The Indomaret at the corner of this housing complex is usually quiet at this hour. But today? A completely different story.
I, Andra Fuadi, had just gotten back from basketball practice at school. My stomach had been growling for a while, and my plan was simple: buy instant noodles, eggs, and an energy drink, then head home to work on the Physics homework that had been looming on my desk since morning.
But that simple plan fell apart the moment I saw the line at the cashier.
A middle-aged woman in a blue batik outfit stood in front of me with two baskets full of groceries. Not only that—she was also doing an online transaction, scanning QR codes on her phone while occasionally asking the cashier, "Has the discount been applied yet, dear?"
I let out a sigh. The clock on my phone showed 5:45 PM. I still had a lot of homework to do. My eyes were already starting to feel heavy.
Still, I stayed patient. I'm not the type to cause a scene in public. Besides, the woman looked like someone from the block across ours. Better to just stay quiet and wait.
After a few minutes that felt like hours, one of the employees opened a second lane. "Those in the back can move over here!"
I immediately stepped forward. Having been right behind the woman, I was now at the front of the new line. But before I could take another step—
Click.
Something grabbed my arm. Gently, but firm enough to stop me.
I turned around.
A woman stood beside me. Her long black hair flowed beneath a black baseball cap. Large sunglasses covered half her face, and a white medical mask hid the rest. Only her eyes were visible—light brown, shimmering, with long lashes blinking nervously.
Her appearance… was strange.
Not strange in a bad way. But she was too… covered up. Like someone trying very hard not to be recognized. In a regular neighborhood Indomaret at five in the evening, dressed like that?
Two possibilities crossed my mind: first, she was an extreme introvert who didn't like meeting people. Second…
…she was an idol.
But I quickly brushed off the second thought. Impossible. Our housing complex was completely ordinary. No celebrities—let alone idols—lived here.
"Excuse me," her voice came out muffled behind the mask. Soft, but hurried. "I'm… in a big rush. May I go ahead of you? I'm only buying a few things."
I glanced at the small basket in her hand. A carton of milk, sliced bread, a pack of biscuits, and… adult diapers? What a strange combination.
But there was something in her eyes. A nervousness that felt real. A sense of urgency that wasn't fake.
I gave in. "Go ahead," I said, stepping back.
"Thank you so much," she bowed slightly, then hurried to the cashier.
I returned to the line. The woman in blue batik was still busy with her transaction, now asking about membership points. I sighed again, trying to accept the time I'd lost.
From where I stood, I could see the woman in the cap at the next lane. The cashier, a young employee in a red shirt, scanned her items one by one. She kept staring at her phone, her fingers moving anxiously across the screen.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The last item was scanned.
"That'll be 87,500 rupiah, Miss," the cashier said.
She nodded, then reached into her sling bag. Her hands moved quickly, searching. Then faster. More panicked.
She turned her bag inside out. Checked every pocket. Her eyes—though only partially visible—shifted from calm to confused, then to panic.
Her wallet was gone.
I watched her try to recall something, her head shaking slightly. Maybe she left it at home. Or in her car. Or at practice, if she really was—
No. I cut off my thoughts. Impossible.
But seeing her like that, standing awkwardly at the cashier with empty hands, I felt… bad. The cashier was starting to look impatient. The line behind her grew restless.
Without thinking, I stepped forward.
"I'll pay for it," I said, taking out my wallet.
She turned to me. Her eyes widened in shock. "No, you don't have to! I—"
"You don't have your wallet," I cut in. "And I saw you were in a hurry. Just think of it as… a loan."
"I can't accept this—"
"I can," I said firmly, looking at the cashier. "What's the total? Include my items too."
The cashier glanced between us, confused. "T-the total is 132,000 rupiah, sir."
I took out the money. Three fifty-thousand bills. "Here."
"Sir, I'm serious, you don't have to—" she tried to stop my hand, but I had already given the money to the cashier.
"Take it," I said shortly. "You can pay me back later once you find your wallet. I'm Andra. Block C12."
The cashier accepted the money, printed the receipt, and handed back the change. I took my plastic bag filled with instant noodles, eggs, and drinks, then handed the other bag to the woman.
"I have to go," I said. "Physics homework is waiting."
Without waiting for her response, I turned and walked out of the Indomaret. The evening breeze brushed against my face, cool and refreshing. I didn't know what I had just done—paying nearly a hundred thousand rupiah for a stranger out of pity?
But there was something in her eyes earlier. A familiar nervousness. Like someone used to being chased, always on guard, living a life full of tight schedules and pressure.
I shook my head. Impossible. Our neighborhood was completely ordinary.
Or maybe… it wasn't?
I walked along the pathway of the complex, passing the now-empty playground, walking by Pak Tarno's small shop as he pulled down the curtains. My house wasn't far—Block C12, house number 8, cream-colored with a black gate.
But before I got there, something made me stop.
A luxurious black car—the kind I had never seen in our neighborhood—was parked in front of house number 7. The house had been empty for three months since the previous family moved out of town.
And standing in front of its door… was the woman with the cap and sunglasses.
She looked at me. Her light brown eyes widened again. This time not out of shock, but… recognition?
I watched her glance at me, then at house number 7, then back at me. As if calculating distance. Calculating possibilities.
Then, slowly, she removed her cap.
Her long black hair fell freely, shimmering under the evening light. She took off her sunglasses, and for the first time, I saw her face completely.
I recognized her.
Hana Yori.
My favorite idol.
The idol whose posters covered my bedroom wall. The idol whose songs I listened to every morning before school. The idol whose concert I couldn't attend last year because tickets sold out in three minutes.
She stood in front of house number 7. The empty house. The house that now… was hers?
"Andra," she called my name. Her voice was still soft, but now it carried something else. Resignation, perhaps. Or a plea. "May I explain?"
I stood frozen in the middle of the path, a plastic bag in my right hand, my heart pounding in my chest. My Physics homework—forgotten. Everything—forgotten.
Because my favorite idol—Hana Yori, the center of the biggest idol group in the country—had just moved in next door.
And I had just paid for her groceries at the neighborhood Indomaret.