Last Seen
There are two lies people tell most often. First: I'm fine. Second: I only opened the chat for a second. And tonight, I did both.
12:43 a.m.
My bedroom light had been off for an hour. Mom must have thought I was asleep. In reality, I was still curled up under the blanket, my phone's glow right in front of my face.
The name I should have deleted by now was still on my screen.
Raka Adinata.
I stared at his profile picture for a long time.
It hadn't changed.
It was still the picture of the night sky I'd taken from the roof of the Meridian Building.
Ironic.
Of all the hundreds of pictures he had, why was he still using one I'd taken?
I opened our chat.
First mistake.
My finger scrolled up the screen.
Second mistake.
And before I realized it, I was reading a conversation from three months ago.
Raka: Have you eaten? Me: Not yet. Raka: Why not? Me: Can't be bothered. Raka: Excuses. Me: Exactly. Raka: Come outside. Me: Huh? Raka: I'm outside your house.
I closed my eyes.
Idiot.
Why did the most painful memories so often come from the simplest things?
Not when he said he loved me.
Not when we were officially dating.
It was messages like Have you eaten?, Don't go home alone, or I'm outside your house that now felt like someone pressing down on a wound that hadn't healed yet.
I scrolled again.
Until I finally stopped at the date I avoided most.
May 17.
The last day we spoke as two people who knew each other.
After that, Raka changed.
No calls.
No invitations to meet.
No explanation.
Only a short message that managed to destroy a relationship of almost two years in less than five minutes.
I hadn't dared read it again.
At least, not until tonight.
My phone buzzed.
I nearly threw it.
Naya: YOU'RE NOT ASLEEP, ARE YOU?
I let out a rough breath.
Me: Your notification almost gave me a heart attack.
Her reply came quickly.
Naya: So you weren't asleep. Me: What do you want?
The typing indicator appeared.
Naya: You're reading Raka's chat, aren't you?
I sat up immediately.
Sometimes I suspected Naya had hidden a camera in my room.
Me: No. Naya: Liar. Me: I'm watching something. Naya: Watching what?
I said nothing.
Naya: Exactly. Me: Go to sleep. Naya: Luna.
I furrowed my brow.
When Naya called me Luna, she was usually serious.
Naya: Don't look for another reason to hurt yourself.
I didn't reply.
The screen returned to my conversation with Raka.
Two months.
It had been two months since we ended.
It should have been long enough for me to stop checking when he was last online.
It should have been long enough for me to stop noticing whether his profile picture had changed.
It should have been long enough to delete this chat.
Apparently, it wasn't.
I tapped our last conversation.
May 17 — 10:08 p.m.
Me: So we're not meeting after all? Raka: Sorry. Me: You've been saying sorry since yesterday. Me: What's actually wrong with you?
There was no answer for eleven minutes.
I still remembered how I'd paced around my room that night while waiting.
Then, at 10:19 p.m., Raka's reply came in.
Raka: I think we should end things here.
It was that simple.
For a moment, I even thought he was joking.
Me: What do you mean? Raka: We're done. Me: Why? Raka: I'm tired. Me: Tired of me?
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Twelve minutes.
Then—
Raka: Yeah.
One word.
Four letters.
Enough to make almost two years feel like something that had only mattered to me.
I swallowed.
Even now, reading that word made my chest feel tight.
Afterward, I sent him a flood of messages.
Angry ones.
Confused ones.
Asking for an explanation.
Not one of them got a reply.
My last message that night still showed as read.
Me: At least tell me directly if I've been the one wearing you out all this time.
There was no answer.
Not until three days later.
After I'd stopped contacting him, a message came in at 2:17 a.m.
A message I had never replied to, even now.
I scrolled down a little.
And found it.
Raka — 2:17 a.m.
Raka: Don't read my last message, Lun.
I furrowed my brow.
Back then, I thought the message made no sense. I figured Raka was drunk, sleepy, or something.
Which last message?
His last message before that had only been one word.
Yeah.
I'd read it dozens of times.
So what was I not supposed to read?
I tapped the message field.
The keyboard appeared.
For the first time in two months, I typed something to him.
What do you mean?
My finger stopped above the send button.
Don't.
I deleted it.
My phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn't Naya.
A notification appeared from a social media account I didn't recognize.
There was no profile picture.
Its username was just a combination of letters and numbers.
1 new message.
I almost ignored it.
Until I saw the snippet in the notification.
You still read Raka's chat a lot, don't you?
My body went rigid.
I opened the message.
The account had no posts.
No followers.
It wasn't following anyone.
There was only one message.
You still read Raka's chat a lot, don't you?
I typed with cold fingers.
Who is this?
My message was marked as read immediately.
There was no reply.
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then a new message came in.
If you want to know why Raka left you, stop believing your last chat with him.
I stared at the screen.
My heart began beating faster.
Me: What do you mean?
The reply came in less than ten seconds.
You haven't read everything.
I was just about to type when the conversation screen changed.
Account not found.
I tried opening the profile.
I couldn't.
I searched for the username.
Nothing.
As if the account had never existed.
"Not funny," I muttered.
My hand instinctively took a screenshot.
After that, I opened Raka's chat again.
This time, it wasn't because I missed him.
I read everything from May 17.
Slowly.
One message at a time.
Until my eyes stopped at a detail I had somehow never noticed during the past two months.
Between Raka's 10:19 p.m. message and his reply at 10:36 p.m., there was a small line of gray text.
Text I'd skimmed right past all this time.
This message has been deleted.
I brought the screen closer to my face.
My heart pounded.
I didn't remember ever seeing it.
Or maybe I simply hadn't paid attention.
I opened the conversation details.
There was nothing I could see about that message.
Only one simple fact.
Before Raka said he was tired of me—
he had sent something.
Then deleted it.
My phone suddenly buzzed again.
This time, it came from the conversation I had open.
I froze.
At the top of the screen, directly beneath Raka Adinata's name, a word appeared—one I hadn't seen in two months.
online
My breath caught in my throat.
Then the status changed.
typing...
I didn't move.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
Then it stopped.
No message.
"Raka?"
Of course, no one answered.
I waited.
One minute.
Two minutes.
His status changed back to online.
Then—
A message came in.
Only four words.
Raka: Lun, don't find out.
I stared at the screen until my eyes began to sting.
Because there was one problem.
Raka had never called me Lun in chat.
Never.
He always called me—
Luna.