He stood and walked toward the office window. From the eighth floor, the highway looked like a long ribbon moving without end. Cars filled the intersection, people walked along the sidewalks, and among them all, there wasn't a single recognizable face.
His phone vibrated again.
Don't look outside.
Arga stopped near the window.
He slowly lowered his phone.
Someone might be watching him.
The thought came out of nowhere.
Arga looked at his reflection in the glass. He didn't see anyone behind him.
Then the next message came in.
I just want to make sure you're still the same as you used to be.
He typed:
What do you want?
There was no reply.
Arga sat down again.
A few minutes later, Maya arrived carrying several documents.
“What's wrong?”
Arga turned off his phone screen.
“Nothing.”
“You're pale.”
“I'm fine.”
Maya stared at him for a few seconds.
“Arga.”
“I'm fine.”
Maya finally nodded.
But before returning to her desk, she said quietly, “If there's a problem, tell me.”
Arga only nodded.
That night, Arga didn't go home right away.
He sat in his car, parked in the office basement, staring at his phone screen. The conversation with the unknown number was still open.
He read all the messages from the beginning.
Not one of them directly mentioned Nara's name.
And yet they all felt as though they were pointing toward the same past.
Arga opened his phone gallery and searched for the old photo the sender had mentioned. It wasn't there.
That photo only existed in physical form.
He remembered the black box in his desk drawer.
Then another object surfaced in his memory.
A train ticket.
Arga got out of the car.
He went back into the building, rode up to the eighth floor, then walked toward his now-empty desk.
He opened the drawer.
He took out the black box.
He sat down and opened the lid.
This time, he didn't take out the photo first.
His hand went straight to the train ticket folded beneath several business cards.
The paper had already yellowed.
The printed words were almost faded, but still readable.
Jakarta — Bandung.
Travel date:
July 17, 2015.
Arga stared at the ticket for a long time.
He didn't remember that trip.
That didn't mean he had never gone to Bandung. He had often gone there when he was in college. But that date felt unfamiliar.
He tried to remember.
Nothing.
Only fragments that didn't connect.
Bandung.
Rain.
Nara.
A car.
Then nothing.
Arga took out his phone and photographed the ticket. He tried searching for information about train trips on that date, but the results gave him nothing useful.
Finally, he opened his conversation with Raka.
This time, he didn't hesitate.
“Rak, do you still remember July 17, 2015?”
The message was sent.
Arga set the phone on the desk.
A short while later, the screen lit up.
He thought Raka had replied.
But it wasn't him.
The unknown number had sent another message.
Don't ask Raka.
Arga felt something slowly sink into his stomach.
He typed:
Why?
The reply came.
He's kept that secret for far too long.
Arga stared at the sentence.
Then he typed:
What secret?
There was no answer.
Several seconds passed.
Then an image came in.
Arga opened it.
The photo was blurry and appeared to have been taken at night. Four people stood beside a car. The vehicle's headlights cast shadows over part of their faces.
Arga zoomed in on the image.
His chest tightened.
He recognized two people.
Himself.
And Nara.
They stood side by side.
Nara was wearing the same blue jacket as in the photo inside the black box.
Arga zoomed in on the background of the image.
There, he could make out a sign almost completely covered in shadow.
Bandung Station.
Arga's finger stopped.
He zoomed in again.
In the lower corner of the photo was handwriting in black marker.
07 / 17 / 2015
The same date.
The date on the ticket.
The date on the old photo.
For several seconds, Arga simply sat there in silence.
Then his eyes moved toward the fourth figure.
Someone was standing a little distance away from them.
The person's face wasn't clearly visible.
But the jacket they were wearing made Arga lose his breath at once.
He recognized that jacket.
Not because he had seen it in another photo.
Not because he had ever owned it.
But because he had seen it on the last night he was with Nara.
The memory buried deep inside his mind for the past eleven years suddenly stirred, like something that had only just awakened.
Rain.
Headlights.
The sound of brakes.
Nara screaming.
And someone standing in the middle of the road.
Arga closed his eyes.
His breathing grew heavy.
He tried to remember what happened after that.
Nothing.
Only darkness.
Then his phone screen lit up again.
A new message appeared.
This time, there was no photo.
No threat.
Just one sentence.
Now you're starting to remember, aren't you?