The sky over Jakarta was painted with a pale orange hue that evening, as if it were trying to reflect the unrest in Saraswati's heart. She sat alone on a wooden bench in the small park near the kindergarten where she worked. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and her fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that had long grown cold. Her eyes stared blankly at the trees, their leaves slowly falling, like layers of her own pain she was trying to shed.
Boase's proposal lingered in her mind like a soft but persistent whisper. Simple yet profound. Sincere, but enough to shake every foundation she'd tried to rebuild since Raga passed away.
"You're scared, aren't you?"The voice came gently, warm, and somehow mischievous—like a memory from a time when things felt easier.
Saraswati turned her head quickly and her eyes widened in disbelief. Standing a few feet away was a woman with neatly braided hair and the same wide smile that hadn't changed since the last time they met.
"Laila?" Saraswati gasped, rising from the bench and rushing to embrace her old friend.
Laila laughed. "You still give the warmest hugs. I thought you might've turned into ice from holding so much in."
Saraswati chuckled, tears brimming in her eyes. "Where have you been all these years? It's been almost five."
"Just wandering through life's unexpected lessons," Laila replied, handing over a cold coffee. "And I had a feeling you'd still come to your favorite bench. Guess I was right."
They sat side by side, the breeze playing with their hair, and laughter occasionally filling the space between silences.
"I heard you're a kindergarten teacher now. And… there's someone who proposed to you?"
Saraswati sighed. "Yes. His name is Boase. He's a good man, Laila. A really good man."
Laila's eyes softened. "But you haven't answered him yet, have you?"
Saraswati slowly shook her head. "I'm scared. Scared that I'll just be another sad story. A widow with a child—how dare I even dream of happiness again? People judge so easily."
Laila looked at her with quiet intensity, her voice steady but gentle. "Do you hear yourself right now? You're not just some pitiful widow. You're an amazing mother. A strong woman. And my best friend who once dreamed bigger than anyone I knew."
Saraswati stayed silent, tears welling in her eyes.
"You deserve to be loved, Sar. Not because of who you were in the past, but because of who you are now. Boase sees that in you. But the question is, do you?"
Her heart ached at those words, not out of pain, but because they touched something she'd buried deep. Something she tried so hard to silence.
"What if I fail again?" Saraswati whispered.
"Everyone fails, Sar. But not everyone has the courage to try again," Laila said with a soft smile. "Don't let fear rob you of joy. This life isn't about pleasing everyone. Sometimes you have to be selfish enough to choose yourself."
The words struck her—painful, yet healing. Saraswati felt a tremble inside, as if something long frozen had started to thaw. Like a flower opening up after a long winter.
"Does he love you?" Laila asked gently.
Saraswati smiled faintly. "He loves Amara. He loves me. But more than that, he never pushes me. He waits, patiently. Always patient."
Laila reached out and squeezed her hand. "Then maybe it's time you stop waiting for an answer from the past… and start writing a new story."
The sun began to sink below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the park. But for the first time in a long time, Saraswati didn't feel overwhelmed by the approaching darkness. She felt calm. Lighter, even.
"Thank you, Laila," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Laila smiled, her eyes full of warmth. "Always. And remember, I'll be right behind you, no matter what you decide."
They sat together until the evening chill began to settle in. Saraswati looked up at the sky, now tinged with purple and blue. And for the first time, she didn't feel like a lone figure fighting against the world.
She felt like a woman on the edge of something new.
A beginning.