Chapter 28 — Small Cracks
The next few days passed quietly.
Too quietly, maybe.
Arga went to work. Came home. Slept. Repeated.
Nothing dramatic happened, but that was exactly the problem.
On Wednesday morning, he arrived at the office earlier than usual. The floor was still half-empty, lights not fully turned on yet. He liked it this way. Fewer voices. Less distraction.
He sat at his desk and turned on his laptop.
"Morning, Ga."
Arga looked up. A man stood a few steps away, holding a cup of coffee. Late twenties, casual smile. Someone he'd seen almost every day, but never really talked to much.
"Morning," Arga replied.
The man nodded toward the empty chair beside Arga's desk. "Mind if I sit here for a bit? My desk's still being cleaned."
"Sure."
He sat down and opened his laptop too. Silence followed, but it wasn't awkward. Just two people working in the same space.
"Name's Bayu," the man said casually, eyes still on his screen. "I think we've never properly introduced ourselves."
"Arga."
"Yeah, I know," Bayu chuckled. "Your name's on the project list. Video editor, right?"
Arga nodded. "Yeah."
"Nice. Must be tiring work."
"Depends on the day."
Bayu smiled at that, as if the answer made sense. They didn't talk much after that. Just the sound of keyboards and the hum of the air conditioner.
Still, something about it felt… normal.
At lunch, Arga ate with the usual routine. Alone. But he noticed Bayu sitting at another table, talking with a few coworkers from a different team. No one invited Arga over. And that was fine.
He wasn't ready for that anyway.
That evening, Arga walked home slower than usual. The sky was cloudy, the air heavy like rain was about to fall. He stopped at a convenience store near his apartment, bought a bottled drink, then continued walking.
His phone buzzed.
A message.
From her.
"Sorry. Busy all day."
Arga stopped walking.
He stared at the screen, thumb hovering. The words were short, simple. No emojis. No extra explanation.
He typed:
"It's okay."
Sent.
He waited.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then nothing.
Arga slipped the phone into his pocket and continued walking. Rain finally started to fall, light at first, then heavier. He didn't run. Just let it soak his jacket.
At home, he changed clothes and sat by the window. Rain tapped against the glass, steady and calm.
Later that night, he opened his laptop, not for work. He opened a blank document instead. No title. No plan.
He typed a sentence.
Deleted it.
Typed another.
Still deleted.
Finally, he wrote:
"Some relationships don't break loudly. They fade."
He stared at the line for a long time.
This wasn't a breakup.
Not yet.
But something was slipping. Slowly. Quietly. And pretending not to notice it only made it worse.
His phone buzzed again.
Another message from her:
"Are you mad?"
Arga inhaled deeply.
"No," he replied. "Just tired."
This time, she replied faster.
"Me too."
That was all.
Arga leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.
Two people saying the same thing, yet standing in completely different places.
Outside, the rain kept falling.
And somewhere between unanswered messages and half-finished days, the distance between them grew—not suddenly, but enough to be felt.