---
Morning approached, and the sky over Jakarta turned gray, as if absorbing all the lingering doubts from the night before. Inside the taxi slowly heading to Indah's house, silence filled the car. Only the rustling of leaves and the hum of the engine could be heard.
Indah sat in the back seat with Bagus. Her head rested on his shoulder, eyes swollen from the tears that had only recently stopped. Bagus held her hand tightly, as if giving her strength—when in truth, he needed it just as much.
"I know you don't want to go back home," Bagus said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "But you have to. You're still the daughter of the woman who raised you. At least... give her a chance."
Indah turned to him, her eyes trembling. "But you know, if I go back... we could lose everything. She won't let me be with you."
Bagus gave a small smile, though it looked more like a wound wrapped in a forced grin.
"Maybe... maybe we're not meant to be together right now. But I don't want you to lose your mother because of me. If one day you can come back... I'll still be here, waiting for you, Ndah. No matter how long."
Indah couldn't answer. Only her tears fell again. Bagus pulled her into a brief hug—warm, sincere, but laced with an unspoken farewell.
When they arrived in front of the house, Bagus stepped out first. He opened the door for Indah, then stood beside her. The front door slowly opened, and Ibu Ningsih appeared—her eyes red, her face anxious, but her gaze fixed immediately on her daughter.
"Indah..." her voice was hoarse.
Indah bit her lip, unable to say a word.
With a heavy heart, Bagus stepped forward and bowed deeply to Ibu Ningsih.
"Ma'am... I'm sorry. I was the one who took Indah out last night. But I'm also the one bringing her home today. She belongs to you. She's your daughter. She should still honor you, even if it means she has to walk away from me."
Ibu Ningsih stared at Bagus for a long moment. No words. Only a deep breath.
Indah held Bagus' hand once more—tight, unwilling to let go. "Are you sure...?"
Bagus looked at her. His gaze was soft but resolute. "If you're happy, that's enough for me. The script of our lives isn't finished yet, Ndah. Maybe this... is just a pause."
And as Indah stepped back into her home, and Bagus slowly retreated to the waiting taxi, two souls parted without a goodbye—because true love sometimes knows when to fight... and when to let go.
---
Bagus stood in front of Indah's gate, a backpack on his shoulders and a small suitcase in his right hand. That morning, the sky was overcast, as if it too held back tears yet to fall.
Indah stood at the doorway, her eyes red and glistening. She bit her lower lip, trying to stifle a sob. Beside her, Mrs. Ningsih stood with her arms crossed, her gaze sharp and cold like the sky before rain.
"I'm taking my leave, Ma'am," Bagus said politely, bowing slightly.
Mrs. Ningsih merely gave a small nod, then suddenly spoke with a surprising tone:
"If you're truly serious about my daughter—if you really want to marry her—bring one trillion rupiahs as a dowry. Only then can you come back to this house."
Bagus was stunned. Indah's eyes widened, and she immediately turned to her mother.
"Mom... what?! That's... that's insane!"
But Mrs. Ningsih remained calm, not even changing her tone. "That's my condition. I don't need sweet words from a poor man. I need proof. If he can bring that much money, it means he's capable of securing your life. If not, forget everything."
Bagus gave a bitter smile. The wound cut quietly, but he didn't want to show weakness.
"Thank you, Ma'am," he said softly. "At least now I know my place."
Then he looked at Indah. "Goodbye, Ndah."
Indah stepped forward quickly, grabbing Bagus's arm. "Gus, don't... don't go like this. I don't need one trillion. I need you."
Bagus gently brushed the tears from Indah's cheek. "But as long as you're still living under your mother's roof and rules... you'll never truly have that freedom."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Take care of yourself. And... if one day I can write a novel that sells a million copies... maybe I can start paying off that dowry."
His smile was bitter, full of sorrow.
Without another word, Bagus walked away. His steps were steady, but his figure slowly disappeared around the corner, leaving behind a wound too deep for ordinary time to heal.
Indah stood there, her heart in ruins.
And Mrs. Ningsih... said nothing. No expression, no regret—as if she hadn't just shattered something that might never be whole again.
---
Kalimantan. A vast land wrapped in morning mist and the scent of wet earth after rain. This is where Bagus set foot once more—his humble hometown, far from the glitz of Jakarta, and even farther from Indah, the woman still etched in every verse of his thoughts.
In a small room with a tin roof, Bagus sat in front of a wooden desk filled with scribbles. His old laptop glowed softly, the screen showing a blank page for a new manuscript. On the wall beside him, a piece of paper was pinned:
"1 Trillion = True Love"
That was the sentence Bagus wrote on his first night back. Not just a sarcastic remark, but a vow. A strange and nearly insane vow: to earn one trillion rupiah... just to be able to return to Indah.
Every morning, Bagus worked on his uncle's rubber plantation. In the afternoons, he freelanced—selling short stories, blog articles, and copywriting to anyone willing to pay. At night, he went back to writing his novel. One by one, manuscripts were finished and sent off to various platforms and publishers.
The novel about Indah became the backbone of his drive. He titled it: "One Trillion for Love." A true story laced with fiction, so it wouldn't seem like a bare wound. He uploaded it as a digital serial, and slowly, it started to capture readers' attention.
Comments poured in:
> "Who is this Indah? She feels so real."
"One trillion? Crazy. But I can't stop reading."
"This is the most tragic yet most beautiful love story I've ever read."
Monetization began to trickle in—ads, reader donations, small indie publishing contracts. But one trillion wasn't child's play. Even reaching one-thousandth of it cost him blood and tears.
Still, Bagus didn't stop. Even when his body ached, even when his heart began to doubt everything, he kept writing.
Every night, he whispered Indah's name before bed.
Every time his fingers tired on the keyboard, he reminded himself of one thing:
> "It's not money I'm chasing. It's the chance to return to the woman whose heart I once left because I wasn't strong enough."
One year passed. The result?
Still far from one trillion. But… something bigger had begun to grow: his name.
"Bagus Adi Pramana" was now known in the world of digital literature. His works were mentioned by the media. His printed books began to appear in major bookstores.
And that night, as he sat in his small living room, an email arrived on his old laptop:
> Subject: FILM ADAPTATION OFFER FOR "ONE TRILLION FOR LOVE"
From: Falcon Pictures
His hands trembled. His eyes widened. Maybe… a trillion was still far off. But the path was open. And the only thought that echoed in his head at that moment:
"I will return, Ndah. With or without that money. But with every ounce of belief that I'm worth fighting for you."
---
It had been a week since the email from the production house arrived. But it wasn't the contract that occupied Bagus's mind—it was a single name: Indah.
After a year of fighting, building his name, his work, and slowly gathering the savings that once felt impossible, now the simplest thing had become the hardest: reaching out to the woman who had been the reason behind it all.
Bagus dialed Indah's number again and again. No signal. The cold voice of the operator was always the dead end to his hope.
"The number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable…"
He tried again.
Then he searched for the name "Indah Ayu Pratiwi" on Facebook. The account was still there, but long inactive. The last photo was from two years ago, when Indah had posted a picture with her colleagues, with a caption that only made Bagus miss her more:
"No matter how heavy the day gets, don't forget to smile."
Bagus sighed deeply.
He opened Instagram. Searched for the username they used to exchange stories through DMs.
Nothing. Or… inaccessible. Maybe deleted. Maybe changed. Or… maybe she had deliberately cut herself off from the outside world.
Worried. Confused. Empty.
That night, Bagus sat on the terrace of his house. The rain fell softly, as if echoing the heaviness within his chest. He hugged his knees, eyes staring blankly into the dark forest of Kalimantan in the distance.
"Why can't I find you anymore, Ndah…? I've come this far… but you disappeared."
He opened his laptop and typed a new sentence in the draft of his next novel:
> "Sometimes, the most painful thing isn't being left behind… but coming back only to find that their world no longer has a place for you."
His hand clutched his phone once more. He tried sending a message to the inactive number.
> "Ndah… it's Bagus. I'm home. I made it. But where are you?"
The message was sent. But not read.
And then… silence.
And that silence hurt more than any rejection ever could
---