Part One

Arka lowered his backpack slowly as his feet touched the Yogyakarta sidewalk. The afternoon air felt different—warmer, calmer, yet somehow heavy on his chest. “Jogja hasn’t changed,” he murmured quietly, watching the crowd. “Always busy… but somehow still lonely.”

His phone vibrated. Arka stared at the screen for a few seconds before tapping the call icon. “Arka?” His mother’s voice sounded relieved on the other end. “Yeah, Ma. I’ve arrived,” he replied briefly. “You’re okay, right?” Arka exhaled slowly. “I just need some time. Don’t worry.”

“Your father knows you’re in Jogja,” she continued cautiously.  Arka paused. “Good. At least… I don’t have to hear his scolding right now.” The call ended, and Arka continued walking aimlessly. Unconsciously, his steps led him to a place bustling with bargaining voices and the aroma of food.

“Ngasem Market?” he chuckled softly. “Since when did I become a tourist?” His eyes lit up at the rows of snacks. “Wedang ronde… cenil… hot bakpia,” he muttered one by one.

“Sir, try this. Still warm,” said a vendor with a friendly smile.  Arka nodded. “Okay, Miss. One, please.”

A few minutes later, his hands were full of plastic bags. “Whoa… that’s too much,” he muttered to himself, laughing softly—a laugh that felt foreign after the heavy days he had endured.

He paused for a moment, staring at the street as evening lights began to glow. The smile slowly faded. “Enough running, Arka,” he whispered quietly. “Grandpa must be waiting.”

Arka turned and walked toward the small house that held memories—and perhaps, the beginning of something new.

The Yogyakarta sky dimmed as Arka stood in front of the small cream-colored house, its paint peeling in places. The iron gate was the same—slightly rusty, slightly crooked, yet sturdy. Like its owner.

He hesitated for a moment before pushing the gate. Creeeak. “Assalamualaikum…” His voice was nearly drowned out by the chirping crickets.

The wooden door opened slowly. An elderly man stood in the doorway, wearing a worn shirt and checkered sarong. His hair was completely white, yet his eyes remained sharp.

“You’re late,” the old man said flatly.

Arka swallowed. “Sorry, Grandpa.”

Grandpa looked at him for a long moment, as if reading the entire story on his grandson’s face. “Come in. Don’t just stand there like a stranger.” Arka stepped inside. The scent of old wood and warm tea greeted him. The house was simple but alive—filled with a comforting kind of silence.

“Did you run away from home?” Grandpa asked while pouring tea into two cups. Arka sat slowly. “I just… wasn’t ready to face Father.” Grandpa snorted lightly. “That man has always been talkative. Since he was young.”

Arka chuckled faintly for the first time that day. “How’s your heart?” Grandpa asked suddenly, without looking at him. Arka fell silent. His hands clenched on his knees. “Broken.”

Grandpa nodded slowly, as if he had expected it. “Then you came to the right place.” He handed over a cup of tea. “In this house, one may break. But no one may lie to themselves.”

Arka accepted the cup. Its warmth spread through his chest. “Thank you, Grandpa,” he said hoarsely. Grandpa stood, patting Arka’s shoulder briefly. “Tomorrow, help me clean the yard. A broken heart isn’t an excuse to be lazy.”

Arka smiled faintly. “Yes, Grandpa.”

In that small house, for the first time in a long while, Arka felt—he was not alone.

🚌

Morning light slipped through the wooden window cracks, landing on Arka’s face. He woke slowly, momentarily forgetting where he was—until the crowing of roosters and the distant call to prayer reminded him.

“Jogja…” he murmured softly.

Arka sat on the edge of his simple bed, staring at the slightly yellowed ceiling. His sleep had been short, yet somehow lighter than the previous nights. Outside, the sound of a broom brushing against the earth could be heard.

Arka got up and stepped onto the terrace. His grandfather was already in the small yard, sweeping dry leaves with slow, deliberate movements.

“Morning, Grandpa,” Arka greeted. “You’re up,” Grandpa replied without turning. “I thought a broken heart would make people sleep in.” Arka smiled faintly. “Not that bad.”

Grandpa paused, glancing at his grandson. “Those who have too much noise in their heads need to learn silence.” Arka smiled softly. For the first time, the words didn’t feel judgmental. He took a deep breath. The morning air filled his chest with a strange sense of relief.

Maybe Jogja wasn’t just a place to run away. Maybe it was a place to start over. After breakfast, Grandpa asked Arka to deliver vegetables to a small shop at the end of the alley. “Take a walk while you’re at it,” he said briefly. “Your mind needs some air.”

Arka agreed. He walked through narrow alleys lined with old houses and creeping vines. The morning air was still fresh, the smell of wet earth mingling with the aroma of coffee from partially open doors.

He stopped in front of the shop and turned—and the collision was inevitable.

“Ah—sorry!” The vegetable bag slipped from his hands, a few tomatoes rolling onto the street. “Sorry, sorry… I didn’t see,” said a girl, crouching to pick up the tomatoes. Arka crouched as well. “I should be the one apologizing.”

She looked up. Her hair tied in a low ponytail, her face simple, with a faint smile that felt warm. “It’s okay. The tomatoes are fine,” she said lightly. “Good thing it’s not eggs.” She chuckled. “If it were eggs, that would have been an impromptu breakfast.”

They both stood up, exchanging the vegetable bags. “Are you new here?” she asked, glancing at him briefly. “Can you tell?” Arka shrugged. “I live with my grandfather. The small house at the end of the alley.” “Oh,” she nodded. “I often pass by there.”

A moment of silence followed. Not awkward, just… calm. “I’m Aruna,”

she finally said. “And you?”

“Arka.”

“Nice to meet you, Arka.” She walked away first but paused after a few steps.

“Oh, if you want cheap breakfast, Bu Sari’s shop is to the left. Better than the one in front.” Arka laughed softly. “Thanks for the tip.” Aruna nodded briefly and continued down the alley, leaving behind something Arka couldn’t explain. He stood for a few seconds, staring at her retreating figure.

“Strange,” he murmured. “I came here to escape… but instead, I found someone.” He continued walking, unaware that a small smile still lingered on his face.

🚌

That night, the Yogyakarta air felt warm even as the evening breeze softened. Arka sat on the veranda of his grandfather’s small house, both hands wrapped around the steaming cup of tea he had just poured.

Beside him, Grandpa sat quietly, watching the dark sky sprinkled with stars. Crickets chirped, and occasionally a cat wandered nearby, adding to the peaceful silence. “Hot tea always makes people calmer,” Grandpa said, sipping his cup.

Arka nodded, staring at the steaming surface. “Yes, Grandpa. Today feels… different, somehow.” Grandpa smiled faintly. “That’s because you’re starting to feel, not just run away from problems. The right path isn’t always easy, but it brings relief to the heart.”

Arka looked at him, slightly surprised. “I… never thought about it that way. I was just running.”

“Everyone runs, son. The difference is some run forever, and some stop when they reach the right place.” Grandpa patted Arka’s shoulder lightly. “Looks like you’ve arrived.”

Arka smiled faintly, looking at the simple house with warmth.

“You know, Grandpa… I’ve never felt a home this comfortable.”

“Because home isn’t just about walls and roofs, Arka. Home is where the heart can breathe,” Grandpa replied. “When the heart feels comfortable, the mind follows.”

They sat together, silent, enjoying the night and the aroma of the tea. No words were forced, no stories exaggerated—just warmth slowly sinking into Arka’s chest. And for the first time in a long while, he felt… at peace.

That afternoon, Arka decided to take a leisurely walk to Yogyakarta’s town square. The air was still warm, but the shadows of trees stretched along the sidewalk. He enjoyed walking aimlessly until a soft voice called out:

“Arka?”

He turned to see Aruna standing a few steps ahead. Her hair slightly loose from the wind, her brown eyes meeting his with a curious yet faintly familiar smile. “You… come here often?” Aruna started the conversation. “Actually, it’s my first time. But… I like this place,” Arka replied, slightly nervous, noticing his heartbeat had quickened.

Aruna smiled, leaning slightly toward him. “Me too. I like places that are calm yet lively. It helps clear the mind.”

They walked side by side, their steps naturally in sync. Arka lifted the bag of vegetables tucked under his arm. “These are from my grandfather’s house,” he explained. “I help around the house, so sometimes I have to shop.”

“Wow… you’re really diligent, huh?” Aruna looked at him admiringly, but in a lighthearted way. “Totally different from the first impression when we collided before.” Arka chuckled. “Yeah… I was just walking by then, causing chaos. But… glad to see you again.”

Aruna paused, gazing into his eyes. “Me too. It feels… not awkward, like strangers.” Arka smiled faintly. A warmth suddenly spread through his chest, something different from their first encounter—more comfortable, more… real.

“In that case,” Aruna said, pointing at a small coffee shop nearby, “want to sit for a bit? My treat.” Arka nodded. “I can’t refuse.”

They entered the café and sat across from each other. The soft afternoon light streamed through the window, yet at that small table, time seemed to pause—just Arka, Aruna, and the gentle flow of conversation.

And for the first time in a long while, Arka felt… comfortable without pretending.

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