Aksara Taste (For Flavors That Will Not Be Perfect)
Chapter Twelve

Be ill.

Ristretto. I haven't touched it at all. It remains intact. Heeding his vanishing smoke was not scorching. Throat thirsty. Dry tongue. But, my head felt heavy even though it was just lifted up. My brain has different instructions, he asked my ball to keep it from being opened.

I don't know what the atmosphere is in the coffee shop. Only the monotonous sound of rain I could hear. Others vaguely. Sayup-sayup sounded a commotion, a commotion. Make my mind go around here and there. The colourful tangled thread was reflected inside my eyes like I was dancing. Wrestling irregularly. Rampaging back and forth. It spread to the part of my muscle that was starting to feel weak.

I raised my head. Trying to open my eyes. Swiping the mobile phone screen with trembling hands; I only realized there was a cold hunting. I heard I moaned. My voice is soft. I haven't had time to hit Mas Rudi's number, my back is touching the frozen coffee shop floor. There was nothing I could see but dark.

*****

“*Kalo according to the father, you are the most beautiful fit again with a cooking apron.” said the father when he saw me wearing a kebaya on the wedding day Mas Rudi and Mbak Aina. He caught me busy dressing up in front of the glass.

I smiled broadly. You always say that when you see me wearing new clothes. Not that I don't like what I wear, you say that so that I immediately learn to cook from mother.

“Iya, Alya knows. Ntar Alya will study with mother before Alya married.”

You laughed warmly. Wide smile. His face was decorated with a happy hue. But I also found a cry that almost spilled from both of his balls.

“Kalo Mas you are the most handsome fit again actually roof tile. Very watchful lakinya.” the father laughed fake while throwing his face towards the family photo displayed on the wall of his room.

“Home will be quiet, yes, Al?” asked the father accompanied by tears rolling down his right cheek.

“This time you will no longer fight with Rudi.”

“No one will like to sing in the bathroom.”

“No one will always bother if you want breakfast.”

I took both of my father's hands. I rubbed his fingers and rough palms. Full of scratches due to sewing machine needles. Even on the day of Mas Rudi's wedding, his finger was still wrapped in a handsaplast. I held back the crying of finding that truth. I lifted up my hands and wiped away the tears that had soaked my father's cheeks. I looked at him while smiling bitterly. “Mas Rudi will remain a father child with mother. Till whenever*.”

*****

The scent of cinnamon slowly disturbed my olfactory nerves. Flowing lightly, creeping slowly, reminded me of an Arfian figure. Forcing my brain to play a tape on a time machine. Ask him to go back a moment to the past.

*At the beginning of the dry season at that time, after returning from school Arfian immediately stopped by the house. Still in a red and white uniform, he rushed to help me sunbathe the wet cinnamon. Although the sun was shining brightly that day, my fatigue grew, but I refused the orders of my father and mother to rest at home. I don't like it alone. I don't like silence. I want to find busy. Want to have activities.

We roll out rattan mats as a base on the yard. One big jar I spewed haphazardly. Makes Arfian look at me annoyed.

“You do not carelessly mengamburin dong, Al.”

I don't care what he says. My hands keep scattering cinnamon pieces in any direction. The Arfians were forced to collect some of those who fell on the ground. He grumbled indistinctly. Nagging is not bad.

Slowly I think my eyes are fading. I faintly saw Arfian running towards me. A few seconds after that, I think my back stabbed the boulders and fell on the piece of cinnamon I had scattered. With the rest of consciousness still able to survive, my auditory nerve caught Arfian's panicked voice.

“Alya, wake up, Al! Alya! Wakeup*!”

*****

My eyelids are wide open. My eyes spread out over the ceiling. For a few seconds I was haunted by question marks. Where am I at? Am I being held captive? Or maybe I'm being held hostage? Am I in the cellar and a prisoner? Will I be able to feel the warmth of the sun? Why is my body sweating cold? Did I fall asleep because I was on top of a mountain? Would I die if I closed my eyes?

“Hei.” I turned my head when I realized there was someone on my right. My breath, which was previously restrained, I can now exhale slowly.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds as Arfian got up from his seat. The young man kissed my head for a long time.

He looked at me very close, very close. Both of his hands held my right hand. To spread a warm feeling that was again too difficult for me to resist.

Looking at Arfian like that, I was like being lulled in the past. I looked at him with a faint smile. Makes grimacing.

“Still able to smile that way again.” muttered Arfian while shaking slowly.

“In the guest room, but Mbak Aina accidentally took your potpourri.” said Arfian. He seemed to understand what was already a question in my mind.

“Fian.” I said raucous. “Besok mornings you do not exercise?”

Arfian looked back at me with a smile. “I go home if you permitin.”

I glanced at the wall clock across from the small closet. His short needle paused momentarily at number one, while his long needle pointed right at number five.

“I've done well, kok.” I said while trying to get up. The young man helped me sit up and lean on the bed head board.

“Other times don't kayak gini again, yes, hm?” pinta Arfian while stroking my cheek that second also instantly melted. The heat melted the cold that from earlier the horse.

I laughed crisply. I stared at the two Arfian bolamata that second also made me weak. My whole bone is crumbling. His joints were as if dead. My muscles don't work. My brain froze as Arfian got back up from his seat and closed the distance between us. The young man looked at me as if waiting for something.

For no reason, I don't know why I stopped looking at him. I closed both my balls slowly. I heard the roar of his warm breath hunting. A second after that I could only freeze. Let a warm kiss land on my dry lips. Leaves traces of the Espresso Macchiato's tenderness in the short kiss Arfian gives. It's a taste that makes me wonder.

What is Espresso Macchiato. Why is it so soft and sweet at the same time?

*****

Prolonged sleep makes my sleepiness disappear in late hours like this.

An hour earlier, I forced Arfian home. Although he refused, the young man finally collapsed when Mas Rudi and Mbak Aina convinced him that I was okay. I just need a lot of rest to get well quickly. Understandably, my typhus relapsed.

Until now, there is still a cut of the sweet taste of Espresso Macchiato from the soft lips of Arfian. I try to remember how it all happened. Digesting how something as short as that could leave millions of deep impressions. It was as if there was a message left behind in the warm kiss that Arfian gave.

I'm clucking. Annoyed that my eyes would not be closed. My mind just kept going. However, it suddenly disappears once there is a mobile phone vibration under the pillow.

Whether because I wanted to joke or intentionally, Cinnamon replied to my message in a less pleasant tone. “Defense.”

“I have no other solution. If you have, please offer.” reply I am upset.

A few minutes after that, my phone shook. He's still awake apparently.

“I don't like discussions online. If you want, we meet at the coffee shop opposite your office.”

“Ngakun.” reply me, responding to the rejection he previously gave.

“No need for revenge.”

I laugh. It's interesting, because this conversation is punctuated by rumors at three in the morning.

“Lusa?” tanyaku.

“Udah cured?”

I was shocked to find that question. What does that young man know about me?

“You have what amulet?”

“*You should treat me to a latte when we meet.”

“For?”

“To say thank you, because I helped save your life at that time*.”