Aksara Taste (For Flavors That Will Not Be Perfect)
CHAPTER One

Yogyakarta is still grim. The sunlight that failed to penetrate the dense clouds made the sky decorated with dark gray. Not overwhelmed by light drizzle, Yogya is only shrouded in a sad atmosphere. Either it takes longer for the water vapors to survive, before finally giving up and falling as rain grains.

I re-groomed the thick jacket for the umpteenth time. The wind that blows hard makes me goosebumps many times. Both of my ears were whispered something, making me shudder in horror. I paled both my palms, hoping there was a little bit of warmth I could get. But there is only the cold word. The only taste I can sense.

There are still thirty-seven minutes left before the train to Jakarta departs. Still long enough, but not enough to treat the drowsiness that began to whack. Although it almost collapsed in the waiting room, at least the Ristretto I bought at the station's mini market could be of little help.

It's the only dish from the coffee family I can drink. Ristretto is actually almost similar to Espresso. However, when presented the volume is only half of Espresso. So, many know him by the name of Half Espresso. In addition to being more concentrated and savory, the sweet taste also makes Ristretto my mainstay while being mired.

Busy sipping Ristretto, my ball moved following the crowd of people who ran towards the entrance of the arrival of the train. Not a few, but many of them were on the hunt, like chasing something. With hysterical cries, I almost thought there was an earthquake. I looked up, ascertained whether the roof of the station would collapse. Then I put my eyes around the room. I saw some people were busy playing gadgets, then some were busy reading newspapers, and some were even fast asleep near the departure gate.

Feeling that nothing bad happened, I threw my eyes back at the crowd that looked more and more booming. Because I was curious, I was able to observe even from a distance. Trying to find answers, what makes them gather and jostle there. However, nil, I found nothing but question marks.

The seat beside me was like increasing weight. Apparently, a young man just sat to my right. His breath sounded dull, like he was running. A small suitcase and two large cardboard boxes made him look overwhelmed. He muttered something, looking annoyed with the luggage.

“Train to Jakarta has not yet departed right, yes?” tanyanya's worried.

I shook my little. “Not yet. Twenty more minutes.”

“Ah, thanks, deh.” he said sounding relieved. He took a deep breath. Then blow it slowly.

His big smile came when he asked me to talk.

“You to Jakarta too?”

I nodded lightly. “Iya.”

“Oh, yes, I am Rayhan Darmawan. Call Ray or Rayhan.”, he said, extending his right hand. I greeted him with a smile. “Alya. Alya Azkia.”

“Oh, yes, jerk, yes, Al.” Rayhan got up and walked towards the station's mini market.

Not long after, he returned with a paper cup in his right hand. His steaming smoke made me believe he had just bought an Espresso.

“I do not buy you, because I see your drink is still there.” he said smiling sumringah.

I nodded lightly and smiled at him. “It's okay. I also don't like Macchiato.”

“Name Macchiato? I, the hell, just choose. Follow people in front.” reply Rayhan while turning the ballamata towards the station mini market.

His full name is Espresso Macchiato. I know the smell, even I know the taste. Soft and bitter at the same time. Made by adding a little milk to a glass of espresso.

"Adding a little milk into a glass of espresso". That's the essence of Espresso Macchiato. Another case if you add espresso to a glass of milk, then the name is no longer Espresso Macchiato, but Latte Macchiato.

Someone with a passion for Espresso Macchiato once explained the difference to me. And I've tasted it. The taste that makes me tick in one try.

“What are your drinks? Coffee too?” ask Rayhan.

The young man sipped his Espresso Macchiato slowly, slightly hesitating. A second later he looked at me with a wry smile and a careless face.

“You why didn't you tell me? Very bitter, Al.”

I hid the laughter looking at Rayhan's expression. He immediately swept his lips with a palm. Try to eliminate the remnants of the bitter taste that is still attached. The young man grumbled, regretting the drink he had chosen.

Afterwards, Rayhan and I talked. Sharing stories about destinations to Jakarta. Until we arrive at a topic where we discuss the world of work.

“You work in Jakarta? Where is it?” rayhan asked curiously.

“Cipayung, in Jaya Editor.” I replied casually.

“Zifran Rafadhan!” lantang.

Just hearing his name, suddenly my mind floated on the figure of Chiep Editor in the world heavy executioner class. He's the one who got me here in this situation. He assigned me to go with him to Yogya to cover Regional Sports Week. After the event was over he left me and returned to Jakarta by plane. Damn again, he actually told me to save on editorial expenses and asked me to go home on the train.

I can hardly believe that Rayhan works in the same place as me. We even sat in the same chair, Copyeditor. I made sure he would be my partner; replacing Mbak Cynthia who last month was transferred to Bengkulu.

***

We arrived at Jatinegara station at exactly four in the afternoon. At that time the sky of Jakarta was happy. The yellowish orange hue wrapped in the wind welcomed my arrival which finally returned after a week of foot lift.

With Rayhan, I rushed towards the station exit. Occasionally looking to the right and to the left, my eyes scattered trying to find the figure of Mas Rudi.

“Al, I first, yes.” say goodbye to Rayhan when a taxi stops across from us.

I nodded and let him go home first. Rayhan said he should immediately report to the editorial office if he has arrived in Jakarta.

My throat was getting dry and my feet were getting tired. I don't know how long I've been standing in front of the station. There were even dozens of taxis and taxi cabs who stopped me to offer inter-distance services. Lucky, before intending to call one of them, Mas Rudi first arrived. He honked his car horn while shouting my name repeatedly from across the street.

The car windows were lowered as my steps drew nearer. The wide smile from Hanif and Alif made my tiredness go away instantly.

Ah, my two cute twin nieces.

“Old yes, Al? Sorry, yes, the bemo stopped by the gas station first.” Mbak Aina said looking at me concerned. He gave me a bottle of mineral water and I sipped it right then and there.

Bemo, a '90s antelope car that we are currently riding. The other definition was the main transportation for me and Mas Rudi to go to the office. As well as the favorite object of the father who joined me when moving to Jakarta two years ago.

“Udah, it's okay. Alya, I'm also used to waiting, ma'am. Relax aja.” said Mas Rudi scoffed.

“Mbak Aina can not her husband put in the trunk?” olokanku successfully made Mbak Aina laugh.

“Giliran mocked his Mas aja, can be really.” said Mas Rudi annoyed.

I clucked many times while trying to defend myself.

“Which starts first, whose fault is.”

Ma'am Aina stopped my and Mas Rudi's infighting by shifting the subject.

“Udah, already. You guys just met, the time to fight. Al, how's Yogya doing? Did you stop by the house?”

While putting on a disappointed face, I looked at Mas Rudi who was sitting in the steering chair. “No chance, Ma'am. But I called my father and said I can't stop by.”

“What does father say?” asked Mas Rudi while glancing at me from the windshield.

“Bapak said that his deputy financial editor was prosecuted for violating the rights and welfare of employees.” I grumbled, making Mas Rudi look at me not accept.

“Alya we go down here is okay, right?”

Hearing Mas Rudi's question, I immediately invited my two nephews to play cars. Suspended his offer to drop me on the road.

“You guys when is it peaceful if kayak gini continues?” asked Ma'am Aina while shaking her head.

Makes me and Mas Rudi smile broadly at hearing that.