Raka was still staring at Faris's message.
About why he left me.
The sentence was short, but it managed to make breakfast feel like a courtroom trial.
His mother's voice came from the kitchen.
“Raka! Are you going to eat breakfast, or are you going to become an office worker who lives on coffee alone?”
“Just a second, Mom.”
“What does ‘a second’ mean in terms of time?”
“In philosophy, it's relative.”
“In this house, relative means five minutes. After that, the fried rice becomes your sibling's.”
Raka slipped his phone into his pocket.
He stood up.
Love problems were strange.
When he was advising someone else, everything seemed simple.
If someone still loved the past, give them time.
If a relationship was over, accept it.
If you wanted to start again, make sure your heart was ready.
If someone hadn't moved on from themselves, don't rush to find someone new.
Raka knew all of it by heart.
He'd even once held a small seminar about it.
The problem was that this morning, all that advice had turned around and started attacking him.
They met at a simple coffee shop that afternoon.
Faris arrived first.
Raka recognized him from a photo he'd seen on Nisa's phone a few months earlier—not because he'd deliberately snooped, but because Nisa had once shown him a photo from an old community event.
Faris looked calmer than Raka had imagined.
“Thanks for coming,” he said.
Raka sat down.
“I came because I was curious.”
“Good.”
“If I were scared, I usually wouldn't come.”
Faris gave him a faint smile.
“You can still joke around.”
“Reflex.”
“I hear you're a love adviser.”
Raka sighed.
“That's a title far too grand for someone who's never been married.”
Faris chuckled.
For a few seconds, the mood grew lighter.
Then Faris said,
“Nisa and I almost got married once.”
Raka fell silent.
He'd suspected as much.
But hearing it directly from Faris felt different.
“Almost?”
“Our families had already met.”
Raka nodded slowly.
“Then what happened?”
“She ended it.”
“Why?”
Faris stared at his coffee cup.
“Because back then, I thought loving someone meant making sure they followed the path I believed was right.”
Raka raised an eyebrow.
“And Nisa?”
“She didn't want that.”
“Fair enough.”
“I know that now.”
Faris drew a long breath.
“I wanted too badly to be the person who knew what was best for her.”
Raka fell silent.
Something about it felt familiar.
Not Faris.
Himself.
His tendency to give advice even when no one had asked for it.
“So you want her back?” Raka asked.
Faris shook his head.
“I did once.”
“What about now?”
“I want her to be happy.”
The answer made Raka uncomfortable.
Not because Faris sounded like a bad person.
Quite the opposite—he sounded sincere.
Faris looked at Raka.
“If you really like her, don't use me as a reason to back off.”
Raka fell silent.
“I don't know whether she likes me.”
“Don't ask me.”
“Why not?”
“Because the answer isn't mine to give.”
Faris stood up.
Before leaving, he said,
“Raka, there's something you need to know.”
“What?”
“Nisa didn't leave me because there was another guy.”
Raka looked at him.
“She left me because she wanted to save herself.”
Faris left.
Raka remained seated.
The coffee in front of him had gone cold.
That afternoon, Raka met Nisa at the library.
Nisa was arranging books with two little children.
“Don't mix the storybooks with the textbooks,” she said.
“Why?”
“If you mix them up, the kids might start thinking math is a horror story.”
One of the children laughed.
Raka stood in the doorway.
Nisa saw him.
“What happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look like you just lost your wallet.”
“I didn't lose my wallet.”
“Then you lost something more expensive.”
Raka smiled.
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Able to read people.”
“No. You're just too easy to read.”
Raka walked in.
The children immediately ran outside.
That left the two of them alone.
Raka sat on the floor.
“Nisa.”
“Yes?”
“I met Faris.”
Nisa stopped arranging the books.
“Why?”
“He contacted me.”
Nisa looked at him for a few seconds.
“What did he say?”
“He said you left him because you wanted to save yourself.”
Nisa lowered her head.
For the first time, Raka saw her composure slip.
“He shouldn't have told you that.”
“Why not?”
“That was our story.”
Raka nodded.
“I'm sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“For asking.”
Nisa gave him a faint smile.
“At least you know when to stop asking questions.”
“Rarely.”
“I know.”
They fell silent.
Raka looked at the bookshelves.
“Nisa.”
“Hmm?”
“If someone has failed in a relationship before, does that mean they'll fail again?”
Nisa thought about it.
“No.”
“What if someone is afraid of being loved?”
“Maybe they need to learn how to accept love.”
“What if someone feels like they're not good enough?”
Nisa looked at him.
“They need to stop measuring themselves by the success of their previous relationship.”
Raka lowered his head.
“What if someone jokes around too much?”
“They need to be honest once in a while.”
Raka sighed.
“Why do my questions always come back to me?”
“Because you're the one asking them.”
Raka laughed.
“Well, that's the most annoying answer I've heard all day.”
Nisa smiled.
But this time, Raka didn't rush to make the next joke.
He let the silence remain between them.
That night, the Bertasbih group chat grew lively again.
Fikri sent a message:
Community clean-up tomorrow. Don't forget to come.
Someone asked:
Are you providing food?
Fikri replied:
Yep.
The next question:
What's on the menu?
Fikri:
Rice.
Participant:
What's the side dish?
Fikri:
Good intentions.
Raka laughed as he read the conversation.
Then a private message came in.
From Nisa.
Are you coming tomorrow?
Raka typed:
If there's food.
Nisa:
There isn't.
Raka:
Then I'm coming because my soul is calling me.
Nisa:
Liar.
Raka:
Fine. I'm coming because of you.
He stared at the screen.
The sentence was too honest.
Raka was about to delete it.
But before he could, the message was sent.
A few seconds later, a reply appeared.
Don't joke around if you're not ready for the answer.
Raka swallowed.
He typed:
I'm learning not to joke around.
Nisa didn't reply.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Then:
Good.
One word.
But that night, Raka went to sleep with a smile that couldn't be explained by either psychology or statistics.
The community clean-up the next day went as usual: too many people giving instructions and too few people bringing supplies.
Fikri stood in the middle of the courtyard.
“Who brought a broom?”
Everyone looked at one another.
“A mop?”
Silence.
“A bucket?”
Even more silence.
Raka raised his hand.
“I brought good intentions.”
Fikri pointed at him.
“Get out.”
“This is a social activity.”
“Get out of the organizing committee.”
Nisa laughed.
Raka turned toward her.
He paused for a few seconds.
For some reason, seeing Nisa laugh at his joke made his chest feel warm.
Not because he'd succeeded in making someone laugh.
But because for the first time, he wanted to make someone happy without needing to be the center of attention.
As evening approached, they sat on the mosque steps.
Raka handed Nisa a bottle of water.
“Thanks.”
“You're welcome.”
Nisa looked out at the courtyard.
“You've changed.”
Raka immediately grew wary.
“For the worse?”
“No.”
“Worse than before?”
Nisa laughed.
“Not every change has to become the punchline of a joke.”
Raka smiled too.
“What changed?”
“You're quiet more often now.”
“I'm conserving words.”
“Why?”
“Because it turns out I don't need to comment on every problem.”
Nisa nodded.
Raka looked at his own hands.
“Nisa.”
“Yes?”
“I don't know if this is too soon.”
“What is?”
“I'm starting to like you.”
Nisa fell silent.
Raka felt like his heart had suddenly forgotten how to work.
“I'm not asking for an answer,” he said quickly. “I just want to be honest.”
Nisa remained silent.
Raka looked straight ahead.
“I don't know if I'm ready, either.”
“Good.”
Raka turned to her.
“Good?”
“That means you're not trying to sell me perfection.”
Raka smiled.
“I don't have any.”
“I know.”
They chuckled.
Then Nisa said,
“I don't know what I'm supposed to do, either.”
Raka nodded.
“That's okay.”
“Not disappointed?”
“A little.”
“Why?”
“Because I'm a guy. We sometimes have unreasonable expectations.”
Nisa smiled.
“But you're not going to pressure me?”
Raka shook his head.
“I've spent too long being a love adviser to other people.”
He looked up at the evening sky.
“Now I'm learning how to be an ordinary person.”
That night, Raka sat on the edge of his bed again.
His phone lay beside him.
No messages from Nisa.
No messages from Faris.
No messages from Fikri.
For the first time, he didn't feel the need to search for an answer.
He picked up a small notebook.
On a blank page, he wrote:
Being single doesn't mean failing to find someone.
Being married doesn't mean winning at the race of life.
And being loved isn't a reward for becoming a perfect human being.
He paused.
Then he wrote one more sentence.
Maybe I don't need to be good enough to be loved. I only need to be honest enough to be myself.
Raka closed the notebook.
His mother's voice came from outside the room.
“Raka!”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Don't forget to take me to the market tomorrow!”
Raka sighed.
“Why?”
“Because I need to buy groceries.”
“Why do I have to?”
“Because you're my son.”
Raka smiled.
“Okay.”
He turned off the light.
For the first time in a long while, he didn't pray to find his life partner soon.
He only prayed that when love came, he wouldn't greet it with fear anymore.
Because maybe love wasn't about finding someone who would make our lives perfect.
Maybe love was the courage to say:
“I’m not perfect. Neither are you. But if you want, we can learn together.”
And for a comedian who had always had an answer for other people's love problems, that was the hardest sentence he'd ever learned.