"Nis!" Arga waved his hand. I walked over to the table he had reserved.
The food court wasn't too crowded—maybe because it was a weekday.
It was Tuesday, and just half past four. The busiest stand was the takoyaki one.
They say the takoyaki at FX is amazing—soft and packed with thick octopus slices.
Maybe someday I'll treat myself with that kind of reward.
"I've topped up the balance," Arga said, handing me the Food Court FX balance receipt right after I sat down.
"Same as yours," I replied.
FX is just a few hundred meters from my office, but this was only my second time here.
The food was too expensive for me. When I first moved to Jakarta, I had a bit of price shock.
A single fast food meal could cost forty thousand rupiah. Back in Jogja, even a full meal with soto and assorted skewers only hit fifteen thousand.
I could only say the takoyaki here was good based on hearsay.
Maybe for Arga, who was born and raised in Jakarta, snacks like these were nothing special.
I never liked taking too much from others. Matching menus always felt more comfortable to me.
Arga got up from his seat. "Soto Betawi?" he offered.
"Seriously? Claims to be my best friend but after a hundred years still can't remember I hate Soto Betawi," I muttered under my breath.
"What do you think? Want some?" he asked again, clueless to my quiet protest.
"Up to you," I replied curtly. That classic "up to you" line women use—that's no myth.
He turned and walked away but stopped a few steps later. "Drink?" he asked again.
"I brought my tumbler." I lifted my black Lock & Lock tumbler sitting by my side.
This time, he really went. He came back about fifteen minutes later with Soto Betawi and a bottle of mineral water.
"Dang, it's been forever since we talked like this," was the first thing he said when he sat down again.
"Yeah," I responded, just enough.
"Remember when we went hunting for the best sate in Jogja? Pak Pong's sate klatak."
"Of course."
I remember, Ga. So well.
I practically fasted for three days just so I could afford to eat Pak Pong's sate klatak with you.
I even canceled a meeting with Tio to work on our seminar project, and he got upset.
"Got mouth sores or something?" Arga teased. "You've barely said a word."
I gave a flat smile.
"Hey, Nis. I work nearby now."
What? Where? I held back my surprise. I stayed calm, but inside, I was stirred.
"At my dad's printing company," he continued without waiting for questions.
I didn't know much about his family's business, but I knew the printing place he meant was in Central Jakarta.
Which meant, our offices were now very close.
"Nepotism, huh?" I accused.
"No way! I applied like everyone else. Just a staff role too," he defended himself.
"I was all over the place back then because I hadn't graduated yet."
Arga graduated late—one year after me, in fact.
I actually got a message from a student council friend when he graduated.
I intentionally didn't come or say anything.
"Before graduating, I had no idea where I was heading. I was totally lost."
Ugh. I hate hearing stuff like this.
Your dad owns a major printing company. You're the oldest son. What's there to be confused about?
Neither Arga, nor Tio, nor the others ever seemed confused.
Instead, I'm the one who ends up confused by all of you.
"So for now, I'm working with my dad. While looking around for something more aligned with my passion.
Alhamdulillah, Allah still gives me sustenance.
A lot of my friends who graduated before me still don't have jobs.
InsyaAllah, everything will fall into place."
"Alhamdulillah, Ga."
That last sentence—the one showing Arga's pious character—was always my weakness.
It was what made me slowly fall deeper for him.
I thought I had finally found someone who shared my vision for a future home.
Someone I believed could be a good imam, a good father to my children, a good son-in-law to my mother.
But that was before, Ga.
Before the words you said that shattered me completely.
Before Ama.
Before everything that made me wonder—
Was I ever someone to you?