Rain had been falling since late afternoon.
Not the kind of downpour that made the roof tremble or turned the streets into little rivers, but a light rain that fell slowly, as if the sky were trying to say something without wanting to be heard too loudly.
Raka Mahendra sat alone on the floor of his room.
In front of him stood a wooden table crowded with various things: a notebook, an old camera, several sheets of paper, a water bottle, and a laptop still displaying a video of someone mountaineering.
Raka stared at the screen for a long time.
In the video, someone stood on a mountaintop beneath an orange sky. The wind blew hard. The clouds appeared far below.
Raka sighed.
“One day…”
He paused the video.
He had said those words far too many times by now.
One day.
He would climb a mountain.
One day, he would go to places he had never visited.
One day, he would make a travel documentary.
One day, people would know his name because of the stories he brought home from different places.
The problem was, “one day” always sounded like a day that would never come.
Raka turned toward the window.
Outside, the narrow lane in front of the house was beginning to empty. A few people jogged along, covering their heads with bags or jackets. Streetlights flickered on one by one.
He stood up.
“Better than sitting around…”
Raka walked toward the old cabinet in the corner of the room.
The cabinet hadn’t been used in a long time. Some of its doors were even difficult to open because the wood had swollen with age.
Raka pulled the handle.
It didn’t move.
He pulled harder.
“Come on…”
CRASH!
The cabinet door finally flew open too hard.
Several objects fell from the top.
A cardboard box.
Raka hurriedly caught it before it hit the floor.
He stared at the box.
There was no writing on it.
No name.
Only a thick layer of dust.
Raka frowned.
“Who does this belong to?”
He sat back down on the floor and opened the box.
Inside were several old things.
A compass.
A small notebook.
A black-and-white photograph.
And a map.
Raka picked up the map.
The paper had yellowed.
Some parts had even been folded over and over.
He unfolded it slowly.
The map turned out to depict a fairly large island region.
There were lots of lines.
An X mark.
Circles.
Handwriting that was almost impossible to read in places.
Raka brought the map closer to the desk lamp.
His eyes stopped on a small note in the corner.
“Don’t be afraid of getting lost. Sometimes the best roads aren’t on the map.”
Raka fell silent.
He recognized the handwriting.
His father’s.
Raka’s father had traveled often before finally choosing to settle down and live an ordinary life.
Raka hadn’t heard many stories about his father’s younger days.
Whenever he asked, the answer was almost always the same.
“When you’re old enough.”
Raka smiled faintly.
“I guess I’m old enough now.”
He turned the map over.
On the back was a list of places.
There weren’t many.
Only seven names.
Several had already been checked off.
The rest were blank.
Raka read them one by one.
A small village.
A mountain.
A beach.
An island.
A forest.
And one place he had never heard of before.
Bukit Arunika.
Raka picked up his phone.
He searched the name.
There weren’t many results.
That only made him more curious.
“Why isn’t this place famous?”
He zoomed in on the screen.
There was an old article that called Bukit Arunika one of the best places in the region to watch the sunrise.
The article had been written years ago.
Raka looked at the map.
Then at his phone screen.
Then back at the map.
His heart began to beat faster.
An idea came to him.
Not a small idea.
Not one he could forget after going to sleep.
An idea that felt like a door.
If he kept waiting for the right time, he might never leave.
If he kept saying “one day,” then one day might never come.
Raka stood up.
He picked up his notebook.
On the first page, he wrote:
FIRST JOURNEY.
Beneath it:
Destination: Bukit Arunika.
Then he stopped.
“Alone?”
The question made him hesitate.
Raka wasn’t completely afraid of being alone.
But taking a long journey alone wasn’t something he had ever done.
He needed someone.
Someone he could discuss things with.
Someone brave enough to tell him when his ideas were stupid.
Someone who wouldn’t give up right away when things got difficult.
Then one name appeared in his mind.
Naya.
Raka immediately picked up his phone.
He opened his contacts.
Found Naya Prameswari’s name.
He typed a message.
Raka: Nay.
A few seconds passed.
No reply.
Raka typed again.
Raka: You busy?
No reply.
Raka waited.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen minutes.
Finally, his phone vibrated.
Naya: What?
Raka smiled.
Raka: I have an idea.
The reply came quickly.
Naya: If it’s another weird business scheme you want me to join, no.
Raka chuckled.
Raka: It’s not.
Naya: Then what?
Raka stared at the map in his hand.
He typed slowly.
Raka: I’m leaving.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Naya: Where?
Raka sent a photo of the map.
A few seconds later, his phone rang.
Naya was calling.
Raka answered.
“You’re serious?” Naya’s voice came through the phone.
“Seriously.”
“To Bukit Arunika?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Raka was silent for a moment.
He watched the rain outside the window.
“Because if I don’t leave now, I’m afraid that five years from now I’ll still be sitting in this same room, saying, ‘One day, I’ll leave.’”
Naya didn’t answer right away.
The sound of rain filled the pause in their conversation.
Then Naya spoke quietly.
“You know a journey like that isn’t easy, right?”
“I know.”
“Money?”
“A little.”
“Lodging?”
“Haven’t looked yet.”
“Transportation?”
“Not yet.”
“Plan?”
Raka fell silent.
“Not yet.”
Naya laughed.
“So basically, you don’t have anything yet.”
Raka laughed too.
“But I have a map.”
“Raka…”
“Hmm?”
“You do know the map isn’t going to walk itself, right?”
Raka smiled.
“That’s why I called you.”
Silence.
Then Naya let out a sigh.
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow what?”
“Let’s meet.”
“So?”
“We’ll talk.”
Raka held back a smile.
“So you’re coming?”
“Not necessarily.”
“Aw, come on.”
“But if the plan makes sense…”
“Then?”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Raka laughed.
“Okay.”
The call ended.
Raka sat back down on the floor.
He looked at the map one more time.
For the first time in a long while, “one day” felt like it had a date.
Tomorrow.
Maybe the journey would fail.
Maybe they would run out of money.
Maybe they would get lost.
Maybe they would return home early.
Maybe nothing significant would happen at all.
But Raka finally understood one thing.
Not every dream had to begin with great courage.
Sometimes, a dream only needed one small decision.
Getting up from where you were sitting.
Taking a step.
And saying:
“I’ll try.”
Raka carefully folded the map.
He slipped it into the notebook.
Then he turned off the bedroom light.
But before going to sleep, he turned the light back on and wrote one last sentence.
“The first journey begins tomorrow.”
Outside, the rain was still falling.
But inside that little room, a dream that had lived only in his head for years had finally begun to move.
And Raka didn’t yet know that the journey to Bukit Arunika would be more than a journey to a place.
It would bring him face-to-face with people who would change the way he saw life.
It would make him fall.
It would disappoint him.
It would make him laugh.
It would make him question his own dream.
And in the end, the journey would teach him that sometimes people don’t leave to find a new place.
They leave to find the version of themselves that has been hidden all along.
That night, Raka slept with the map beside him.
The next morning, everything would begin.