My shift ended at five in the afternoon, and by the time I reached the apartment lobby, my legs felt like they were going to protest before my brain could even process anything. Eight hours standing behind an espresso machine was no joke, especially after that surprise marathon this morning.
I glanced at the small notice board near the elevator. Still the same: OUT OF ORDER — UNDER REPAIR.
"Seriously?"
Eighteen more floors. I let out a long sigh and dragged myself toward the fire stairs—the same stairs that had been the scene of today's most absurd incident just a few hours ago.
I had barely taken two steps when a familiar voice called out from the first-floor hallway.
"Nara!"
I turned around. Ms. Sri, one of the elderly residents on that floor, was standing in front of her unit with a plastic grocery bag in her hand. Her hair was completely white, but she always smiled warmly whenever we crossed paths in the hallway.
"Ms. Sri," I greeted her as I walked over. "Just got back from shopping?"
"Yeah, I went to Mbah Karto's warung earlier to buy some spices for cooking." Ms. Sri lifted her plastic bag slightly. "Luckily, someone helped carry it all the way to my door. I only asked for a little help."
"Someone helped you? Who?"
"You know, the young man on the first floor, near here. We happened to run into each other while I was walking back from the warung. He said it looked heavy, so he offered to carry it here." Ms. Sri gave a small chuckle. "Such a polite boy, Nara. He's always like that whenever we meet."
Wait, why did I feel like I knew who she was talking about?
"Tall, carrying a camera... that guy?" I murmured, more to myself than as an actual question, but apparently Ms. Sri heard me.
"How do you know?" Ms. Sri furrowed her brow, looking confused and curious at the same time. "You know him, Nara?"
"Huh—no, Ms. Sri, I don't exactly know him," I answered quickly, feeling a little awkward. "I accidentally bumped into someone on these stairs this morning. Tall, carrying a camera, super quiet—the description sounds like the person you mentioned."
"Oh, that's him! Yes, that's just how he is. Quiet when he's out and about, but incredibly kind when it comes to helping people."
I fell silent for a moment, trying to rearrange the picture in my head. The person who had stood there silently this morning, staring at me with a blank expression before walking away without saying much—was he really the same person Ms. Sri had just described with such admiration?
"He's always been that way, Nara," Ms. Sri continued, as if she'd read the doubt on my face. "Ever since—" She paused, as though remembering something from long ago, then slowly shook her head. "Ah, never mind. The point is, ever since the former owner's child... he's been diligent about helping the elderly residents here. He still does it to this day. Whenever someone needs help, he's always the first to offer."
"The owner's child...?" I tried to follow up, curious.
"Enough, enough. That's an old story." Ms. Sri waved her hand, her smile growing light again. "Don't wear yourself out like this after work, Nara. Go get some rest."
"Okay, Ms. Sri. I'll see you later."
Ms. Sri smiled again, then went inside her unit. I stood in the hallway for a moment, taking it all in.
The polite guy from the first floor. The one who had supposedly spent years carrying people's groceries without needing to be asked twice. The one who had become every elderly resident's favorite in the building—long before I moved here.
And the guy who had stood in front of me this morning, silent and expressionless—even answering only two words when I kept asking him questions.
Those two people... could they really be the same person?
I shook my head, trying to chase the thought away, then continued toward the fire stairs. But for some reason, all the way up those eighteen floors, that blank face kept appearing in turns with Ms. Sri's story—like two puzzle pieces that refused to fit, no matter how hard I tried to force them together.
That night, after showering and eating whatever I could find, I sat cross-legged on my bed with my laptop in my lap. My to-do journal was still open on the table, and I hadn't gotten around to filling it in at all since morning—even though it was usually a mandatory ritual before bed.
I'll deal with the journal later. My head is still too full.
I opened Room Light, the only place where I could be honest without having to maintain my image as "the girl who has everything under control" in front of anyone. My fingers started typing on their own the moment the chat box appeared on the screen.
Today was so weird. I met someone who's incredibly quiet, like he doesn't care about anything. But apparently, he's supposedly the nicest person in the world to the elderly people here. Now I don't even know which version I'm supposed to believe.
I stared at the screen for a moment, unsure whether the message would get a reply or not—even though, honestly, there had almost always been a response sooner or later from someone on the other side whose name I had never known.
Three dots appeared on the screen. Someone was typing.
I waited, resting my head against the pillow, trying not to hope too much that the reply would explain my confusion from today.
Besides, this was just a stranger. Just like the one on the stairs this morning.