Nara woke up twice before the alarm went off.
The first time was because the sound of a motorcycle stopping too close to the window. The second was because she dreamed she was standing in front of a store but couldn't find the door. When she woke up for the second time, the sky outside was still gray, and her phone screen showed 5:12.
Raka's message was still at the very top.
Can I see you tomorrow?
Nara had already answered him yesterday. Today, she had to go to the food stall near the boarding house at four in the afternoon.
She turned off the screen, then lay back down.
The meeting hadn't happened yet, but her body was already acting as if she had to face something dangerous. Her stomach felt empty. Her hands were cold. Several times, she imagined Raka sitting across from her, and several more times, she imagined herself standing up and leaving before he had the chance to say anything.
At six, the landlady knocked on her door.
“Nara?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Are you up?”
“I am.”
“If you are, help me carry the water jug later.”
Nara sat up. “Now?”
“If not now, I’ll forget later.”
She opened the door. The landlady stood in the hallway holding a grocery bag. Her hair hadn't been properly combed yet. Beside her foot was an empty water jug waiting to be moved.
Nara picked it up without asking.
“It’s heavy,” the landlady said.
“I can still carry it.”
“Tell me if you can’t.”
Nara nodded.
They walked to the shared kitchenette together. Once the jug was filled and placed on top of the dispenser, the landlady took a packet of nasi uduk out of the grocery bag.
“This is for you.”
“I can buy my own.”
“Good. Then you can eat this one now.”
Nara looked at the packet. It contained half a piece of balado egg, rice vermicelli, and a little sambal separated in a small plastic bag.
“Don’t be embarrassed to accept food,” the landlady said as she opened a cabinet. “Be embarrassed if you take someone else’s things without permission.”
Nara didn't answer. She carried the nasi uduk to her room and ate it on the edge of her bed. The sambal was too spicy. She finished it anyway.
After showering, Nara opened the box from the store. Raka's blue lunch box was on top. She washed it in the shared bathroom, scrubbing the lid with soap until the indistinct old smell disappeared.
There was a small semicircular scratch on the bottom of the lunch box.
Raka had once dropped it from his motorcycle, then laughed for nearly five minutes because the rice he'd been carrying spilled all over the road. Nara had laughed with him then, even though she was actually late for work.
She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed without wondering whether the sound was bothering someone else.
Her phone buzzed.
Raka: So we're still on for later?
Nara set the lunch box on the table.
She typed: We are.
Then deleted it.
She typed: If you're not busy.
Deleted it again.
In the end, she sent: We are.
Raka's reply came a few minutes later.
Raka: Four o'clock. The food stall you sent me.
Nara slipped her phone into her pocket.
That day, she tried looking for work. She opened her laptop, updated her work experience, and uploaded a photo of her somewhat blurry ID card. For one job opening, the salary field read, “To be discussed during the interview.” Nara stared at the sentence for quite a while before closing the page.
She sent one application.
Then another.
After that, she stopped counting.
As noon approached, she went out to buy cat food. The striped cat was waiting behind the minimart, hiding under a concrete bench. When it saw Nara, it immediately stood up, but didn't come closer right away.
“You don't have to pretend you weren't waiting,” Nara said.
The cat gave a short meow.
Nara poured the food onto a plastic container lid. The cat ate faster than it had yesterday. Every so often, it lifted its head to make sure Nara was still there.
Nara watched its spine showing beneath its fur.
“If I have extra money later, I'll buy you a food bowl,” she said.
She stopped.
“If I have extra money later.”
The sentence sounded like a plan. For the first time, she didn't immediately dismiss it as ridiculous.
At 3:20, Nara returned to the boarding house to change. She chose the blue shirt she'd ironed the week before, even though the collar had faded a little. She combed her hair, then stood in front of the small mirror behind the door.
Her face looked the same as usual.
Maybe only her eyes had become harder to fool.
She almost put on a little powder, then decided against it. Raka wasn't coming to see her look like she was doing fine.
The thought annoyed her. She took her bag, locked her room, and walked to the food stall.
The food stall wasn't far. It was only seven minutes from the boarding house, past a photocopy shop and a small field where some of the grass had already turned into dirt. Nara arrived at 3:52.
Raka wasn't there yet.
She chose a table in the corner, near a fan turning slowly. The food stall was nearly empty. A man was reading a newspaper near the register, while the owner arranged fried snacks behind the glass.
“Sweetie, want to order?”
“Just some water for now, ma’am.”
“What about food?”
“Later.”
The owner brought her a glass of water. Nara held it with both hands, even though the glass wasn't hot.
4:03.
4:07.
At 4:11, a motorcycle stopped in front of the food stall.
Raka got off with a black helmet in his hand. His hair was shorter than Nara remembered. He wore a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His face looked thinner, but the way he walked was still the same—slightly hurried, as if he always felt he was arriving late to something.
He saw Nara and stopped.
For several seconds, they only looked at each other.
Then Raka raised one hand in a small wave.
“Hi.”
Nara nodded. “Hi.”
Raka sat across from her. He placed his helmet on the floor and pulled out the chair carefully so it wouldn't make a loud noise.
“You've been here long?”
“No.”
“You still like saying that?”
Nara looked at him.
Raka smiled faintly. “Back then, whenever I was late, you always said it was fine. Even though you'd already been waiting for half an hour.”
“I don't remember.”
“I do.”
The owner came over with a menu. Raka ordered unsweetened tea and fried rice. Nara still hadn't ordered anything.
“Eat,” Raka said.
“I already ate.”
“What time?”
Nara fell silent.
Raka didn't press her. He only turned to the owner. “Ma’am, one more fried rice. Not spicy.”
“I didn't say I wanted to eat.”
“I didn't say you were the one ordering it.”
Nara wanted to get angry, but exhaustion left the anger without enough strength.
They sat in silence until the food arrived. Raka stirred his fried rice. Nara looked at the plate in front of her without touching it.
“I heard about the store from Dimas,” Raka said.
“Dimas?”
“The friend who still works there.”
“What did he say?”
“He said you left carrying a big box.”
“What was inside wasn't big.”
“I didn't say what was inside.”
Nara lowered her head. The tip of her spoon touched the plate, making a small sound.
Raka drew a breath. “I should've contacted you sooner.”
“You didn't have to.”
“I knew you'd say that.”
“Because you didn't.”
Raka looked at her. “Are you angry?”
The question made Nara raise her head.
She'd prepared so many answers over the past eight months, but not one of them sounded right when he finally asked.
“I don't know,” she said.
Raka nodded slowly.
“I don't know where to start either,” Nara continued. “You disappeared. I didn't chase after you. After that, we both stayed silent.”
“I was waiting for you to contact me.”
“I was waiting for you to apologize.”
The words came out before Nara could stop them.
The sound of the fan grew clearer.
Raka stared at the table. “I'm sorry.”
Nara didn't feel any more relieved.
“For what?”
“For back then.”
“When you just left?”
“When I said you had to stop depending on other people.”
Nara gripped her spoon.
She remembered that night. She'd called Raka at two in the morning because she didn't know where to go. Her mother hadn't answered the phone. The landlady didn't know her yet. Nara had only wanted to hear someone's voice. Raka had come, taken her home, then said those words in a voice that was too tired.
You have to stop depending on other people, Nar.
The next day, Raka didn't reply to her message.
Nara never sent another one.
“I did depend on you,” Nara said. “But I wasn't asking you to fix anything that night.”
“I know that now.”
“You didn't know then?”
“Back then, I thought if I made you stronger, you wouldn't get hurt again.”
Nara looked at the fried rice in front of her. The steam had already faded.
“I didn't become stronger,” she said.
“I know.”
“I just got better at not asking for help.”
Raka lowered his head. His hand stopped above his glass of tea.
Nara scooped up a little rice. It tasted ordinary. Not bad, not special. She swallowed slowly.
Raka didn't smile at the sight of her eating. He only took hold of his glass again.
“I didn't come here to make you go back to the way you were,” he said.
“I don't want to go back to the way I was either.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?”
“Because back then, you always said you were fine, and I always pretended to believe you.”
Nara looked at him. There was an exhaustion on Raka's face she'd never seen through his text messages.
“And now?” she asked.
“Now I can ask again.”
Nara stirred her fried rice.
“What if I say I'm not fine?”
“Then we'll sit for a while.”
“And after that?”
“If you want, we'll eat.”
“What if I don't?”
“We'll still sit.”
The answer was too simple. Because of that, Nara believed it a little.
They didn't talk about the past again. Raka told her he now worked at a print shop, often came home late, and still couldn't remember customers who ordered too many revisions. Nara listened. She answered now and then. Her plate of fried rice was empty before she realized it.
When they were finished, Raka took something out of his bag.
A small plastic bag.
“What is it?” Nara asked.
“Medicine.”
“I'm not sick.”
“It's not for you.”
Raka handed her the bag. Inside were ointment, cotton balls, and a small bottle of cleaning solution.
“For the cat?”
“Dimas said you feed a cat behind the minimart.”
Nara looked at what was inside the bag.
“I never said the cat would let me touch it.”
“It doesn't have to be touched. If it has a wound, you can leave it near where it eats.”
Nara held the bag carefully.
“You still remember that I don't like holding cats?”
“I remember a lot of things.”
The words left Nara unsure where to look.
Outside the food stall, the sky was beginning to darken. The streetlights came on one by one. The owner turned on a small television, and the news anchor's voice filled the empty space between them.
Raka took out his wallet.
“I'll pay for mine,” Nara said.
“I know.”
“I still have money.”
“I know.”
“Don't treat me like I can't afford it.”
Raka looked at her. “I don't think you can't afford it. I'm just paying for my own food.”
Nara fell silent.
Raka added, “I ordered your fried rice, but you were the one who finished it.”
For the first time that day, Nara laughed. It was very brief, almost like a cough. But Raka didn't act as if he'd won. He only picked up his helmet.
They walked outside together.
In front of the food stall, Raka stood beside his motorcycle.
“Want me to take you home?”
“No need. It's close.”
“All right.”
He didn't insist. It felt unfamiliar to Nara, but not unpleasantly so.
Raka put on his helmet. Before pulling it over his head, he said, “I'll text you tomorrow.”
Nara held the bag of medicine for the cat.
“You don't have to text every day.”
“I know.”
“What if I don't reply?”
“I'll wait.”
“Don't wait too long.”
Raka smiled faintly. “I'll learn.”
The motorcycle left after a few seconds. Nara stood in front of the food stall until its taillight disappeared around the corner.
She didn't feel healed. She didn't feel relieved. Even parts of the conversation still ached, like a wound that had just been cleaned.
But that night, as she walked home, she didn't try to convince herself that everything was fine.
She only thought about the fried rice she'd finished, the medicine for the cat, and someone who had said he would text tomorrow.
Behind the minimart, the striped cat appeared when Nara opened the packet of food.
Nara placed the food on a container lid, then set the small bag from Raka beside it.
“There are extras this time,” she said.
The cat came closer, sniffed the plastic bag, then started eating.
Nara sat on the sidewalk.
Her phone buzzed.
Raka: Did you make it home?
Nara read the message. She typed: I did.
After a while, she added:
Thanks for the food.
She almost sent it, then added one more sentence.
I'll still buy cat food tomorrow.
Raka's reply came quickly.
Raka: I know.
Nara watched the striped cat eat peacefully.
For the first time, accepting help didn't feel like losing control.
It only felt like carrying something too heavy home alone, then letting someone else hold one end of it.
Night had fully fallen by the time Nara returned to her room. She turned on the light, placed the blue lunch box on the table, then opened the note on her phone.
Yesterday's list was still there.
Buy cat food tomorrow. Go to the store tomorrow. Wake up tomorrow.
Nara added a new line.
Reply to Raka's message tomorrow.
She stared at the four sentences for quite a while.
Then she turned off the light.
Outside the window, motorcycles passed one by one. Somewhere in the distance, a cat meowed.
Nara closed her eyes.
Tomorrow might not be easier.
But now she knew someone would ask whether she'd made it home.