CHAPTER 5
Arga was still standing in front of Pak Harun's house when the message came in.
Go home before you find out who you really are.
The sentence stayed in his head.
Not because he believed it just like that.
But because for the first time, someone had questioned something he had never questioned before.
Who was he, really?
Arga slipped his phone into his pocket.
He looked at Pak Harun.
“Do you know what this message means?”
Pak Harun didn't answer.
“Do you know who sent it?”
The old man remained silent.
“Sir.”
“Go home, Arga.”
“No.”
Arga's answer came so quickly that Pak Harun looked at him.
“I've come this far.”
“That's exactly why you have to stop.”
“Why is everyone telling me to stop?”
Pak Harun lowered his head.
“Because some truths won't make you feel any better.”
Arga let out a small laugh.
Bitter.
“You think my life has been fine all this time?”
Pak Harun fell silent.
“Since I was little, I watched other kids get picked up by their fathers.”
Arga's voice began to tremble.
“I watched them play, fight, and then go home with their families.”
He looked at the photograph in his hand.
“Meanwhile, I don't even know what my father's voice sounded like.”
Pak Harun drew a long breath.
“I never knew whether he was still alive. I never knew whether he had ever thought about me.”
Arga lifted his face.
“Now that I've finally found something, everyone is telling me to stop.”
Pak Harun stared at him for a long time.
“Because your father left behind something that should never have been found.”
“What?”
Pak Harun didn't answer.
Arga waited.
But the old man only took the wooden box from the table and closed it.
“Take this.”
Arga looked at the box.
“You said there was a letter for me.”
“There is.”
“Why can't I read it?”
“Not now.”
“Then when?”
Pak Harun looked at him.
“When you're ready to accept that the person you trusted most may have hidden the truth from you.”
Arga immediately thought of his mother.
Sari.
She was the only person he had ever trusted.
The woman who had raised him.
The woman who had worked hard so he could go to school.
The woman who had always said that Bima left and never came back.
But now there were too many things that didn't make sense.
Kalendra.
House number 17.
Bima's letter.
And Pak Harun's words.
Sari helped Bima leave.
Why?
The trip back to the inn felt much quieter.
Raka drove the motorcycle.
Arga sat behind him, hugging the wooden box Pak Harun had given him.
He didn't say a word.
Raka didn't ask anything either.
Until they finally stopped by the side of the road.
Raka turned off the engine.
“You okay?”
Arga got off.
“No.”
Raka nodded.
“Yeah, I figured.”
Arga sat on a concrete bench.
He set the wooden box beside him.
“I thought I was looking for my father.”
Raka sat down next to him.
“You are.”
“Now I don't even know whether the story about my own birth is true.”
Raka looked at him.
“Don't trust that anonymous message.”
“I don't.”
“But?”
Arga looked at the wooden box.
“I can't ignore it either.”
Raka was silent.
Arga opened his palm.
The photograph he'd taken from the box earlier was still there.
Bima.
Sari.
And a tiny baby.
Him.
But he had just realized something.
In the corner of the photograph, right behind Sari's shoulder, there was a person's shadow.
A man.
Indistinct.
Arga enlarged the photograph on his phone.
“Rak.”
“Yeah?”
“Look at this.”
Raka leaned closer.
“There's someone behind them.”
The two of them examined the photograph.
The man's silhouette stood some distance away.
His face couldn't be seen.
But he was holding something.
Something that looked like a suitcase.
Raka furrowed his brow.
“Could just be someone passing by.”
“This photograph was taken at the house.”
“You sure?”
“Pak Harun said the house belonged to Bima.”
Raka looked at the photograph again.
“Then who is that?”
Arga didn't answer.
He took another picture of that section.
Then saved the image.
“We'll find out.”
Raka nodded.
That night, Arga didn't go straight to sleep.
He sat at the table in his room at the inn.
The wooden box sat in front of him.
He studied the small lock on the front.
It wasn't locked.
It was merely fastened.
Arga opened it.
Inside were three letters.
One photograph.
An old watch.
And a small note.
He picked up the note.
Bima's handwriting.
“The first letter is for Sari.”
Arga stopped.
The letter wasn't for him.
He almost put it back.
But curiosity overcame his hesitation.
He opened the first letter.
The writing inside was brief.
Sari,
If you ever read this letter, I may already be too far away to come back.
I know you hate me for the decision I'm about to make.
But I have no other choice.
Arga read slowly.
Never tell Arga that I left because I didn't want him.
He mustn't grow up thinking he was the reason I left.
Arga stopped.
His eyes began to well up.
He continued.
He isn't at fault.
You aren't entirely at fault either.
The mistake was mine.
Arga closed his eyes.
His hands trembled.
All this time, he had thought Bima left because he didn't care.
But the letter revealed something different.
Bima may have left deliberately.
But the reason was still unclear.
Arga picked up the second letter.
At the top, it said:
For Arga.
His heart began to beat faster.
He opened the letter.
But there were only a few lines.
Son,
If this letter reaches you, it means you've found Kalendra.
I knew that one day you would look for me.
I also knew you might hate me.
Tears fell from Arga's eyes.
He wiped them away.
Then he read the next line.
But before you hate me, listen to your mother's story to the end.
Arga stopped.
His mother.
Bima himself was asking Arga to listen to Sari.
That meant the anonymous message might have been deliberately trying to make him suspicious of his mother.
Arga read the last part.
There's one thing you need to know.
I didn't leave to abandon you.
I left to make sure you stayed alive.
Arga froze.
His hand stopped in midair.
Stayed alive?
What did that mean?
He read the letter again.
There was no explanation.
No name.
No reason.
Just one final sentence.
If one day I can't come back, look for someone named Adrian.
Arga furrowed his brow.
Adrian.
He had never heard that name before.
He picked up his notebook.
Wrote:
ADRIAN.
Then he added:
Who?
His phone vibrated.
Raka was calling.
“What?”
“I found something.”
“What?”
“That photograph you sent me.”
Arga stood up.
“What about it?”
“I tried searching for it with reverse image search.”
“And?”
“That photograph wasn't taken in 1997.”
Arga fell silent.
“What?”
“I checked the details of the photo print.”
Raka paused for a moment.
“The photograph was reprinted.”
“From what?”
“I don't know yet.”
Arga looked at the photograph in his hand.
“Then the writing on the back…”
“Could've been written later.”
Arga felt something strange.
“Rak.”
“Yeah?”
“Then we aren't following a trail left twenty-nine years ago.”
“Then what?”
“Someone may have deliberately left that trail for me to find.”
Silence.
Raka finally said,
“Then who left it?”
Arga didn't answer.
Because at that moment, he heard a knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Arga turned toward the bedroom door.
“Rak…”
“What?”
“There's someone outside.”
The call was still connected.
Arga walked slowly toward the door.
“Don't open it,” Raka said.
Arga stopped.
The knocking came again.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Then a man's voice came from outside.
“Arga.”
Arga's body tensed.
The person had called his name.
“Who is it?” Arga asked.
There was no answer.
“Who is it?”
Then the voice came again.
“If you want to know about Bima, don't go to house number seventeen.”
Arga moved closer to the door.
“Why?”
“Because the person you're looking for isn't Bima.”
Arga froze.
“What do you mean?”
There was no answer.
Arga yanked the door open.
The hallway was empty.
There wasn't a soul in sight.
He ran toward the stairs.
But the man had already disappeared.
Downstairs, an inn attendant was sitting at the desk.
“Sir, did someone just leave?”
The attendant shook his head.
“No one.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Arga returned to his room.
Raka was still on the phone.
“What happened?”
Arga closed the door.
“He's gone.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
Arga looked at the wooden box.
Then at Bima's letter.
And the name Adrian.
Suddenly, he remembered something.
The first message.
Don't believe everything your mother tells you.
The second message.
Your father isn't the person you've always thought he was.
And now the stranger had said:
The person you're looking for isn't Bima.
Three warnings.
Three directions.
Yet they all led to one thing.
Someone was deliberately controlling his search.
The next morning, Arga called his mother.
Sari answered after several rings.
“Arga?”
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
“I found Dad's letter.”
Sari didn't answer.
“Dad left a letter for you.”
Silence.
“Mom, who is Adrian?”
On the other end of the phone, Sari's breathing changed.
Arga noticed immediately.
“You know him?”
“Where did you hear that name?”
“From Dad's letter.”
Sari was silent for a long time.
Then she said,
“Come home.”
“Answer me first.”
“Arga, come home.”
“Who is Adrian?”
Sari's voice began to tremble.
“Don't look for him.”
“Why?”
“Because he's not someone you should meet.”
“Is he the one who made Dad leave?”
Sari didn't answer.
“Mom.”
“I can't talk over the phone.”
“Then we'll talk when I get home.”
Sari drew a breath.
“Arga…”
“Yes?”
“Don't believe anyone who tells you that your father left you because he didn't love you.”
Arga closed his eyes.
“Then why did he leave?”
Sari began to cry.
“Because he was afraid.”
“Afraid of whom?”
Sari didn't answer.
The call suddenly disconnected.
Arga stared at the screen.
He tried calling back.
The number was unavailable.
His heart began to pound.
He grabbed his jacket.
Raka, who had just come out of his room, saw him.
“We going home?”
Arga shook his head.
“No.”
“Then what?”
Arga put Bima's letter in his bag.
“We're looking for Adrian.”
Raka stared at him.
“Where?”
Arga looked at the name in his notebook.
There was no address.
No clue.
Just a name.
But beneath the name ADRIAN, Arga suddenly saw something he hadn't noticed before.
There was tiny writing in the corner of the paper.
It looked like a code.
W-09.
Arga stared at it.
Raka leaned closer.
“What is that?”
“I don't know.”
They looked at each other.
Then Arga remembered something Pak Harun had said.
Bima left behind something that should never have been found.
Maybe this wasn't a coincidence.
Maybe every clue had been arranged.
And maybe someone had been waiting for Arga to come for twenty-nine years.
Arga closed the notebook.
“We'll find out what W-09 means.”
Raka nodded.
But before they left the room, Arga's phone chimed.
One new message.
From the same number.
You've found Adrian's name.
A second message came in.
Now it's time for you to learn who really took you away from Kalendra.
Arga stared at the screen.
His heart seemed to stop.
Because that sentence meant one thing.
Bima wasn't the only person who had secrets about the day Arga was born.
And perhaps, for twenty-nine years, Arga had never truly known how his life began.
MORAL
“Some truths are deliberately left behind in tiny fragments, so we never realize who is actually putting the entire puzzle together.”