That morning, the Jakarta sky looked clear, even though the atmosphere in a small house on the city's outskirts was starting to grow tense.
Bagus sat on Indah's porch, dressed in a casual shirt and jeans. In his hand, a steaming cup of tea. He was waiting for Indah, who was preparing breakfast in the kitchen. His heart was calm—until a sharp voice rang out from the front gate.
"Who are you?!"
The voice was loud, sharp, and carried an interrogative tone that made Bagus's heart jolt. He looked up quickly. A woman in her fifties stood firmly behind the iron gate, dressed in formal attire, complete with a striking handbag. Her gaze was piercing.
Bagus stood up instinctively. "Good morning, Ma'am. I—"
"Don't pretend to be polite! Who are you? Why are you at my daughter's house so early in the morning?" Her voice rose even higher.
Hurried footsteps came from inside the house. Indah appeared at the door, her face pale. "Mom…"
"Indah!" her mother's voice was filled with anger and disappointment. "What do you mean by letting a strange man stay at your house?!"
"Mom, please calm down. This is... Bagus," Indah said softly but firmly. "He's my friend."
"Friend? What kind of friend stays over at your house this early?!" Her mother stared at Bagus with deep suspicion. "Who are you really? Where do you work? What's your education? Do you even know who my daughter is?"
Bagus held his breath for a moment. Though her words stung, he knew this was the time to show who he was—not to impress, but to be honest.
"I'm Bagus, Ma'am. I'm an online novelist. Maybe it's not a prestigious job, but I'm serious about your daughter. I care about Indah, and I'm here because I want to get to know her better. Not to play around."
Indah's mother narrowed her eyes. "An online novelist? So you don't have a steady job? A fixed salary? And you think you're good enough for my daughter—who's a journalist, a graduate, with a bright future ahead of her?"
"Mom, that's enough," Indah said firmly. "Bagus might not be the kind of man you imagined for me, but he respects me more than anyone else. He's here not because anyone told him to be, but because he truly wants to be with me, without demanding anything."
"I just want what's best for you!"
"But maybe… what you think is best, isn't what's best for my heart," Indah replied softly, yet resolutely.
Bagus fell silent. He knew this conversation wasn't over. But one thing was clear: their love was being tested today. And he was grateful that Indah stood by his side, even as a storm began to brew from her own family.
---
Mrs. Indah stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Bagus's face.
"That's enough!" she shouted. "You get out of here right now! I won't let my daughter get any more involved with a man who doesn't even have a clear future!"
Bagus froze, then slowly lowered his head—holding back the emotions swelling in his chest. He knew arguing would only make things worse. In a low but steady voice, he said, "Alright, Ma'am. I'll take my leave."
Before stepping out, he looked at Indah— their eyes met. There was a wordless message there, pain, but also strength in her eyes.
As soon as Bagus closed the gate and left, Mrs. Indah turned to her daughter.
"Now pack your things, Indah. We're going back to Garut. I've been patient enough. You can't keep living like this. This is Jakarta—not a place where you can live however you please."
Indah pressed her lips together tightly, holding back the wave of emotions rising in her throat.
"You don't understand, Mom," she whispered.
"I understand perfectly well! I know how cruel the world is, and you're too kind to end up in the arms of a man who can't guarantee your future. Look at you now! Estranged from your family, living alone, and… being approached by a man you barely even know!"
Indah stared at her mother for a long moment. "I'm not a child anymore, Mom. I know what I'm doing."
"You think love can pay the electric bills? Pay the rent? You think your online novels will keep you from falling into poverty one day?"
Indah held her breath. Her mother's words cut deep, but she stood her ground. "Love can't buy everything, Mom. But true love can build everything. That's what I see in Bagus."
Her mother let out a long sigh, her expression still angry, but now tinged with exhaustion. "You have one day. If you're not ready by tomorrow, I'll stay here and make sure you come home with me."
Indah said nothing.
And that morning, for the first time in her life, the usually quiet house turned into a battlefield—a silent war between love, family, and the right to her own life.
---
The sky was beginning to darken, and the call to Maghrib prayer had just faded, carried away by the humid Jakarta wind. Inside the house, a tense atmosphere still lingered. Mother Indah was asleep in the guest room, worn out by anger and a long journey. Meanwhile, Indah sat in the corner of her room, her eyes blankly staring at the window.
She knew tonight might be her last chance—to speak, to choose her own life before everything was too late.
With slow steps, she opened the side window of her room, stepped out into the small yard, and walked through the narrow alley behind the house. Her breathing was ragged—not from exhaustion, but because her heart was pounding too fast, caught between fear and hope.
When she arrived at the hotel where Bagus was staying, Indah jogged to the reception desk and said the name she knew by heart.
"Excuse me, may I know the room number for Bagus Rahardian?"
The woman at the desk checked the computer briefly and replied, "Third floor, room 308."
Without a second thought, Indah took the elevator. Her hands were trembling as she knocked on the door of room 308.
Knock... knock...
No response.
She knocked again, louder this time. "Bagus... it's me. Indah."
The door slowly opened, and behind it stood Bagus. His eyes looked tired, but he was surprised to see Indah standing there. Inside the room, a large suitcase was open and nearly full.
"I didn't expect you to come," Bagus said quietly.
Indah stepped in without asking for permission. Her eyes scanned the room, stopping at the open suitcase.
"You're leaving?" Her voice nearly broke.
Bagus looked down and nodded. "I thought... it would be for the best. I don't want to be the reason you drift away from your family."
"But you're also the reason I'm holding on here, Gus," Indah replied quickly, her emotions spilling out. "Do you know why I came here tonight? Because I don't want my life to be controlled by anyone anymore! Not even my own mother!"
Bagus sighed, then sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm just an online novel writer. You're the daughter of a successful journalist, you have a name, a title, a bright future. I'm afraid... my presence might just hold you back."
Indah walked slowly, sitting beside him. Her eyes met Bagus', soft but filled with pain. "If you really leave, you're not just leaving this city... you're walking out of my heart, Gus."
Bagus turned to her slowly. In that gaze, there was a heaviness of unspoken sorrow, but also a love that hadn't yet had the chance to fully bloom.
"Tonight I ran away from my own home for one reason," Indah whispered. "I choose you. Even if it means leaving everything else behind."
Bagus fell silent. The suitcase before him felt heavier—not from its contents, but from the choice it represented.
And in that modest hotel room, two hearts that had once wavered met again at one point: that love doesn't always need permission at the start to grow into something real.
In a house that now felt cold despite the bright lights, Ibu Ningsih—Indah's mother—was preparing a simple dinner in the kitchen. She wasn't entirely calm yet, but she had begun trying to temper her emotions. Part of her still believed she was fighting for her daughter's future. But another part, slowly, was beginning to realize that perhaps her way had been too harsh.
With two plates of rice, warm side dishes, and chicken soup, she walked toward Indah's room.
"Ndah… come eat first, dear. I know I was too angry earlier…" she said gently from behind the bedroom door.
No response.
Ibu Ningsih knocked softly. "Ndah?"
Still silence.
A creeping worry began to rise. She turned the doorknob. It wasn't locked.
Slowly, she pushed the door open—and in the next second, her body froze at the threshold.
The room was empty. Neat, as if someone had quietly left it behind. And most striking—the bedroom window was open, its curtains swaying gently in the night breeze.
"Oh God…" Ibu Ningsih whispered, her eyes widening.
She quickly walked to the window, peering outside, seeing only the small yard and the wall behind the house. Indah's sandals were no longer by the bedroom door.
Her body went limp. "Indah… where did you go, dear…?"
Her hand gripped her phone tightly, quickly opening the last messages—there was nothing from Indah. Her heart began to tremble, not out of anger this time, but panic. Because this time, she knew: it wasn't her who had left—but her child, who had chosen to leave her.
And in the dining room, with two warm plates still waiting, a mother could only stand frozen in the biting silence—realizing that the control she had clung to all this time meant nothing in the face of a child's love and longing for freedom.
---
Continued...