Bagus felt the night was too perfect to be ruined by his own nervousness. Yet behind the warm conversation and the smile that never left Indah's face, a small wave stirred within his chest—a quiet sense of insecurity peeking from the corners of his heart.
After washing the tea glasses they had used, Bagus walked into the living room where Indah sat on the floor, leaning against the sofa, rereading one of the online novels Bagus had written. She looked comfortable—and that only made Bagus more determined not to let his presence become a burden.
"Indah…" Bagus called gently.
Indah looked up, her smile still lingering. "Yes?"
Bagus took a deep breath, then sat down in front of her. "I'm heading out for the night."
Indah closed the novel in her hands, her expression shifting slightly. "You're going home?"
Bagus smiled, trying to reassure her. "Not home. Just… staying at a hotel nearby. I booked it online before we met up. I think… I need some space. To process all of this."
Indah looked at him deeply, searching for the meaning behind his words. "You're not comfortable here?"
"It's not because of you," Bagus replied quickly. "You're actually the only reason I want to stay in this city. But I… I just want to make sure that when we begin tomorrow, I'm not coming as a man filled with doubts. But as someone who's ready."
He reached out, gently touching the back of Indah's hand. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. We can start with breakfast. Then maybe… a walk around the city. Or whatever you'd like."
Indah clasped his hand tightly. In her eyes was a feeling not quite ready to let go, yet unwilling to hold back someone being honest with himself.
"I'll wait. But promise me… you'll come back tomorrow?"
Bagus nodded, looking at her with certainty. "I promise. Because tomorrow… I want to start this real life with you."
Indah only gave a soft nod. Bagus stood up, picked up his small bag, and looked back one last time before walking out.
And as the door closed quietly behind him, Indah sat alone in the now-silent living room. But unlike the usual kind of silence, this one held a gentle pause that Bagus had left in the air—like the beginning of something deeper than all the online conversations they had ever shared.
Tonight, they parted ways. But only to welcome a morning filled with more hope.
---
The hotel room was simple, its walls adorned with abstract paintings that never truly caught attention. A large window faced the city that was slowly growing quiet. The streetlights glowed faintly, like shooting stars that arrived late to earth. Bagus sat alone on a wooden chair in the corner of the room, his hand holding a phone that still displayed the last message from Indah: "Don't forget to have breakfast with me tomorrow, okay…"
He smiled faintly, then let out a long sigh. In the silence, his mind began to fill with voices he couldn't ignore.
"Top graduate in journalism… brilliant journalist… investigative writer… she looks elegant, mature, knows where she's going in life," Bagus muttered softly. "And me?"
He lowered his head. His gaze fell to his own fingers. Fingers that had only ever danced across keyboards, writing stories—sometimes read, often overlooked. No prestigious diploma, no honorary title, not even proud parents to speak of. Just himself… and his digital tales.
"I don't even know what I can give her… other than words."
Then Indah's face surfaced again in his mind—simple but firm, graceful yet never judgmental. She could be with anyone. A man with a steady job, a high-ranking title, a last name that echoed.
Bagus bit his lip softly, trying to contain the unease rising from his gut to his chest. "Am I enough?"
He stood slowly, walked to the full-length mirror by the closet. He looked at himself.
Casual clothes, an ordinary face, slightly messy hair. Behind all that—were the small thoughts wanting to give up before even beginning.
But there, too, in that reflection, was a faint light. One that emerged every time he remembered Indah's laughter as she read his novel. Or the way her eyes never turned away when he spoke with sincerity.
"Maybe I'm not the best. But I'm the only one who's never tried to be someone else in front of her."
Bagus wiped his face, then sat back down. He opened his laptop—a new tab, a blank document.
The title: "For Indah: A Story of a Writer Who Wanted to Be Real."
And that night, Bagus wrote—not fiction, but himself. So that tomorrow, when he returned, he wouldn't bring doubt… but courage.
---
In the corner of the living room that had witnessed their warm conversation the night before, Indah now sat alone. A glass of tea still sat on the table, untouched. The television was on, muted, playing random images she barely noticed.
It was nearly midnight, yet her mind was far from calm.
Indah reached for her phone on the table and opened her last chat with Bagus. Her short message remained unanswered.
"Don't forget to have breakfast with me tomorrow..."
She stared at the screen for a long time, as if hoping Bagus would suddenly appear and say everything was okay.
But deep down, Indah knew... Bagus was probably struggling with his own thoughts.
"I shouldn't have been that open," she whispered. "I should've just let things flow..."
She got up and walked over to the photo shelf, the one where Bagus had earlier found her graduation picture. Her hand gently touched the frame, and a wave of guilt rose to her throat.
All this time, Indah had grown used to hiding her professional side from the men she met. Not out of shame, but because she knew: sometimes, a woman who's independent and has a certain "label" can make a man feel intimidated.
But Bagus was different, she thought. With him, she felt safe to be honest and open. That's why she wanted him to know everything. She wanted their relationship to be built on truth. And now, she began to wonder—had her honesty pushed him away?
Unable to bear the unease, Indah opened Bagus's contact and began typing.
---
Indah:
Bagus, I know you might need time. But I just want to say one thing…
Indah:
I never judged you by your job, your income, or your degree. I like you because you're just being yourself.
Indah:
We all have our own paths. And you… you're the path that makes me want to walk alongside.
---
She sent the message. Indah stared at the screen, waiting for the double ticks to turn blue. But instead, silence came.
She placed the phone on her chest and lay down on the sofa. The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound she could hear. Yet in that silence, one truth stayed strong—love shouldn't be born out of status equality, but out of the willingness to see, listen, and accept each other.
And that night, even wrapped in uncertainty, Indah still held on to tomorrow. Because she believed, if their hearts were truly meant to walk the same path… Bagus would come back.
---
The dim desk lamp cast a soft glow on Bagus's face, which was filled with focus. His fingers danced across the keyboard, while the screen displayed paragraphs written with deep emotion. Every sentence felt like a confession he had long kept hidden, now finally poured out into a manuscript he titled "For Indah."
Bagus hadn't moved from his seat for over an hour. Time seemed to flow slowly as he rearranged dialogues, added heartfelt narration, weaving in doubts and hopes that chased one another.
Suddenly, a soft vibration from his phone startled him. He turned and saw the screen light up—a message from Indah.
With a slightly racing heart, Bagus picked up his phone and read the messages one by one.
---
Indah:
Bagus, I know you might need some time. But I just want to say one thing...
Indah:
I never judged you by your job, your income, or your degree. I like you because you're simply yourself.
Indah:
We all have our own paths. And you… you're the path that actually makes me want to walk alongside.
---
Bagus fell silent. His eyes began to well up.
His lips curled into a small smile, bittersweet yet warm. He rubbed his face for a moment, then replied.
---
Bagus:
Sorry I didn't reply right away… I was caught up writing.
Bagus:
Writing about you. About us. About the things I could never say out loud, but could only pour into a story.
Bagus:
You're amazing, Indah. And you're right… status isn't the measure of the heart.
Bagus:
I'll come tomorrow. Bringing this manuscript. So you'll know, this feeling isn't just about liking you. It's about the courage to stand beside you.
---
After sending the message, Bagus slowly closed his laptop. His heart felt lighter. He knew he might not be a man with academic titles or a steady income. But tonight, he felt more than enough—because he had found the courage to be honest. And love that grows from honesty always has a place to grow even further.
That night, Bagus hugged his manuscript as if embracing a resolve he had long delayed.
And the next morning, he would come—not just as a man in love, but as a man ready to stand beside the woman he loved.
---
Continued....