Three years earlier.
Arga first saw Lina crouched beneath a table.
Not exactly the best way to remember someone.
He was trying to connect an extension cord to an outlet that was too far from the booth when a pair of white shoes stopped right in front of him.
“If you get electrocuted, I don’t want to be a witness.”
Arga looked up.
A woman stood there holding a roll of duct tape and a utility knife.
Her hair was tied up carelessly. A pencil was tucked behind one ear. Her oversized black T-shirt had white paint stains all over the sleeves, already dried.
Arga looked back at the cable.
“If I get electrocuted, unplug it.”
“What if I get electrocuted too?”
“Then we both die.”
The woman frowned.
“We just met and you’re already asking me to die with you.”
Arga paused.
“Pretty romantic, huh?”
“No.”
She handed him the roll of duct tape.
“They’ve been looking for this.”
Arga took it.
“Thanks.”
The woman simply walked away.
Arga hadn’t even had time to ask her name.
The event was held in a hotel ballroom in South Jakarta.
A technology brand was launching a new product, and the company Arga worked for had been assigned part of the event operations.
For the past three days, Arga’s life had consisted of cables, the run sheet, revisions, vendors, people calling things “urgent” when they had actually been overdue since last week, and coffee that tasted less and less like anything at all.
That day was supposed to be the last day of preparations.
Supposed to be.
At seven that evening, half the booth still wasn’t finished.
“The right side of the stage needs more lights.”
“Do we have a spare HDMI cable?”
“Where’s the new version of the backdrop?”
“Sir, why is this registration desk a different size?”
Arga stood in the middle of the ballroom, holding a walkie-talkie and looking around with the expression of someone considering a career change.
Dimas arrived carrying two paper cups of coffee.
“Drink.”
Arga took one.
“Poison?”
“If it is, I’ll drink it first.”
“Good.”
Dimas took a sip of his coffee.
“The new design vendor’s pretty decent.”
“Which one?”
“The two women.”
Arga looked toward the booth on the left.
Three people were sticking something to the wall.
One of them was the woman from earlier.
“The one in the black shirt?”
Dimas immediately turned to Arga.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why ‘oh’?”
Dimas grinned.
“I’m just glad your eyes still work.”
Arga lightly punched his shoulder.
“Smart-ass.”
“What’s her name?”
“Don’t know.”
“You haven’t introduced yourself?”
“Why would I?”
Dimas stared at him.
“Yeah, why would you?”
The way he said it made Arga not want to continue.
“Get back to work.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Dimas walked away, laughing to himself.
Arga went back to checking the run sheet.
Five minutes later, his walkie-talkie crackled.
“Ga, the left booth lost power.”
Arga closed his eyes for a moment.
Of course.
The woman in the black shirt was sitting on the floor when Arga arrived.
In front of her was a large acrylic sign with lettering that hadn’t lit up.
“I heard the power went out.”
The woman turned.
“Oh. Electrocuted guy.”
“Not electrocuted yet.”
“Still time.”
Arga crouched beside the cables.
“When did it go out?”
“Just now.”
“Did someone unplug it?”
“Don’t know.”
Arga traced the cable until he found a loose connection behind the table.
He plugged it back in.
The sign lit up.
The woman looked up.
“Wow.”
Arga stood.
“Magic.”
“That’s seriously impressive.”
“Give me five stars later.”
“Google review?”
“LinkedIn endorsement.”
The woman gave a quiet laugh.
For the first time, Arga looked at her face for more than a moment.
There was nothing that immediately made him stop breathing.
No background music.
No strange feeling.
She just looked tired.
There was a smear of blue ink along the side of her palm.
And for some reason, Arga noticed it.
“Hey,” he said before leaving.
The woman looked up.
“What’s your name?”
She told him her name.
The ballroom was too loud.
Someone pulled a trolley behind them right as she spoke.
Arga only caught the ending.
“...na.”
“Liana?”
The woman looked at him for a moment.
Then she nodded.
“Yeah.”
Arga held out his hand.
“Arga.”
“I know.”
Arga pulled his hand back.
“How?”
“Everyone’s been calling you that all day.”
“Oh.”
“Plus your name tag.”
She pointed at Arga’s chest.
Arga looked down.
There was a large name tag with his own name on it.
“Right.”
“Tired?”
“A little.”
“It shows.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
The woman went back to work.
Arga left without realizing he had misheard one letter.
And that the woman had deliberately let him.
The event started at nine in the morning.
Arga arrived at six.
When he entered the ballroom, the woman was already there.
This time she was wearing a white shirt and black pants, with her hair hanging loose.
She stood in front of the backdrop holding a cup of coffee.
Arga walked behind her.
“Morning, Liana.”
The woman turned.
“Morning.”
“What time did you get here?”
“Five-thirty.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for trouble.”
Arga let out a short laugh.
“Want coffee?”
She raised the cup in her hand.
“What is that?”
“That’s not coffee.”
The woman looked at the label on the cup.
“Americano.”
“Hotel Americano.”
“Why?”
Arga pointed at his cup.
“Tastes like water from rinsing out a machine.”
The woman took another sip.
Her face immediately changed.
“Yeah, kind of.”
“See?”
“Is there one nearby?”
“There’s a coffee shop in the next lobby.”
“Far?”
“A hundred meters.”
The woman looked at the backdrop.
Then at her coffee cup.
Then at Arga.
“Get me one.”
“Why me?”
“You’re the one promoting it.”
Arga opened his mouth to refuse.
But she was already reaching into her bag.
“Here.”
She handed him some money.
Arga stared at it.
“Seriously?”
“Iced latte. Not too sweet.”
“I’m not GoFood.”
“GoFood wouldn’t complain.”
She smiled.
Arga took the money.
“Not enough.”
“For what?”
“Delivery fee.”
The woman pointed toward the door.
“Go.”
Arga walked away, smiling to himself.
He came back carrying two cups.
One americano for himself.
One iced latte for the woman.
The woman took her cup and looked at the label.
“Less sugar?”
“You said not too sweet.”
“Hmm.”
She took a sip.
“Good?”
“Decent.”
Arga raised an eyebrow.
“Where’s my thank-you?”
“Thanks.”
“That sounded so forced.”
“Do you need validation?”
“After walking a hundred meters? Yeah.”
The woman smiled.
“I’ll buy you coffee next time.”
Arga took a sip of his coffee.
“Next time?”
“Yeah, if we run into each other again.”
It was an ordinary sentence.
But for some reason, Arga remembered it several hours later.
The event went more chaotically than expected.
One of the speakers was late.
The mic cut out for a while.
The main video refused to play for two minutes that felt like two hours.
Dimas nearly got into a fight with the sound vendor.
Arga ate lunch standing up at four in the afternoon.
When the event finally ended and the last guests left, the ballroom looked like a war zone.
Cables everywhere.
Boxes.
Water bottles.
Brochures scattered across the floor.
Arga dropped into a chair near backstage.
Dimas sat beside him.
“We’re alive.”
“Unfortunately.”
“We’re off tomorrow.”
Arga closed his eyes.
“I’m going to sleep for two days.”
“You’re working tomorrow.”
Arga opened his eyes again.
“What?”
Dimas laughed.
“Kidding.”
“Asshole.”
Dimas stood.
“I’m heading out. The vendor crew’s still cleaning up.”
Arga nodded.
He was still sitting there when someone tapped his shoulder with a rolled-up sheet of paper.
“Not going home yet?”
Arga opened his eyes.
The woman.
“Liana.”
She stood beside the chair with a tote bag over her shoulder.
“Yeah.”
“Are you done?”
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations.”
“You?”
Arga looked around.
“Still waiting for the technical crew to tear everything down.”
The woman nodded.
“Poor you.”
“Thank you for your sympathy.”
“You’re welcome.”
She walked two steps.
Then stopped.
“Oh.”
Arga turned.
The woman pointed at the empty cup on the table.
“You said I’d buy you coffee next time.”
Arga looked at the cup.
“And?”
“I haven’t paid you back.”
Arga suddenly remembered.
The money she’d given him was still tucked in his pocket because the coffee shop had accepted QR payment, and Arga had been too busy to return it.
He reached into his pocket.
“Here.”
The woman didn’t take it.
“It’s fine.”
“What?”
“You said I’d buy you coffee next time.”
“This is your money.”
“Then I’m buying it now.”
Arga stared at the money in his hand.
“What kind of logic is that?”
“The important thing is that we’re even.”
The woman started walking again.
Arga called out, “Liana.”
She turned.
“We’re not going to see each other again tomorrow.”
“So?”
“How am I supposed to let you buy me coffee next time?”
The woman was quiet for a moment.
Then she pulled out her phone.
“Then let’s exchange Instagram accounts.”
Arga almost laughed.
“Why Instagram?”
“What, bank account numbers?”
“WhatsApp works.”
“We just met.”
“But we’ve already asked each other to die together.”
She pointed at Arga.
“That was you.”
“Fair.”
They exchanged accounts.
Arga read her username for a moment.
He didn’t notice the name on her profile.
That night, he was too tired to realize it.
At twelve past one in the morning, Arga finally got home.
He showered.
Ate the leftover fried rice from the fridge.
Then he lay down and opened his phone.
There were several notifications.
Dimas had sent him a meme about the event.
The office group chat was still going.
An Instagram notification popped up.
Liana followed you.
Arga opened her profile.
There weren’t many photos.
A few designs.
Coffee.
The sky.
Cats.
One photo of an empty bus stop in the rain.
Arga scrolled slowly.
Then stopped at her bio.
Lina.
Not Liana.
Arga read it again.
Lina.
He sat up a little.
Opened their Instagram chat.
Typed:
Your name is Lina?
He didn’t send it.
He deleted it.
Typed again:
Why did you say Liana earlier?
Delete.
In the end, Arga simply closed Instagram.
Maybe it was her nickname.
Maybe he’d read it wrong.
Maybe it was too late at night.
He put his phone beside the pillow.
Five seconds later, he picked it up again.
Arga opened the profile once more.
Still Lina.
He tapped the message button.
Hi.
He stopped.
Too stiff.
Arga deleted it.
Thanks for the coffee.
Delete.
Finally, he typed:
What time does the coffee shop open tomorrow?
He looked at the message.
Idiot.
But it was already sent.
It was marked seen less than a minute later.
The reply came.
Why? Want to walk another hundred meters?
Arga smiled.
If someone asks me to.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
This time, the reply was:
Don’t act so nice. Just say the coffee was good.
Arga typed:
Decent.
The reply came quickly.
Where’s my thank-you?
Arga let out a quiet laugh.
He realized she was throwing his words from that morning back at him.
Thank you.
So forced.
Arga paused.
His smile hadn’t faded.
He typed:
Liana.
The three dots appeared again.
This time, they stayed for a while.
Finally, one message came through.
Yes, Arga?
Arga stared at the screen.
Then looked at her profile name again.
Lina.
He almost asked.
Almost.
But exhaustion won.
Tomorrow, he thought.
He locked his phone.
Not knowing that “tomorrow” would turn into two days.
And during those two days, Lina would let him keep calling her by the wrong name.
They didn’t see each other the next day.
But they kept talking.
At first, it was just replies to each other’s stories.
Lina uploaded a photo of her desk with the caption:
life after the event.
Arga replied:
so you’re still alive.
Lina:
Unfortunately.
Arga:
Same.
Then the conversation wandered everywhere.
Work.
Food.
Why three-in-one instant coffee should be illegal.
Why Arga didn’t like pickles.
Why Lina hated people who called without texting first.
They didn’t talk all day.
Sometimes there was an hour between messages.
Sometimes three hours.
But somehow, there was always another message after that.
At nine that night, Lina asked:
Do you go home late every day?
Arga was sitting at a food stall near the office.
Depends.
Today?
About to eat.
At this hour?
Yeah.
What are you eating?
Arga sent a photo of fried rice.
Lina replied:
That’s so sad.
It’s good.
It looks greasy.
That’s where happiness comes from.
Lina sent a vomiting emoji.
Arga replied with a photo of his nearly empty plate.
A few minutes later, Lina wrote:
I have a meeting near your office tomorrow.
Arga read the message twice.
Oh yeah?
Yeah.
What time?
Eleven.
Arga typed several versions of a reply.
Finally:
The coffee shop from yesterday opens at seven.
The reply came.
I didn’t ask.
But thirty seconds later, another message arrived.
Twelve?
Arga smiled.
Sure.
The next day, five minutes before noon, Arga was already sitting in the coffee shop.
He had arrived fifteen minutes early.
There was no particular reason.
His morning meeting had ended early.
At least, that was what he told himself.
At three minutes past twelve, Lina walked in.
A light blue shirt.
Cream-colored pants.
A laptop bag over her shoulder.
She looked around until she found Arga.
“You’ve been here long?”
“Just got here.”
Lina looked at the glass in front of Arga.
Half the ice was gone.
“Just got here?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Liar.”
Arga pointed at the chair.
“Sit down before you slander me.”
Lina sat.
“What did you order?”
“Iced latte.”
“Not too sweet.”
Arga looked at her.
“How do you remember that?”
“Work.”
“Your work is remembering people’s coffee orders?”
“Today it is.”
Lina smiled faintly.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
It was strange.
Talking over chat felt easy.
In person, Arga suddenly had no idea where to start.
Lina looked around.
“Did you have a meeting today?”
“No.”
“Then why’d you leave the office?”
“Lunch break.”
“Oh.”
“You?”
“My meeting ended early.”
“Oh.”
Lina looked at him.
“Why do we sound like two strangers?”
Arga laughed.
“See? You feel it too.”
“Even though you were such a smart-ass last night.”
“That was you.”
“You too.”
The barista called out the order.
Arga stood.
“I’ll get it.”
He returned with an iced latte.
Lina took it.
“Thanks.”
“Finally.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Lina took a sip.
Arga watched her.
“Good?”
“Decent.”
Arga laughed.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Lina laughed too.
The small tension from earlier disappeared.
After that, the conversation flowed again.
They talked about the event the day before.
About the client who had changed the design color five times.
About Dimas nearly getting into a fight with the soundman.
About Arga’s office.
About the studio where Lina freelanced.
Arga only then learned that Lina didn’t always work freelance.
She had a full-time job at a small agency, but often took on extra projects because she felt her salary didn’t match the number of revisions they demanded.
“Why are you still there?”
“Too lazy to move.”
“Good reason.”
“I’m a loyal person.”
“Or scared.”
Lina stopped stirring her drink.
Arga immediately realized he might have gone too far.
But Lina only shrugged.
“A little.”
“Scared of what?”
“Don’t know.”
“Do you say ‘don’t know’ a lot?”
“When the question’s annoying.”
Arga smiled.
Lina checked the time.
“I have to get back.”
“One o’clock?”
“Yeah.”
Arga nodded.
Lina gathered her bag.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?”
“Are you going to another event tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Arga didn’t know why there was a hint of disappointment in that one syllable.
He stood.
“Want me to walk you out?”
“No need.”
“Is it close?”
“Ten minutes by motorcycle taxi.”
“Okay.”
They left the coffee shop together.
Outside the door, Lina opened her transportation app.
Arga stood beside her.
The motorcycle arrived two minutes later.
Lina put on her helmet.
Before getting on, she said, “Thanks for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome, Liana.”
Lina’s hand, which had been adjusting her helmet, stopped.
She looked at Arga.
A smile slowly appeared.
“What?”
Arga frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Lina climbed onto the motorcycle.
“Bye, Arga.”
“Bye.”
The motorcycle pulled away.
Arga headed back to the office.
He had only walked a few steps when his phone vibrated.
A message from Lina.
BTW.
Arga opened it.
My name is Lina.
Arga stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.
A second message came in.
Not Liana.
Then a third.
I just wanted to see how long you’d keep getting it wrong.
Arga stared at the screen.
Two seconds.
Five seconds.
Then he typed:
You let me do that for two days?
Lina replied quickly.
Yep.
Why?
It was funny.
Arga:
Not funny.
Lina:
Kind of.
Arga:
I’m embarrassed.
Lina:
Good.
Arga stood in front of his office building, trying not to smile.
He typed one more message.
Okay, Lina.
This time, the name felt different.
Not because he had just learned how to say it.
But because now he had a reason to remember it.
And without Arga realizing it, that was the beginning of all the things they would eventually memorize about each other.
Coffee orders.
Foods they didn’t like.
The ways they lied.
The ways they got angry.
The ways they fell silent.
Until, years later, they would know almost everything about each other.
Almost.
Because there were some things they still hadn’t truly dared to ask, even after three years.