Aksara Taste (For Flavors That Will Not Be Perfect)
CHAPTER TWO RECOVERS SIX

Instead of being able to sleep soundly, closing your eyes was difficult to die. I was busy rolling here and there. Messing up bed sheets and making a fuss like this at three in the morning.

Too naive if I don't understand what Satya means. I don't want to deny his feelings and say that nothing happened between the two of us. A montage of photos and a kiss of the young man was enough to explain everything.

It's just that I can't. I can't be with Satya.

It might be a little exaggerated that up to this point I was still expecting an Arfian. I still want it. He often awaits his arrival through the window. Still waiting for a call from him. Still keeping answers that only I'll give her. Until now I was the same. All the flavors I've given him have remained. Stay intact, never touched.

And I never wanted to share this feeling with anyone. Even Satya.

*********************

Is waiting just about time?

While waiting for the arrival of Mas Rudi, I took the time to enjoy a cup of Ristretto. Although I had to be alone, I did not feel lonely at all. There are a lot of cars in front of me. Many people around me crowded the sidewalk. It's just that not many visitors are interested in sitting on the terrace of the coffee shop like I was doing.

Not without reason, I deliberately sat here so that I could watch the horizon when evening came. I haven't seen a charming reddish orange in a long time. Decorated with a purplish tinge with its elongated strokes. The warmth of the farewell sign. Signal that the sun will soon return to the contest. Spread a trail of God's love for the birds to return to the nest.

Although my Ristrettoku is not left, I still feel at home sitting for long. Enjoy what is right now in sight. Still observing the presence of twilight light that can make a variety of colors.

And still waiting for Arfian who will soon arrive.

Actually I understand why he's been so hard to contact lately. His departure to Glasgow was only a matter of days. Making all God-given time is spent only in the training ground. Forcing Arfian to focus on match tournaments. Seized some of his habits that often contact me in the evening hours.

I never asked Arfian to take the time so we could meet. Because I know, he won't be able to do that. Not because he didn't want to, but permission to leave training was like committing an offense. It is regarded as an unforgivable act.

However, her request just impressed me.

I don't know what plan he's been doing until he can skip training. I also don't know what kind of reason Arfian gave until his coach gave us some free time until we met. I'm sure I'm very grateful for that.

“You've drunk Ristretto?” asked Arfian disappointed. The young man stood a few steps away from where I was sitting. His gaze led to an empty demitasse on the table.

“I came here, right to drink coffee.” I said laugh a little.

Arfian pulled the chair in front of me. Then relax the back on its backrest.

“Meet me that's the bonus, right?” the candlestick is light while folding the hands on the chest.

I rejected what he said. “You want to see me.”

“So you don't want to see me?” the tanya made my laughter break in the air.

The young man let me finish my laughter. It was like he was waiting to say something.

“My day is off, Al.” he said calmly.

I nodded lightly. “Please do not get injured again.”

My request was greeted with a small snort of Arfian. The young man looked at me half in disbelief. Accompanied by his eyes full of secrets “That's all?”

I looked at him with a big question mark. Those are the words I used to say before Arfian started the match. “Y-yes? Then what should I say?”

Arfian pursed his lips tightly. His hands clenched tightly. He looked at me clingy. But, that gaze was completely unfriendly.

“So, all this time you still think I'm messing around?” Arfian looked at me cynically.

I jerked. Suddenly my brain rejected what the young man said. It took a lot of seconds to capture the purpose of the conversation just now.

With great difficulty I swallowed. “Fian-“

“I've been waiting for you more than the limit I can afford.”

I shook my head quickly. “Me-“

“There are many things I should not say, but you should know.”

I looked deep into Arfian's eyes. Asking the young man to give me a chance to talk. However, I haven't had a chance to open my voice, he interrupted first.

“As I need you, for example.”

Hearing that, my tongue could not say anything. I don't understand why our meeting this time wiped out all the rational thoughts in my brain.

“I think you know that. From the past.” murmured with great difficulty.

The young man smiled bitterly. “I always believe that you need me too. But, it turns out I was wrong. Now I'm sure, all this time you just think my feelings are messing around.” he said slowly.

I was upset to hear his accusations just now. Everything he said was completely unreasonable.

“What are you talking about, Fian?” I asked, trying not to make things worse.

A second later I felt like I was in a dark, stuffy, silent universe. It was like being in a circle that slowly made me lose consciousness. I feel like I've just been slapped by the words I've been most afraid of hearing.

Until Arfian got up. The young man no longer said anything as he walked away leaving me. His footsteps drove towards the car park in front of me.

At first glance I saw two large paper cups thrown by the young man into the trash as soon as he sat in the steering chair. Slowly his old sedan was lost in the distance. Reminds me that I am now alone.

************

Like the dry season in previous years, this year there are also package shipments coming from Yogya.

Maybe it is a habit, if the dry season comes, the mother always sends a large jar of cinnamon that has been dry. He said, Uncle Zainal and Bi Hanum deliberately set aside their crops for us in Jakarta. Think of cinnamon as a bridge of friendship, they said.

In the shipment wrapped in yellow duct tape, do not forget the father inserted three letters containing advice. Each for me, Mas Rudi, and Ms. Aina. I used to wonder why you didn't call. As soon as I asked, I found out that you had a reason. He said, there are many things that cannot be said, but can still be expressed in writing.

*From dad, to Alya

I know you're an adult. But you will be my little daughter forever.

Life is not just about travel, Alya. There must be value to the struggle as well. You may not know what you are thinking now, because you never want to tell a story. But, you believe, the father can definitely solve all the problems. I'm sure you've learned what happiness is like. Only, if you need something, never hesitate to tell. Tell mom and dad. Or, you can tell Mas Rudi and Mbak Aina. Ask them both what you should do to be happy*.

Since moving to Jakarta, this is the first letter from my father that made my eyes glazed. I was at a loss for words and couldn't say anything. That advice seemed to corner me. As if judging me as the main suspect who had never shared stories with family members.

From the outside I heard the voice of Aina's mother who collided with the knock of the door.

“Al? have you slept?”

I hurriedly wiped my tears, then got up and immediately opened the door.

“Why, Ma'am?” ask me while smiling.

“That's Zifran calling Mas Rudi. He said your number cannot be connected.” said Mbak Aina, making me immediately pat the eel of the second as well. “Oh, Yes. The phone is dead, Ma'am.” I said chuckling.

While going down the stairs, Ma'am Aina reminded me not to respond to Mas Zifran's words. She said her husband's best friend sounded annoyed half to death because of my number that could not be reached.

“Hallo?” I say it with a question tone. Opening a conversation with Mas Zifran while sitting in the dining room.

“Hallo, Alya? How are you? Got my phone, why can't it be connected?!”

I immediately distanced the phone from the right ear when I heard Mas Zifran's scream.

“Iya, Mas, sorry, sorry.” I said after a long sigh.

It took a few minutes to pass for Mas Zifran to nag me. Until finally he was tired, and conveyed his purpose in contacting me these nights.

“Tomorrow at seven o'clock in the morning you already have to be in the office.”

“Tomorrow, right off, Mas?”

“Ouch! I mean the day after tomorrow. The day after tomorrow you must be at the office at seven in the morning.”

“Seven pa-“

“Oh, yes, all of you bring a camera too.” interrupted Mas Zifran before I had time to protest.

“In order?” manya curious.

“Lusa mornings Indonesian contingent, will leave for Glasgow BWC. Well, Mas Panji gave our editor permission to snail their departure before going to the airport.”

I swallowed it many times. What kind of news is this?

With great difficulty I said, “But, right, I have to design nas-“

“On the script just love it first to Rayhan. I need you to take the pho-“

“What if Rayhan comes along, Mas? Let me the nanganin-“

“You have to ask Abas to come too. Let the coverage fall apart.”

I no longer interrupt. Especially after that Mas Zifran immediately ended his call.

Actually on what basis did Mas Zifran ask me to cover the Arfian departure? Not just the real Arfian, but since then my mind has only been filled with the name of that young man. To the extent that I lost the word contingent to mention the group of players who will compete.

“Normally not good for gini? Umpah, deh. You, you know, Zifran emang kayak that.” said Mas Rudi comforted me.

I smiled broadly. Trying to hide what I feel. I hope I have the courage to share my story with Mas Rudi or Ms. Aina. Later. If the time comes.