Kita ini apa, Ar?
Kita ini apa, Ar?
The air hung thick with unspoken words as Maya stared at the worn, leather-bound diary in her hand. “Kita ini apa, Ar?” the inscription on the cover echoed in her mind. “What are we, Ar?”
It was a question she’d been asking herself for years, ever since Arman, her best friend, had vanished without a trace. They were inseparable, two souls intertwined, sharing dreams and secrets under the whispering canopy of the ancient mango tree. Arman, with his mischievous grin and eyes that sparkled with adventure, had promised to build a treehouse with her, a sanctuary for their laughter and whispered confidences.
But that was years ago. Arman, the boy who had promised to be her forever companion, had simply disappeared. No note, no goodbye, just an empty chair in their usual spot under the mango tree. His silence had become an echoing wound in Maya’s heart, a constant reminder of the question that gnawed at her soul: “What are we, Ar?”
The diary, a faded treasure she’d found tucked away in an old trunk, held the answer she craved. It was a collection of Arman’s thoughts, his hopes and dreams, his fears and insecurities. Each entry was a window into his soul, a tapestry woven with the threads of their shared childhood. It spoke of their unspoken pact, their silent vows of forever, and the unwavering bond that held them together.
As Maya read, the words on the pages blurred with tears. She saw Arman’s smile, heard his laughter, felt the warmth of his hand in hers. Each entry was a love letter, not of romance, but of a deep, soul-stirring friendship. The diary held the answer to her question: they were more than friends, they were family, two halves of a whole.
But the diary also revealed the reason for Arman’s disappearance. He had been plagued by a rare, debilitating illness, a cruel twist of fate that had slowly taken him away. He had vanished not to abandon her, but to shield her from the pain, the fear, the helplessness of watching him fade away. He had chosen to leave, carrying the weight of their unspoken pact, the burden of their shared silence.
As the sun set, casting long shadows across the mango tree, Maya finally understood. Arman was not gone, he was simply absent. He was in the rustling leaves of the mango tree, in the scent of rain on parched earth, in the echoes of laughter that danced on the wind. He was in her heart, in the tapestry of memories they had woven together.
Their bond was not broken, it was simply transformed. They were no longer just two children under a mango tree, they were two souls forever intertwined, united by a love that transcended words, a connection that defied time and distance. “Kita ini apa, Ar?” Maya whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “Kita ini selamanya.” We are forever.
