CHAPTER 2
Morning came too quickly for Arga.
He had barely slept all night.
Every time he closed his eyes, the face of the man in the photograph appeared again. A face he had never truly known, yet suddenly felt so close.
Bima Pratama.
The name kept spinning through his mind.
At six in the morning, Arga was already sitting at a small coffee stall on the outskirts of Arunika Village. In front of him sat a cup of coffee he had not touched all morning.
His phone lit up.
He typed the same name again.
Bima Pratama — Kalendra.
Search results appeared.
Most of them were useless.
The same name could belong to many people. There were no sufficiently clear photographs. No address could confirm that the man Arga was looking for was his father.
But then he found an old document.
Arga zoomed in on the screen.
The name was printed there.
Bima Pratama.
His hand stopped moving.
Some of the information seemed to match his mother's story.
Place of birth.
Year of birth.
And an old address.
Kalendra Village, Adikara Province.
Arga stared at the writing for a long time.
Kalendra.
The name he had found on the back of the photograph last night.
A coincidence?
Or was it a clue?
He took the old photograph from his wallet and compared it with the information on the screen.
There was no doubt anymore.
He had to go there.
But before that, he needed someone who could help him.
Arga opened his contacts.
Raka's name appeared on the screen.
He called.
“Morning,” Raka's voice sounded heavy on the other end.
“You're up?”
“If you're calling this early, something's wrong.”
Arga smiled faintly.
“I found something.”
Raka fell silent.
“How serious?”
“My father's name.”
Silence filled the line for several seconds.
“You sure?”
“There's an old document. Same name. There's an address in Kalendra.”
Raka let out a sigh.
“You really planning to go?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Arga.”
“Yeah?”
“If it turns out he's really there, what are you going to say?”
The question left Arga silent.
He had never thought about it.
All this time, he had only wanted to find his father.
But after he found him?
What would he say?
Why did Dad leave?
Why did Dad never look for me?
Or just…
Does Dad still remember me?
“I don't know yet,” Arga finally answered.
Raka sounded like he was sighing.
“Then don't go alone.”
“I can go by myself.”
“That's not the point.”
Arga said nothing.
“Sometimes people who spend too long searching for answers forget to prepare themselves to hear them.”
The words left Arga silent for a long time.
“I'll send you the details later,” Raka said.
“Thanks.”
The call ended.
Arga leaned back in his chair.
He stared at the road outside the coffee stall.
People were beginning their day.
Children were heading to school.
A vegetable vendor passed along the village road.
An old motorcycle rumbled by slowly.
Everything looked normal.
Only Arga's life felt different.
Around nine, Arga went home.
Sari was sweeping the yard.
As soon as she saw Arga, the woman gave him a faint smile.
“You're not going to work?”
“I have something to take care of.”
Sari stopped sweeping.
“What?”
Arga did not answer right away.
He walked toward the door.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“Where is Kalendra?”
The broom in Sari's hand stopped moving.
Only for a moment.
But it was enough.
Arga saw the change in her expression.
“Why are you asking about Kalendra?”
“Because that name was on the back of the photograph.”
Sari lowered her head.
“What photograph?”
“Dad's photograph.”
Sari did not answer.
Arga stepped closer.
“Did Dad ever live there?”
“Arga…”
“Mom.”
Sari raised her face.
“I just want to know.”
“There’s nothing you need to know.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened a long time ago.”
“Maybe for you.”
Arga drew a breath.
“But for me, it’s all just beginning.”
Sari set down the broom.
“Don’t look for him.”
Arga fell silent.
That answer was completely different from all her previous ones.
“Why?”
“Because not everyone we look for wants to be found.”
“Do you know if he’s still alive?”
Sari was silent.
“Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
Sari looked at him.
For the first time, Arga saw fear in his mother’s eyes.
Not sadness.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Please,” Sari said softly. “Don’t go to Kalendra.”
Arga stared at his mother.
“Why?”
Sari did not answer.
“Because Dad is there?”
There was no answer.
“Or because there’s something there you’re afraid I’ll find?”
Sari lowered her head.
Arga became even more certain.
His mother was hiding something.
He just didn’t know what.
“I’m not going to force you to tell me now,” he said.
Sari looked at him.
“But I’m going.”
Sari’s face instantly went pale.
“Arga…”
“I have to know.”
“Don’t.”
“I’ve been waiting twenty-nine years.”
“Arga!”
Sari’s voice cracked.
Arga fell silent.
His mother covered her mouth with one hand.
Tears began to well in her eyes.
“I only wanted to protect you.”
“From whom?”
Sari did not answer.
“From Dad?”
Sari shook her head.
“Then from whom?”
Sari turned her face away.
“I can’t tell you yet.”
Arga stared at his mother for a long time.
Then he said softly,
“Then I’ll find the answer myself.”
He went inside the house.
Sari remained standing in the yard.
She did not move.
That night, Arga opened the old photograph again.
He examined every detail.
Bima stood beside Sari.
They were both still young.
And Arga was still a baby.
Behind them stood a building he did not recognize.
Arga enlarged the photograph on his phone.
There was a small sign behind Bima.
The writing on it was blurry.
But after trying several times, Arga managed to read it.
KALENDRA — 17
Arga furrowed his brow.
What was that number?
A house number?
A street number?
Or something else?
He took out a notebook.
He wrote down everything he knew.
Bima Pratama.
Kalendra Village.
1997.
Kalendra — 17.
Then he added one sentence:
Mom is afraid I’ll go there.
Arga stared at his notes.
The more clues he found, the less he felt he knew his own family.
His phone vibrated.
A message from Raka.
I got his old address.
Arga opened the message immediately.
There was a photograph of a document.
At the bottom, it read:
Bima Pratama Kalendra Village, Jalan Nusa 17.
Arga’s heart began pounding.
Jalan Nusa 17.
The number matched the writing on the back of the photograph.
He stood up at once.
Kalendra was no coincidence.
The address really existed.
And Bima had once lived there.
But before Arga could reply to Raka’s message, he heard a knock at the front door.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Arga froze.
The knocking came again.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
He walked slowly toward the door.
Sari emerged from the living room.
As soon as she saw Arga standing at the door, her expression changed.
“Don’t open it.”
Arga turned.
“Why?”
Sari walked closer.
“Don’t.”
The knocking sounded again.
Then a man’s voice came from outside.
“Excuse me.”
Arga and Sari looked at each other.
The voice sounded old.
“Who is it?” Arga asked.
There was no answer.
A few seconds later, a white envelope was slipped through the gap beneath the door.
Arga looked down.
Sari immediately grabbed his arm.
“Don’t pick it up.”
But Arga had already crouched down.
He picked up the envelope.
There was no sender’s name.
Only one name was written on the front.
ARGA PRATAMA.
Arga opened the envelope.
A folded piece of paper lay inside.
He unfolded it.
Handwriting filled the center.
Just one sentence.
“If you want to find your father, don’t believe everything your mother tells you.”
Arga slowly raised his face.
Sari stood frozen.
“Mom…”
His mother’s face had gone pale.
“Do you recognize this handwriting?”
Sari did not answer.
“Who sent it?”
Tears fell from Sari’s eyes.
Then she whispered:
“Someone who should never have come back.”
Arga stared at the door.
He hurried to open it.
There was no one there.
The road in front of the house was empty.
But in the distance, a black motorcycle sped away from Arunika Village.
Arga looked at the paper in his hand again.
His chest felt tight.
Now he understood one thing.
This search wasn’t only about finding Bima.
Someone already knew he was looking.
And that person clearly didn’t want the past exposed.
Arga slowly closed the door.
Then he looked at his mother.
“Mom…”
Sari lowered her head.
“Who is Dad, really?”
For the first time in twenty-nine years, Sari had no answer.
Only tears.
And silence.
Words of Wisdom
“We’re often afraid of finding the truth, but sometimes what’s more frightening is realizing that we’ve been living inside a lie all along.”