The heavy rain that fell that night was more than just a mere weather phenomenon; it seemed to unleash a torrent of emotional turmoil, venting its fury through each relentless drop that poured down against the apartment window, painting the glass with a cascade of watery streaks that mirrored the somber atmosphere outside. The Jakarta sky hung in a thick pall of darkness and gloom, encapsulating the city in a shroud of melancholy. The wind howled ferociously, forcing the thin, delicate curtains in Bima's room to sway and dance as though they were animated by an unseen hand, providing an eerie soundtrack to his spiraling thoughts. Each swing of the chandelier hanging above him seemed to taunt him with the passage of time, emphasizing the urgency of his impending departure to Germany—a journey that loomed just two days away, a countdown that weighed heavily on his heart as he prepared to leave behind everything he cherished and held dear.
Within the confines of the living room, an unwieldy suitcase lay sprawled open on the floor, half-filled with a collection of training jerseys—each one a silent testament to the sweat, struggle, and dedication he had poured into his passion for soccer. The worn shoes, thickly caked with remnants of mud from numerous games, were reminders of the diverse landscapes he had navigated on his journey, while the physiotherapy equipment stood as a symbol of his resilience—a necessary tool for his knee, which was still mending from a significant injury sustained during a particularly intense match. Yet, perched precariously atop this accumulation of material possessions was something far more precious, something that bore a burden of nostalgia just as heavy as the tangible items below: an old photograph capturing a vibrant moment from their youth, the three of them—Bima, Clara, and Aiden—all adorned in their faded high school futsal uniforms, their faces illuminated with genuine laughter and dreams tinged with uncertainty about the futures they had yet to carve out for themselves.
The soft buzz of his cell phone sliced through the somber ambiance, breaking Bima from his reverie as the screen lit up with a message from Clara.
"Clara: 'Are you packing, dear?'"
Bima's fingers tapped back with a hint of melancholy, "Yes. It feels less like I'm just stuffing items into a suitcase and more like I'm trying to collect every memory I can hold onto, desperately preventing them from spilling out and scattering like leaves in the wind."
Clara, with her characteristic wit, responded, "You can be so poetic, even when you're just putting in a shirt."
Bima smiled faintly, "It's not just any shirt, Clar. It carries a story—one you gifted me during that local tournament we participated in."
"I remember," she replied with warmth. "At that time, I promised to buy you a new one when your professional career began."
This exchange sent a sudden surge of longing crashing into Bima's chest with intense force. Without hesitation, he quickly typed a reply, the urgency palpable in his fingers.
"Bima: 'Let's go downstairs for a minute. I miss seeing you in person before I leave.'"
"Clara: 'Now? In this rain?'"
"Bima: 'Precisely because of that. Let the rain be our last witness under the Jakarta sky.'"
It wasn't long before Clara emerged from the apartment lobby, her figure silhouetted against the backdrop of the relentless rain, wielding a large blue umbrella like a parachute, forcing a separation from the downpour. Water dripped from her hair, clinging to the ends, but her radiant smile pierced through the gloom, offering a sense of salvation from the weight of their unspoken truths and hidden feelings.
"I regret coming down, you know," she began, shivering slightly as they stood sheltered beneath the awning of the lobby. "It's really cold out here."
Bima chuckled softly, his gaze locked on Clara's face as if she were the only light left in this increasingly dark world. "But you still came," he responded, his voice a medley of affection and resolve.
"Yes, because you called me. I was worried that if I refused, it would leave you feeling sad."
Bima reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two plane tickets, one destined for Jakarta–Frankfurt, while the other remained ominously blank, symbolizing the uncertainty that lay ahead. "You know, in just two days I'll be leaving for Germany. But for some reason…" he paused, letting the gravity of his thoughts settle, his gaze fixated on the ticket. "I feel more nervous about leaving you behind than I do about leaving this country."
Clara focused on the tickets intensely, her expression softening. She exhaled slowly, grappling with her own conflicting emotions. "Bim, please don't talk like this anymore. We promised, remember? Everything is supposed to go back to being professional. You pursue your soccer career, and I'll focus on my studies."
Bima's voice softened, nearly a whisper, "But a promise to be dishonest is ultimately also a lie, Clar."
As he stepped closer, the distance between them dwindled to mere inches, electric tension crackling in the air. Clara diverted her gaze, gripping the umbrella with trembling hands as the wind picked up. "I'm scared, Bim. Aiden is becoming more present in my life—he's paying attention to me daily, always sending sweet messages, asking if I've eaten, even praying for me before he heads off for research. I can't hurt one person just to ease the heart of another."
Bima's eyes glistened with unshed emotion as he stared at her, his heart racing. "Do you think I'm strong, Clar? Can you truly believe I can stand here and watch him draw closer to you, all while the impressions of my fingers linger on your hands?"
An unsettling silence enveloped them as the rain intensified, its relentless roar drowning out the words left unspoken.
Bima leaned in closer, his lips nearly brushing against Clara's, yet he halted, wrestling with his own tumultuous emotions. "I am jealous, yes. But what truly wounds me is the realization that we're both deceiving the one who trusts us most."
After a moment of contemplation, Clara's soft voice finally pierced through the quiet. "If love only results in hurting others, Bim… do you still wish to continue?"
Bima paused, letting her words sink in before responding with a hoarse determination, "Yes. Because this time, it doesn't feel like I'm hurting anyone; it feels like it's the only right thing to do. You are my home, Clar."
Tears escaped Clara's closed eyelids, mingling with the raindrops cascading down her cheeks, and deep down, she understood that those words were not empty flattery. The tone laced with Bima's voice indicated he genuinely feared losing control if they allowed themselves to be transparent. But he also feared losing himself entirely if continued silence became their only solace.
Just then, Clara's cell phone vibrated, shattering the poignant moment. The name that flashed across the screen made her heart lurch for a split second: 'Aiden.'
She hesitated, conflicted, but Bima's understanding gaze imparted an unspoken message, silently urging, "You have to answer."
Clara pressed the green icon, her heart racing.
"Hello, Den...," her voice barely above a whisper, quaking with unanticipated emotion.
The warm, concerned voice on the other end made her feel both cherished and trapped. "Clar, where are you? I'm in front of your house. You said you wanted to help send some documents to the lecturer, but the place is empty. It's pouring like crazy; where are you?"
Clara swallowed hard, throwing a quick glance at Bima, who remained silently a few steps away. "I... went out for a bit. The rain is coming down hard here too."
"Are you alone? Please tell me where you are, and I'll come and pick you up!"
Bima immediately shook his head, tension washing over his face. Clara sensed the urgency in his gesture and quickly replied, "No need, Den. It's safe here. I'll be home soon. Just take it easy; you have an appointment with the WHO tomorrow, right?"
"Alright, but promise me one thing, Clar."
"What's that?"
"Don't disappear like you did before. When I went searching for you at the campus last week, everyone said you'd already gone home. I don't want to lose touch with you like that again."
Clara fell silent, contemplating, before finally whispering, "I promise."
As the call ended, Clara felt her hands grow weak, the phone nearly slipping from her grasp as she processed the weight of her feelings. Bima stepped closer again, studying her expression intently. "He's getting more worried," he said softly.
Clara nodded, a fragile expression haunting her features. "It's my fault. I dislike seeing him so sweet and caring when I know he doesn't deserve to be hurt."
Bima's voice sharpened with concern, "So you wish to back out?"
Clara's gaze met his, tears glistening like stars in her eyes. "I wish none of this had ever started."
"If none of this had started, we wouldn't have experienced nights such as this," Bima replied determinedly. "And if we had never had nights like this, I fear I wouldn't know who I am other than a disregarded dream."
Frustration flared in Clara, and she shook her head vehemently. "You're selfish, Bim. You measure everything by your emotions, not the consequences. You can't possibly think that if Aiden finds out, he won't not only lose his Clara but also lose his Bima?"
A long silence enveloped them before Bima whispered, "Maybe that's the price of honesty that we've postponed for far too long."
As the rain began to diminish, the last flicker of lightning illuminated the sky, as if deeming that this chapter was drawing to a close. Yet, the storm brewing within them lingered, palpable and unresolved. Clara instinctively reached for the now-closed umbrella, but before she could retreat, Bima gently grasped her wrist, halting her.
"Clara… you once mentioned that fate is clever. Are you truly sure that fate hasn't made an error this time?"
Clara gazed into his eyes, searching for answers. "I don't know, Bim. But one thing I am certain of is that the longer we conceal this secret, the more foolish I feel."
Slowly, she withdrew her hand, leaving Bima standing alone in the dim light of the lobby, the surrounding silence heavy with unvoiced sentiments. As she exited, she glanced at her phone and saw Aiden's name, accompanied by an unopened message notification.
"Aiden: 'I'm waiting for your story, Clar. Let's meet tomorrow—I really miss you.'"
Clara shut the screen, a rush of panic flooding her heart, caught in an emotional hurricane between guilt and love, her heart torn between two opposing forces that drew her in yet could never fully unite.
In the lobby, Bima raised his gaze to the night sky, which was beginning to clear, and he murmured softly, scarcely audible against the receding rain, "For you, Clar, I stand ready to shoulder all the blame should this secret ever unravel. But… don't you dare let all this struggle be in vain."
Behind the heavy silence birthed after the storm, an unspoken message began to weave itself into the minds of the three of them—eventually, a secret concealed too deeply would find its way to the surface. And as dawn broke, the first step toward a long-awaited confession was finally taken, unfolding a new chapter in a tale that had remained tightly locked away.