Baskoro did not go straight home that night.
He stood for a long time behind the trees near the dance studio, his body rigid, his mind filled with what he had just heard. Andini—the girl he had known since they were both still learning to walk in their respective yards—had just spoken with something that should not have been able to speak. Something that looked at her the way he looked at the woman he loved, not the way a spirit looked at a tool for settling its own unfinished business.
And Andini had looked back the same way.
He finally went home just before dawn and sat alone on the porch until his father, Pak Slamet, came out carrying two cups of coffee after hearing the door open at such an unusual hour.
"Can't sleep?" Pak Slamet sat beside him and held out one of the cups.
Baskoro was silent for a moment before finally asking, "Dad, back when you went into a trance you couldn't control—why did that happen? You never told me the details."
Pak Slamet's hand stopped in midair, and his cup nearly spilled. "Why are you suddenly asking about that?"
"Andini," Baskoro answered quietly. "She met that spirit. Ki Branjangan. And I heard it myself—she's considering completing the Closing Movement."
Pak Slamet's face instantly went pale. He set his cup on the porch floor, his hands trembling slightly.
"Dad wasn't the one chosen for the Closing Movement," he said at last, his voice heavy. "I was just an ordinary gamelan player. But back then, the generation before Nyai Kartika ran away—there was another dancer whose extended family forced her to try to complete that bond on her own, without enough preparation, without a truly sincere will. I was one of the people playing the gamelan that night."
"What happened afterward?"
"The dancer survived," Pak Slamet answered quietly, "but she was never really the same again. It was as if half of her had been left behind there. And I—" He stopped and swallowed. "I was affected too. I was caught in the remnants of that unstable trance. It took me years before I dared to touch a gamelan again."
Baskoro stared at his father for a long time. All this time, he had only known that his father had "been seriously ill when he was young." He had never known the details.
"If Andini goes through with it," Baskoro said quietly, "and she's not ready—will what happens to her be the same as what happened to that dancer?"
Pak Slamet did not answer right away. He gazed toward the hill, faintly visible from their porch, its silhouette dark beneath the sky that was beginning to brighten.
"It could be," he finally replied. "But there's a difference, Le. That dancer was forced. If Andini truly chooses it herself, with a sincere will—the odds are different."
"How can you be sure?"
"I'm not sure." Pak Slamet turned to look at his son. "No one really knows until it happens. The only thing I know is this—if you force her to choose what you want, even if your intention is to protect her, it's no different from what they did to that dancer back then. Forcing her for her own 'good.'"
Those words struck Baskoro more deeply than he had expected.
The next day, Baskoro found Andini in her yard, helping her mother hang laundry to dry as if the previous night had never happened.
"We need to talk," he said, his voice calmer than he felt inside.
Andini turned, slightly startled by Baskoro's serious expression. "About what?"
"About last night. I went to the dance studio, Andin. I heard you talking to—" He hesitated for a moment. "To him."
Andini's face went pale. "Were you spying on me?"
"I was worried about you," Baskoro defended himself, though his tone sounded more like an apology. "But that's not the point. The point is—I heard you were thinking about completing the Closing Movement. Really?"
Andini set down the clothes she was holding and let out a long sigh. She invited Baskoro to sit on a wooden bench in the corner of the yard, far beyond the reach of her mother's ears inside the house.
"I haven't decided anything yet," she said honestly. "But I can't keep pretending this isn't my problem, Bas. Angkara is going to tear up that hill next month. If I don't do anything and the dance studio is destroyed before the bond is complete—not just Branjangan will suffer the consequences. The entire village could be affected."
"I know the risk if you do nothing," Baskoro said quietly. "But I also know the risk if you do it when you're not ready. My father told me last night—about what happened to the dancer before Nyai Kartika."
Andini looked at him, waiting for him to explain.
"That dancer was forced by her family," Baskoro continued quietly. "And she was never the same afterward. Half of her was left there forever."
Silence fell between them for a moment, broken only by the wind stirring the laundry.
"I'm not going to force you to choose anything, Andin," Baskoro said at last, his eyes fixed on those of his friend. "I'm only asking one thing. If you truly want to do this, make sure it's entirely your own choice. Not because you feel cornered, and not because you feel like you have to save everyone by yourself."
"Why is that so important to you?"
Baskoro fell silent for a moment, then answered softly, "Because I don't want to lose you, no matter how it happens. Whether that spirit takes you, or you lose part of yourself because circumstances forced you into it."
The words hung in the air longer than they should have, and Andini realized there was something beneath Baskoro's tone that was more than a friend's concern.