Chapter 5 — A Standard That Grows Quietly

My parents are very close.

Ever since I was little, I’ve been used to seeing them as a team. My father enjoys driving out of town, sometimes just to look for cooler air, sometimes simply to enjoy a long road with no particular destination. My mother almost always comes along. Inside the car, my father focuses on driving, while my mother talks endlessly.

I usually sit in the back seat, quietly listening.

My mother’s stories are never just one kind. Sometimes they’re about national news, sometimes about international issues. She can move from politics to law, then to economics, and suddenly end with some trivial gossip I have no idea where she picked up. She reads a lot. Every morning there’s a newspaper. Every night there’s the news. She always wants to know what’s happening beyond our house.

Sometimes my father responds briefly. Sometimes he just nods. But my mother never stops talking.

Once, she said with a laugh that the key to their marriage lasting this long was communication. “That’s why I have to stay updated,” she said. “Otherwise, our conversations would stop at ‘have you eaten yet?’”

My father chuckled.

Sometimes my mother also joked that a marriage needed a common enemy. It could be traffic, politics, or the rising price of chilies—anything, as long as it could be faced together.

I listened to all of that from the back seat, storing it away without realizing it.

Without meaning to, those moments slowly shaped an image in my mind. The kind of woman I imagined for my future. Beautiful. Smart. Broad-minded. Someone who didn’t only know one thing, but wanted to know many things. Someone who could talk about the world, not just about today.

And that image grew quietly, without me ever consciously choosing it.

As for Mira…

I don’t really know.

Every time I told her something, for some reason she often put herself down. She liked to say she was stupid, not smart, incapable of this or that. At first, I thought it was just a joke. But over time, those words came up too often.

Honestly, I don’t like women who constantly belittle themselves.

I never corrected her. I never confronted her either. I just stayed silent. But inside my head, without me realizing it, a judgment was forming.

Maybe that wasn’t fair. But I never really stopped it.

Almost every day, Mira called me.

Her voice was always loud, full of energy. Sometimes I had to lower the volume on my phone. Sometimes I glanced at my bedroom door, making sure my parents couldn’t hear. Not because there was something wrong with Mira, but because I was afraid my parents might misunderstand.

They often talked about how long-distance relationships weren’t easy. And I knew that after graduating, I would be sent abroad. That plan had been discussed for a long time. Repeatedly. Carefully prepared.

I didn’t want to create unnecessary problems.

On one hand, I talked to Mira like usual. I listened to her stories. I responded when needed. On the other hand, there was a distance I deliberately kept, even though I never said it out loud.

To me, Mira seemed to lack ambition.

She rarely talked about the future. She talked more about today. About things that happened at school. About people I knew. About things that weren’t really important, yet always came with stories.

She was very different from my mother.

My mother always said, dream as high as the sky. Even if you don’t reach it, at least you’ll reach halfway. She never stopped learning. Not because she wanted to appear smart, but because she wanted to know.

She learned to cook all kinds of dishes, from traditional recipes to food from other countries. She tried gardening, from planting vegetables to hydroponic systems. She learned how to sew, even once making a formal dress herself. She studied various languages, even though she never mastered them all. For her, learning wasn’t about the result, but about the process.

“Not because I like it,” she once said. “But because I want to know.”

All of that stayed with me.

And without realizing it, I started comparing.

The problem was, even at school, there wasn’t anyone who truly caught my attention. Maybe there was, or maybe everyone still felt too young to me. I didn’t really understand it myself.

That afternoon, I had already made plans with Steven and Kevin. On Saturday, we were going to watch a movie at one of the biggest malls in Bandung. I had been looking forward to it—not just because of the movie, but because of our routine: hanging out, laughing, and going home without much planning.

I had started getting ready early.

That night, as usual, Mira called.

Her voice was loud as always. I talked to her as usual too. I had gotten used to it. I didn’t know when I had started enjoying those conversations. Mira often talked about people at school. About who had argued with whom. About strange things people did—people I wasn’t even close to.

Strangely enough, I knew exactly who she was talking about.

School was small. Those stories made everything feel closer. And without realizing it, I was using Mira to stay informed about what was happening at school. Who was getting close to whom. Who had changed. Who had become a topic of conversation.

I enjoyed it. Without thinking too much about it.

Little by little, I noticed one small similarity between Mira and my mother.

They both liked to talk.

The difference was that my mother’s stories felt substantial. About the world. About the future. While Mira’s stories were about everyday life. About now. About small things happening around us.

Strangely, both made me feel comfortable—in different ways.

Then, in the middle of our conversation, Mira suddenly asked,

“Kak Aldi, where are you going this Saturday?”

The question came just like that. Without pressure. But I wasn’t ready for it.

I answered honestly.

“I’m going to watch the new Avatar movie with Steven and Kevin.”

There was a brief pause on the line.

“Um,” Mira said softly. “Is it okay if I come with Ani?”

I thought for a moment. Steven and Kevin probably wouldn’t mind. There was no real reason to refuse. And besides, this was still within a safe boundary. Not just the two of us. Not exclusive.

“Okay,” I said.

One short word.

Saturday night, we met at the mall.

When I saw Ani and Mira arrive, Steven leaned closer and whispered in my ear,

“Your crush?”

“No,” I answered quickly.

Steven smiled knowingly. Kevin looked at me too.

“No one,” I added in a lower voice. “Just a friend.”

They laughed quietly.

I didn’t know why I felt the need to make that clear.

And that night went on like any other. Nothing changed. Nothing special happened. At least, that’s what I told myself.

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