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Bagus sat on the same wooden chair, in the small living room that hadn't changed much over the years. An old laptop glowed before him, his fingers typing Indah's name into the social media search bar—hoping to find traces of the past that once united them.
But painful truths began hitting him, one after another.
Facebook: The account he used to know, with Indah's beautiful, cheerful profile picture, had long been inactive. Bagus clicked on an old photo they had once uploaded together when Indah frequently updated her status. But the photo had been deleted—it seemed Indah had erased everything, even from the virtual world. Bagus tried sending a message, but there was no response.
His heart grew restless. Instagram?
Bagus opened the Instagram app, typing Indah's name, hoping to find new photos of her. Several accounts popped up, but none belonged to Indah. The account he used to visit, once full of stories about the two of them, had vanished. The search dragged on, increasingly futile. He tried recalling her old username—but nothing came up.
"Why can't I reach her?" Bagus whispered to himself. "What happened to her...?"
His heart pounded wildly, his mind tossed between hope and a deepening anxiety. He felt severed from Indah, with no trail left to follow. All his efforts, all the struggles of the past year, seemed to crumble in an instant. Where was Indah now? What was happening to her?
Bagus closed his eyes, drawing a long breath, but the overwhelming worry wouldn't leave him. He tried to recall every detail about Indah—her smile, her laughter, and how the moments they spent together had once felt so perfect.
But now, Indah seemed to have disappeared into thin air. No news, no messages, and what was even more chilling: had Indah chosen to forget about him?
"I have to find her... no matter what," Bagus murmured, his voice trembling.
Yet one thing he began to realize: his struggle wasn't just about gathering one trillion rupiah. Sometimes, the harder battle was finding someone who no longer wanted to be found.
With hesitant steps, Bagus closed his laptop. He knew that his search would not be easy. But one thing he was certain of: he would not stop trying.
---
Somewhere else in the world, tucked away in a small Jakarta apartment, Indah sat slumped against the wall of her room. The soft glow of a desk lamp painted her weary face in hues of sadness, her reddened eyes fixed on the screen of her phone.
For over a year, she had carried the weight of longing in silence. For over a year, she had forced herself to walk away from Bagus—not because her love had faded, but because it had grown too fierce, too fragile against the sharp edges of reality. Family expectations, differences in status, and the deep scars of their past had left her too afraid to fight.
Quietly, she had changed her name on social media, erasing every footprint that might lead him back to her. Yet her heart clung stubbornly, refusing to let go.
Out of that longing, a new identity was born—Queens Nuansa. Through this anonymous account, Indah watched from afar. She followed Bagus's journey, reading each post about his struggles, his dreams, his novel, One Trillion for Love, now celebrated by many.
That night, she stared at his latest post, the words blurring through her tears:
> "To all the readers who have ever believed in a love that never gives up, this story is for you. Thank you for helping me hold on."
Her fingers trembled. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. And in the quiet space between her sobs, she typed a comment, whispering her soul into the void:
> "Your story is incredible... Surely, there's someone out there still waiting for you without you even knowing. Keep fighting, amazing writer."
She pressed send.
Then she closed her eyes and clutched the phone to her chest, as if she could hold on to him across the endless distance. She knew Bagus might never recognize her behind the screen. But at least, through this tiny gesture, she could touch him—if only from afar, if only in secret.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Kalimantan, Bagus was scrolling through the flood of comments when he paused. His eyes lingered on a message that felt strangely... familiar, like a whisper from a forgotten dream.
Without thinking, he typed a reply:
> "Thank you... for some reason, your words feel like a home I once lived in."
A soft smile curved his lips, and for a fleeting moment, a tremor of something long lost stirred within him—a memory, a heartbeat, a name he no longer dared to call.
And somewhere beyond the glow of their screens, Indah bit her lip to hold back the cry rising in her throat.
"I'm still here, Bagus... I'm still waiting for you, even if you never know," she whispered into the night.
---
Indah's days were now filled with endless busyness. She donned her proud black blazer once again, carried a microphone, and ran through crowds of sources to chase stories. Journalism—the world that had once raised her—had now become a shield to protect herself from a pain that refused to heal.
Every morning, she buried herself in coverage, editorial meetings, writing articles, and meeting important people.
Every night, when her body grew tired and her mind began to drift, Bagus's face returned to haunt her.
Indah knew she had to limit her communication with Bagus. She tightly locked her "Queens Nuansa" account, restricted comments, and only occasionally checked on Bagus from afar. She couldn't allow herself to fall deeper into longing, much less risk exposing her new identity.
> "I have to forget him,"
"I have to walk my own path,"
"I can't let my feelings destroy my family again."
But it was never as simple as flipping a switch.
Every time she received a message from her mother—Bu Ningsih—pressuring her to come back to Garut to "meet the suitor" they had chosen, Indah felt her heart being crushed.
The one-trillion condition her mother had set for Bagus...
The arranged marriage with a man ten years older...
And her undying love for Bagus that never truly faded...
All of it made Indah feel trapped, like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If she resisted, she feared disappointing her family. If she accepted, it felt like tearing her own heart apart.
There was no path that didn't hurt.
Sometimes, at night, Indah cried quietly in the corner of her room, clutching her phone tightly, almost typing a message to Bagus—to be honest, to beg him to save her from all of this.
But in the end, she only wrote a message she never dared to send:
> "Bagus, I miss you. But I can't be with you. Not now, maybe not ever."
Indah would delete the message, wipe away her tears, and bury herself once again in her work.
But deep down, she knew:
Bagus hadn't truly disappeared.
The love was still there.
And she was only waiting—for healing, or for complete destruction.
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