The rain still hadn't let up. Water overflowed from the roadside gutter, carrying plastic trash, cold used cooking oil, and rotten frangipani petals dragged from the public cemetery two blocks behind the café. Arka stood beneath the café's leaking awning. Water dripped straight onto the back of his neck. Cold. Piercing all the way between his shoulder blades.
He squeezed the twine around the cardboard box in his arms. The box was growing softer, absorbing the thick, damp afternoon air. Inside, a photo frame of his mother softly knocked against a cracked ceramic cup every time his body shuddered.
One hour. Naya had promised to meet him at four.
The café's glass door chimed softly. A woman stepped outside, wrapped in a thin cream-colored coat whose shoulders were completely untouched by water stains. Her scent preceded her, the distinctive vanilla fragrance of refillable perfume mingling with the café's coffee aroma. Arka knew that scent all too well, because three years ago, he had been the one to squeeze the last hundred-thousand-rupiah bills from his wallet to buy that woman's first bottle of perfume, back when Naya was still staying in a cramped rented room in the Tambora area.
"Ka."
Her voice was flat. No tremor. No panic at the sight of Arka, soaked like a stray dog.
Arka looked up. His eyes were red, stinging from the air pollution carried on the rain-laden wind. "I got fired, Nay. Rian was the one who..."
"We're done, okay?"
Two words. Fired off just like that amid the rumble of a black sedan idling nearby with its hazard lights on.
Arka let out a short, hoarse chuckle. "What?"
Naya sighed, a delicate gesture learned from fashion magazines. Her eyes never truly met Arka's. She was too busy watching her high heels, making sure their gleaming soles didn't step into the murky puddles on the sidewalk. "I can't keep doing this, Ka. You're too... stagnant. I need certainty. I mean, a future that's actually moving forward, not just promises going in circles."
"I was fired an hour ago, Naya." Arka's voice cracked. A tight tremor held back his tears, keeping them from exploding in front of the parking attendant brewing instant coffee in the corner. "I paid your college tuition for five years. I paid the rent on your mother's place when she was driven out of her neighborhood. That... that was you going in circles?"
Naya turned the clear-stoned ring on her right ring finger. A small, deliberate movement. A display.
"The guy in that car is named Bagas," Naya whispered, her voice partially drowned out by the low rumble of the exhaust. "He handled the business license paperwork for my mother's restaurant last week. Without asking me to pay with tears or some sacrifice drama like you always throw in my face."
Warmth rushed into Arka's head. Not a comforting warmth, but a searing heat that blurred his vision. Three years ago, when Naya had come to his rented room with split lips after fleeing loan sharks chasing her late father, Arka had been the one to sell his automatic scooter. Arka had been the one willing to walk three kilometers to work every day to make sure Naya had enough money for lunch on campus.
All of it was now dismissed as "sacrifice drama."
The window of the black sedan slowly lowered. A slender man in a tie, his hair slicked back, gave Arka a slight nod. No smile. No overt sneer. Just a firm, intimidating look—the kind someone gave a beggar at a street intersection before rolling the window back up.
"Don't come looking for me again, Ka." Naya walked past him, her stride steady, without the slightest hesitation. "Try to have a little more self-respect. That box... it's embarrassing."
Naya got into the car. The door shut with a dense, airtight thud. The sedan glided away, slicing through the puddles along the sidewalk and splashing the remaining murky runoff directly onto Arka's cheap dress pants.
Arka stood frozen. Rainwater kept dripping from the tip of his nose, tasting bland as it mingled with the tears that finally fell without a sound. In his chest, something that had long propped up his humanity—hope, sincerity, the pride of being a good person—cracked completely.
Not merely cracked.
It shattered into ash, washed away by gutter water.