Twilight at Tahura Park
Every afternoon, when the sun began to sink slowly behind the trees of Tahura Park, Alea always came to the same place.
She sat on an old bench whose paint had long since peeled away. Parts of the wood were cracked, and one of its legs looked slightly crooked. The bench was far from special. But to Alea, it held too many stories.
From that bench, she could see someone who had quietly filled her heart.
His name was Raka.
Raka was not a perfect man. Alea did not truly know him, and she had no idea what his life was like outside the park. Yet every time she saw his smile, the world seemed a little more beautiful—as though an ordinary afternoon had suddenly found a reason to be remembered.
Alea had never dared to approach him. She had never dared to speak to him first, either.
She simply loved Raka from afar.
Almost every afternoon, Raka walked through the park. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes carrying a cup of coffee that gave off a bitter, warm aroma. Whenever the man appeared, Alea would open the book on her lap and pretend to read, even as her eyes secretly followed every step Raka took.
That was how Alea's days passed: simple, quiet, and secretly filled with hopes she would never admit were hopes.
Until one afternoon, she saw something that made her chest seem to forget how to breathe.
A woman approached Raka from the direction of the path. She smiled at him with easy familiarity, then took Raka's hand in a way far too natural to be called a coincidence.
“Honey, are we going home?”
Alea froze.
The smile she had admired all this time suddenly felt impossibly far away. Not because it had changed, but because Alea had only just realized that perhaps it had never been meant for her at all.
Raka nodded.
They walked side by side, leaving the park behind. Alea lowered her head, trying to hold back the heat burning behind her eyes.
A few minutes later, a little child came running from the direction of the gate.
“Dad!”
Raka stopped, then lifted the child into his arms.
That was when Alea understood everything.
Raka did not belong to just one person.
He already had a family.
Alea watched Raka's back as he grew farther and farther away. Her tears fell one by one, soaking the pages of the book she had not truly been reading all this time.
But she did not hate Raka.
Nor did she blame the woman who was his wife.
Feelings were not a mistake. But what someone did with those feelings was what determined whether they would hurt someone else.
That night, Alea returned to the same old bench. The park was empty. The streetlights glowed pale while the wind stirred the leaves overhead.
In a quiet voice, she said to herself,
“If this love is wrong simply because I love you, then let me bear it alone.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I won't interfere with your life. I only want to love you from afar.”
The words sounded like a promise. Yet deep in her heart, Alea knew she was saying goodbye to a hope that had never even had the chance to grow.
From that night on, the old bench in Tahura Park became the silent witness to a love that never got the chance to begin.
Chapter 2
Love That Chooses Silence
The days passed.
Alea continued to come to the park.
Not because she hoped Raka would leave his family. Nor because she wanted to take the man away from anyone.
She came because the park was the only place where she could keep her feelings without having to explain them to anyone. There, sadness did not need to be defended, and love did not have to have a purpose.
The old bench became the place where Alea spoke to herself.
“Raka... you never knew that someone was always praying for you from afar.”
Alea smiled bitterly.
“I hope you're happy. Even if that happiness isn't with me.”
One afternoon, Raka walked through the park again.
This time, he saw Alea.
Their eyes met.
Raka smiled.
Alea smiled back.
There was no greeting. No conversation. Only a brief glance that quickly passed along with Raka's footsteps.
But to Alea, that glance felt like the closing of something she had kept to herself all this time. Raka knew nothing, and perhaps he truly did not need to know. Alea's love did not have to become a burden to the person she loved.
Alea looked up. The sky had turned orange, then slowly pink along the edges.
Her tears fell again. This time, she smiled through them.
At last, she understood that not every love was destined to be possessed. Some love was enough when kept in the heart—not because it was weak, but because it chose not to hurt anyone.
The twilight deepened.
Alea rose from the old bench and walked away from the park. Before she truly left, she looked back one last time.
“Be happy, Raka.”
A small smile appeared on her lips.
“Thank you for once showing my heart what it felt like to love.”
From that afternoon on, Alea no longer waited for Raka.
But the old bench in Tahura Park remained where it was.
Silent.
Old.
And full of memories.
If one day someone sat on that bench as the sun began to set, perhaps they would feel something difficult to explain—like the remnants of a love story still lingering among the wind, the leaves, and the fading twilight.
The story of a woman who had once loved a man with all her heart, but chose to walk away because she knew this: the most sincere love was sometimes not about possessing someone, but about being able to let go without hurting anyone.
From that moment on, every twilight at Tahura Park always brought one thing to mind:
Some love never becomes ours, yet remains the most beautiful part of our lives.