the dim light, two hearts in the Alister mansion shared the same unease: one filled with worry, the other with fear. Yet both somehow knew… something was stirring behind the fragile calm.
The Key That Doesn't Want to Be Opened
As soon as his bedroom door clicked shut, Yohanes leaned against the wall, his body heavy and his mind spinning faster than his breath. The sound of rain outside his window echoed like ticking time—one second, two seconds, one breath, one burden. His eyes fell on his study desk, cluttered with open books, scattered papers, and a worn black folder with frayed edges. That folder—the one he had once buried deep in his drawer, promising himself never to touch it again.
But tonight, after meeting Uncle Burhan and holding that small key engraved with the letter "P", every promise to "leave the past behind" crumbled away.
Yohanes stepped slowly toward the desk. The lamp cast a pale light over his tense, pale face as his trembling fingers touched the folder. The papers inside still smelled faintly of dust and old ink—letters, photo fragments, and notes written in his father's neat, firm handwriting.
He opened it carefully, page by page.Some notes contained numbers, coordinates, and names he recognized—"Burhan," "Alister," and one that made his chest tighten: "Pointless."
"That building…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Why does everything lead back there?"
He flipped through the rest, searching for something that might explain the little key. But there was nothing clear—only a faded line written at the very bottom of the last page:
"When the time comes, the key will lead you to the answer. But not without a price."
Yohanes stared at the words for a long time, as if his father's voice was speaking directly through them. He clenched the key tightly in his palm until his knuckles turned white.
"What price, Father?" he whispered, like a lost prayer swallowed by the sound of rain.
He tried to calm himself and glanced at the clock: 6:42 PM. Almost dinner time. Quickly, he closed the black folder, put it back into the drawer, and locked it. But even though the drawer was shut tight, his mind remained wide open—filled with restless questions that refused to stay quiet.
The Alister family dining room that night was warm and bright. The chandelier cast a soft glow over the long table covered in delicious dishes—creamy mushroom soup, roasted meat, fresh salad, and warm bread. But amid the laughter and lively conversation, Yohanes sat still—his spoon unmoving, his eyes distant as they stared at his plate.
"So, Deon, how was your assignment at the university today?" Gibson asked casually while slicing his meat.
Deon smiled a little. "Almost done, Dad. But I think my professor added more work just so we wouldn't relax too soon."
Una laughed softly. "Sounds like a perfectionist professor. If I were you, I'd probably have lost my mind already."
"That's why you need to learn time management like Deon," Nadine said kindly with a gentle smile. "Otherwise, you'll delay your club report again."
"Hey, Mom…" Una grimaced playfully. "I'm not lazy, just… busy!"
Jovian laughed, lightly nudging his sister's shoulder. "Classic excuse! Just like when I got caught not cleaning my room last week."
Their laughter filled the room—light and genuine. Gibson just shook his head, smiling proudly, while Effendi watched them all with quiet warmth.
But on the right side of the table, Yohanes remained silent. No smile formed on his lips. He stared at his plate, hearing their laughter as if it came from another world. His hand holding the spoon trembled slightly, but he forced himself to stay composed.
Effendi, sitting at the end of the table, noticed. His wise eyes missed nothing.
"Yohanes," he called gently. "Is the food not to your liking?"
Yohanes looked up quickly, startled. "Ah—no, Grandpa! It's delicious. I just… feel a bit tired, that's all."
Nadine leaned forward slightly, her tone soft but worried. "Are you sure you're okay, dear? You look a little pale."
"She's right, Han," Gibson added with concern. "If you're not feeling well, you can rest. We won't force you."
Yohanes shook his head quickly, forcing a small smile. "No, really. I'm fine. I just need a bit of food. I'll be okay."
But from his tone, everyone knew something wasn't okay.Still, no one pushed him that night.
The conversation soon continued—about Gibson's work, Deon's project, and Una's and Jovian's school activities. Laughter occasionally filled the air again, but every time Yohanes tried to smile, it felt hollow—like he was only imitating joy, not feeling it.
To his eyes, the Alister family seemed like a perfect world—loving, structured, and safe. But in his heart, shadows of the old building marked "Pointless," his father's cryptic note, and Uncle Burhan's knowing eyes from earlier that day refused to fade.
When Effendi lifted his glass from across the table, Yohanes returned the gesture with a faint nod.He felt a pang of guilt—not because of the lies he told, but because in the midst of this warmth and laughter, he still carried something he couldn't share.
After dinner, the family gathered in the living room—Jovian strumming his guitar, Una chatting about school, Nadine laughing softly at their antics. Yohanes excused himself early, saying he wanted to read in his room.
But as he climbed the stairs, he paused at the top step.From there, he could see the dining room below, now quiet, with the faint echoes of laughter lingering in the air—warm, loving, and distant. Yet inside his chest, there was an empty space that warmth could not fill—a space occupied by secrets, and by the small key still hidden in his pocket.
He gripped it tightly, closing his eyes for a moment."I want to believe… but why does it feel like this key only unlocks fear?"
When he opened his eyes again, the moon was high outside the window. His shadow stretched long across the floor—blurred, divided, like two sides of himself. One belonged to the warm world of the Alisters. The other was still trapped in a dark past.
And between those two worlds, Yohanes stood alone, carrying the weight of a truth he wasn't ready to reveal.
That night, the Alister mansion stayed bright—but inside Yohanes's heart, a new door began to creak open… as if waiting for its moment to truly unlock.