CHAPTER 3
That night, Arga couldn't sleep.
The small note someone had sent still lay on the table.
“If you want to find your father, don't believe everything your mother tells you.”
The sentence consisted of only a few words.
Yet they were enough to make Arga's entire childhood feel like an unfinished story.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the old photograph in his hand.
Bima.
Sari.
And himself.
A family that had once been whole, at least within a single frame.
Arga tried to remember whether his mother had ever mentioned Kalendra.
Never.
For decades, the story about his father had always been the same.
Bima left.
They had a fight.
Bima returned to Adikara.
After that, he never came back.
Simple.
Too simple.
Now Arga was beginning to realize that perhaps, all this time, that simplicity had merely been Sari's way of hiding something.
At two in the morning, Arga finally picked up his phone.
He opened his conversation with Raka.
Arga: I'm leaving for Kalendra.
The message was sent.
Not long afterward, Raka replied.
Raka: When?
Arga looked at the calendar.
Arga: Tomorrow.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
They appeared again.
Raka: I'm coming with you.
Arga smiled faintly.
Arga: Don't.
Raka: Not a request.
Arga set down his phone.
For the first time that night, he felt a little calmer.
At least he wouldn't have to face everything alone.
But just as he was about to lie down, a faint sound came from outside his room.
His mother's voice.
Arga opened the door a crack.
Sari was sitting in the living room.
She was holding something in her hand.
A photograph.
Not the one Arga owned.
Another photograph.
Arga watched from a distance.
Sari was crying.
Then the woman spoke softly to someone who wasn't in the room.
“I'm sorry…”
Arga froze.
“I'm sorry I couldn't keep that promise.”
Sari lowered her head.
Arga wanted to step outside.
But before he could move, Sari put the photograph into a wooden box.
Then she locked it.
Arga went back into his room.
That night, he didn't ask.
Not yet.
Morning came beneath a gray sky.
Raka arrived around seven on his motorcycle.
“Ready?”
Arga came out carrying his small bag.
“Ready.”
Sari stood in front of the house.
Her face looked gloomy.
Arga approached her.
“Mom.”
Sari didn't answer.
“I'm leaving for a little while.”
“How long?”
“I don't know.”
Sari looked at the bag Arga was carrying.
“You really want to go?”
“Yes.”
“If you find him…”
Sari stopped.
Arga waited.
“If you find your father…”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Sari looked into her son's eyes.
“Don't believe everything he says right away.”
Arga fell silent.
The words only confused him more.
“Why are you saying that, Mom?”
Sari shook her head.
“Come home when you're done.”
Arga wanted to ask more.
But when he saw his mother's face, something made him choose silence.
He kissed Sari's hand.
Then he left.
From the back of Raka's motorcycle, Arga looked back one more time.
His mother was still standing in front of the house.
Alone.
The trip to Wanastra took hours.
Arga sat behind Raka, watching the road.
The villages slowly changed.
Rice fields gave way to residential areas.
Small roads became major roads.
But his thoughts remained at home.
On the wooden box his mother had locked.
On the photograph he had never seen.
And on the mysterious message that had made everything even more complicated.
“You've been quiet,” Raka said.
“Just thinking.”
“Scared?”
Arga didn't answer.
Raka smiled faintly.
“If you are, just say so.”
“I'm not scared.”
“Then what?”
Arga stared at the road ahead.
“I'm scared to hope.”
Raka fell silent.
Arga continued,
“I've never had a father all these years. If I actually find him now…”
He stopped.
“I'm scared he won't want to know me.”
Raka didn't answer right away.
“Then,” he said at last, “we'll find out the truth first.”
Arga nodded.
They arrived in Wanastra City toward evening.
The city was much busier than Arunika Village.
Buildings lined the streets.
Vehicles filled the roadways.
People hurried past without knowing one another.
Arga felt like a stranger.
Raka stopped the motorcycle at a small eatery.
“Let's take a break first.”
Arga nodded.
They sat in a corner of the eatery.
Raka took out his phone.
“It's about thirty kilometers from here.”
“Jalan Nusa 17?”
“Yeah.”
Arga looked at the photograph of the document Raka had sent.
The address was clearly printed.
Kalendra Village, Jalan Nusa 17.
“What if we leave now?”
“It's already late afternoon.”
Raka looked up at the sky.
“Let's just go tomorrow morning.”
Arga nodded.
But before they could leave, an old man sitting several tables away suddenly looked at Arga.
There was something unusual about his gaze.
The man watched Arga for quite a while.
Then he stood.
He walked over.
“Excuse me.”
Arga turned.
“Yes?”
“Are you from Arunika?”
Arga furrowed his brow.
“Yes.”
The man studied Arga's face.
Then his eyes dropped to Arga's hand, which was holding the old photograph.
The man's expression changed.
“You…”
He stopped.
“What is it, sir?”
The man pointed at the photograph.
“Where did you get that?”
Arga handed him the photograph.
The man looked at it.
His hands began to tremble.
“This…”
“You know it?”
The man slowly nodded.
“Who?”
He didn't answer.
Instead, he stared at Arga with an unreadable expression.
Then he asked,
“What’s your name?”
“Arga.”
The man took a step back.
“Arga?”
“Yes.”
The man handed back the photograph.
“Don't come to Kalendra.”
Arga immediately stood.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
The man fell silent.
“Who is Bima Pratama?”
The man's face grew even paler.
“Are you his son?”
Arga nodded.
The man looked at Raka.
Then back at Arga.
“If that's the case…”
He drew a long breath.
“…you're too late.”
Arga froze.
“What does that mean?”
The man didn't answer.
He simply walked out of the eatery.
Arga was about to chase after him.
But Raka caught his arm.
“Don't.”
“He knows something.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you stopping me?”
“Because we don't know who he is yet.”
Arga stared at the eatery's closed door.
The man's words kept echoing in his mind.
You're too late.
That night, they stayed at a simple inn.
Arga sat by the window.
The lights of Wanastra City looked like tiny dots in the distance.
Raka was already asleep.
But Arga was still awake.
He picked up the photograph.
There was writing on the back:
Kalendra, 1997.
Then he remembered something.
His mother's wooden box.
Another photograph.
A promise that hadn't been kept.
And the old man who had said he was too late.
Arga opened his phone's gallery.
He zoomed in on the photograph of his father.
This time, he studied Bima's face for longer.
He noticed something he hadn't before.
There was a scar on Bima's left wrist.
A long line.
Arga remembered something.
His mother had once said that Bima had a scar on his hand.
But when?
Arga didn't know.
He opened a search engine.
He typed:
Bima Pratama Jalan Nusa 17 Kalendra.
There were no results.
He tried again.
Bima Pratama Kalendra 1997.
Nothing.
Then an old result appeared.
An internet forum that had been inactive for years.
Its title read:
“Nusa Road Accident — Kalendra.”
Arga opened it.
His hand stopped.
An old article mentioned an accident that had occurred in late 1997.
There were several victims' names.
One of them read:
Bima P.
Arga read the next sentence.
“The victim was pronounced alive and taken to the nearest hospital.”
Arga's heart began to pound.
He read the date.
Several months before Arga was born.
That meant…
Bima had been in an accident before he left his family.
But why had Sari never told him about it?
Arga read the article again.
But the ending sent a chill through him.
“After the incident, the victim was no longer listed as living in Kalendra.”
Arga stared at the screen.
No longer listed as living in Kalendra.
Then where had Bima gone?
And why?
Suddenly, his phone vibrated.
An unknown number sent him a message.
Don't continue your journey tomorrow.
Arga froze.
A second message came in.
You have no idea what you're looking for.
Arga stood.
Raka woke up.
“What is it?”
Arga showed him the screen.
Raka read the message.
“Whose number is that?”
“I don't know.”
“Don't reply.”
A third message came in.
This time, it consisted of a single sentence.
Your father isn't the person you've always thought he was.
Arga stared at the screen.
Then he slowly raised his head.
“We're still going to Kalendra tomorrow.”
Raka nodded.
“I know.”
Arga turned off his phone.
Outside the window, the night wind moved softly.
And somewhere they knew nothing about, someone was watching their journey.
Someone who knew Arga's name.
Knew about Bima.
And knew the secret that even Sari hadn't dared reveal.
Quote
“The closer we get to the past, the more clearly we realize that not everyone wants that past to be found.”