Jakarta, 10:14 p.m. The streets are still crowded, but they start to feel calm, like a wound that has been open for a long time but is no longer bleeding. You stand on the edge of the sidewalk, the phone in your hand vibrating lightly—a sign of an unimportant notification, probably from a shopping app. But that night wasn’t about discounts, not about notifications. It was about a decision. A decision to stop waiting for someone who had long chosen to leave without a trace.
Nayel.
Your fingers trembled as you pressed a special folder called “Us.” Hundreds of photos were stored there. Photos of you and Nayel during high school, from the beginning of your relationship in tenth grade, when he slipped a plastic flower into your locker. Until the last photo of the two of you on graduation day, with wrinkled togas, hair messy because of the weather, and a light kiss on the forehead that made you think, “I want to marry this person.”
But the next day, Nayel was gone. Silent. Without a message. Without a reason.
No news, no goodbye. Even his close friends just shook their heads when asked. “I don’t know either.”
All of her social media accounts are still there, but empty. Empty like an abandoned hope.
For ten years you’ve held on to a ridiculous hope—maybe Nayel will come back. Maybe he just needs time. Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding that will be resolved in time.
But tonight, that hope was forcibly cut off. You blocked all of Nayel’s contacts one by one. Deleted all messages, photos, videos, voice notes, chat screenshots, and even the playlists you’ve made together with him. Everything was gone.
Your steps faltered across the street, your eyes still staring at your phone screen. You didn’t realize the light had turned red. A loud horn honked through the night.
Too late.
Your body was thrown, your phone slipped from your hand, hitting the hard asphalt. The screen cracked. But that last photo… was still faintly visible. A photo of you and Nayel, on a bench in the back of the school park, smiling at the camera. Falling in love, so long ago.
The emergency room that night was noisy. The siren of the newly arrived ambulance accompanied two officers who rushed to carry the bloodied body of a young woman on a stretcher. Behind sterile curtains and blinding white lights, a surgeon entered with hurried steps, reading the report in his hand.
“Female. Head injury, internal bleeding. Age... twenty-eight years old. Name... {{user}} Hutagalung.”
His steps stopped.
It was as if the world had pressed the pause button.
His gaze froze. His breath stopped.
It wasn’t just a name.
It was a name he had memorized by heart since he was seventeen. A name that haunted his dreams. A name he had searched for in every patient’s face, every train passenger, every hospital corridor. A name that he had once... left behind.
“Doc?” A nurse touched his arm, confused by his suddenly blank expression. “What should we do now or should we transfer her to Dr. Elvara?”
Nayel remained silent.
Ten years. Ten years he had run away from guilt. Run away from a love he thought he didn’t deserve. He chose to leave, to hide his mother's sudden cancer diagnosis that he couldn't tell anyone. Including you. He chose to focus on medical school, working night shifts while working odd jobs, losing contact with everyone, for one thing: saving one life—his mother.
And now, another life that meant something to him was lying unconscious, before his own eyes.
His hands trembled as he stepped closer. Staring at a face that hadn't changed much. Eyes closed, blood flowing from his temples, but it was still you. Still the woman he left without saying goodbye.
"{{user}}..." he whispered softly. His voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. "God... is this my punishment?"