The night preceding Bima's anticipated departure for Germany was undeniably a moment steeped in emotion, a poignant scene reminiscent of the final act of a long, unrehearsed movie that had struggled to find its direction over the years. Soekarno-Hatta Airport, typically abuzz with the energy of bustling crowds and the cacophony of joyous goodbyes and tearful farewells, felt eerily desolate in the early morning hours, specifically at the stroke of 3 a.m. This unusually quiet ambiance was only punctuated by the echo of slow, solitary footsteps across the polished floor, the faint yet urgent final announcement about his impending departure, and the rhythmic sound of hearts that beat quickly and erratically, as if in sync with the mounting tension in the air. Bima found himself standing alone in the drop-off area, accompanied only by a large, well-worn suitcase by his side, a backpack casually slung over his shoulder, and a thick jacket from Bochum II—a thoughtful gift he had received via courier—wrapped snugly around his body, still accustomed to the embracing warmth of Jakarta's climate.
In front of him stood Clara, dressed in a loose black hoodie, her hands buried deep in its pockets as she attempted to mask her sorrow with a brave smile. Despite her efforts, her teary eyes betrayed the emotional storm brewing within her. On a night that was meant to be significant for their shared connection, Aiden's absence weighed heavily on both of them—he was attending a crucial final World Health Organization webinar at a nearby hotel, a detail Clara had thoughtfully provided to skirt the potential awkwardness that loomed over their triad whenever they found themselves gathered in a public space.
"Are you sure you don't want my company all the way to the gate?" Clara inquired, her voice soft and almost drowned out by the quiet hum of an airplane engine in the distance that seemed to whisper about untold journeys.
Bima shook his head slowly, emphasizing his refusal with a heavy heart. "If you take me to the gate, I'm afraid it will be all too easy for me to come back. This is already hard enough, Clar."
Clara's gaze shifted from the suitcase to Bima, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance that could ease her anxiety. "You brought everything I gave you, right? Including that hefty tactics book that you dismissed as 'too heavy'?"
With a small smile breaking through the heaviness of the moment, Bima patted his backpack with satisfaction. "Everything is in there, including the photograph of the three of us that you playfully slipped into my suitcase. You are quite the sneak, dear."
An involuntary light laugh escaped Clara's lips, but it quickly faded as the gravity of their situation pressed down on them. "Just so you don't forget, Bim, please don't disappear on me over there and forget where you came from—and me in the process."
Taking a step closer, Bima closed the physical gap between them until it felt like they were intertwined by a breath of shared air. "My roots are right here, Clar. They are firmly anchored in front of my eyes."
He gently clasped Clara's hand, his fingers tracing the delicate skin on the back of her hand as if he were reading an intimate narrative written in Braille. Though she did not pull away, Clara's anxious eyes darted around, her insides churning at the thought of the CCTV cameras capturing their every moment, the fear of being watched by unknown witnesses creeping into her mind.
"Not here," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "There are too many cameras around."
Bima slowly retracted his hand, yet his gaze remained locked onto Clara's expressive face. "This is our last night in Jakarta. Tomorrow, I'll be in Frankfurt, while you grapple with your PhD alone in your room. All I'm asking for is one minute, Clar."
Clara nodded, almost helplessly succumbing to the impending separation. Her lips trembled as she managed to say, "One minute."
They hurried into a secluded corner, shrouded in shadow behind a large airport pillar, where the bustling outside world felt a thousand miles away. Bima tenderly cradled Clara's face in his hands, gently wiping away the silent tears that traced her cheeks.
"I love you, Clar," he declared softly yet with conviction, solidifying their bond in this fleeting moment. "And I promise, I'll prove it even when I'm far away. I'm not just the striker who rushes forward; I'll also be the one who comes back for you."
Clara closed her eyes, letting out a sharp exhale filled with tension. "Bim… don't ever make promises you can't fulfill. I'm terrified that one day you might meet someone over there who is more suited for you, someone who doesn't carry around so many burdens and secrets."
Bima shook his head fervently, almost as if to banish that very possibility. "No one there will ever compare to you. You're the one who reignited my passion for soccer after my injury. You're the one who made me understand that home isn't merely a location; it's the people who fill it."
Clara opened her eyes, brimming with both longing and guilt. "I love you too. But every day I find myself chatting with Aiden, I feel like I'm tearing two people apart at once. He's incredibly kind, Bim. He waits for me, he's patient, he's… perfect."
With a bitter smile on his lips, Bima responded. "He may be perfect for you, but you're not perfect for him. Because I have already carved out a place in your heart that no one else can fill."
Clara sobbed softly, leaning her head against Bima's solid chest, seeking comfort in their shared dilemma. "I despise myself for this. I wish none of this had ever happened, yet I also want it to last forever."
Gathering Clara into a tight embrace, Bima gently pressed his lips to her forehead and then her lips, taking his time with the kiss as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. "We haven't done anything wrong, Clar. It's simply the timing that's out of place. One day, we'll confront him honestly. But for now… we'll have to endure this complicated situation."
The airport's final announcement echoed through the emptiness, starkly declaring, "Passenger named Bima Prasetya, please proceed to the departure gate immediately…"
Unwillingly, Bima let go of their embrace, stealing one last glance at Clara's tear-streaked face. "Promise me you'll talk to me every single day. Promise me you'll keep me updated about everything, even the smallest details. Promise you won't forget me."
Clara nodded quickly, sealing their mutual promise with an earnest gaze. "I promise. And you promise me that you won't disappear while you're over there."
With a brief kiss laden with unspoken meaning, promises, and a teardrop or two, Bima hoisted his suitcase and walked away without once looking back. Clara remained frozen in place, her eyes glued to his retreating figure as it gradually disappeared behind the imposing departure gate.
Onboard the plane, Bima settled into a window seat, watching in silence as Jakarta shrank into a distant view, a kaleidoscope of memories flooding his heart. His phone vibrated with an incoming message from Clara:
Clara: "Have a safe trip, my striker. I'll be waiting for your first goal."
A smile broke through his bittersweet emotions, even as an overwhelming mixture of feelings washed over him. Clara's message served as a beacon of motivation, urging him to keep persevering despite the turmoil within his heart. Meanwhile, in Clara's room, the familiar sound of a vibrating cellphone disrupted the stillness, this time signaling Aiden:
Aiden: "Has Bima left? I just finished my webinar. I want to stop by and bring you some food, I bet you haven't eaten yet."
Clara shifted her gaze between the two messages, her fingers hovering hesitantly over the keyboard. Her reluctance was palpable, but she ultimately replied to Aiden first:
Clara: "Yes, he's gone. Come over, I'm hungry."
She then turned her attention back to Bima, typing out her next message with care:
Clara: "Aiden wants to come over. I promise I'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning."
As Bima read Clara's message onboard and felt a bitter smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he thought to himself, "Hang in there, Clar."
The weight of their secret remained tightly locked away, stretching nervously across two continents that were slowly beginning to drift apart. That night, for the first time since the inception of their concealed relationship, a small crack began to materialize—not through the interventions of Aiden or the relentless passage of time, but by hearts growing weary of maintaining a charade that had become increasingly arduous.
In Jakarta, as Clara opened the door to her apartment, Aiden stepped inside carrying a bag filled with steaming hot food, his broad smile lighting up the room. "Is our striker safely soaring through the sky?"
Clara nodded, a forced smile slipping onto her lips. "Yes. Now it's my turn to fly."
Aiden set the food on the table, his smile unwavering. "And I'll be right here, waiting for you to come back home."
Though Aiden's words appeared innocent and straightforward, Clara interpreted them as piercing darts, shooting into her conscience like sharp, invisible thorns. She returned his smile, yet behind that façade laid the heavy burden of the secret they shared, a fragile construct that felt increasingly precarious, as if it could collapse at any moment under the weight of unspoken truths.