Aku di Sini – The Days Count Down
The days blurred into each other. Bandung carried on with its usual rhythm, students rushing to class, buses groaning along crowded streets, and rain falling every afternoon. For Putri, each day was heavy, each night heavier still.
The whispers had not stopped. Sometimes they came in her dreams, other times in the corners of her room where the shadows seemed too thick. Always the same words, the same soft voice that once promised her the world.
“Aku di sini.”
On the twelfth day, she returned from campus to find the small bracelet box on her desk. At first, she thought someone had left her a gift. But when she lifted the lid, it was empty. A wave of cold swept over her. She remembered the way Agus always checked his jacket pocket, as though guarding something precious.
She whispered into the empty room, “Was this yours?”
No answer came, only the sudden sound of pages flipping. Her notebook lay open, turning itself until it stopped on a blank page.
Her pen rolled forward.
Her hand shook as she picked it up, but she could not bring herself to write.
By the twentieth day, she sought out a kyai near her grandmother’s house. He listened carefully, his eyes calm, his voice steady.
“My child,” he said, “we believe a soul remains close for forty days before it journeys on. Some are restless, some are tender. If what you say is true, then Agus is near you. Not to harm, but to reach out.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Why me? Why not his family?”
The kyai tilted his head. “Perhaps you were the one he longed to meet last. Perhaps his heart could not leave without showing you he still remembers.”
Putri covered her face with her hands. “But I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I’m scared.”
“Fear is natural,” he said gently. “But remember, what the living can do for the departed is prayer. Do not chase him away in anger. Guide him with love.”
The twenty-fifth night was the worst yet. She woke to the sound of her comb dropping onto the floor. When she bent to pick it up, she saw something scratched faintly into the wooden surface. Letters, uneven but recognizable.
“PUT.”
She gasped and stumbled back, clutching her blanket.
The mirror across the room reflected her pale face. For a moment, she thought she saw him standing behind her. His outline shimmered like mist. When she turned, nothing was there.
Her lips trembled. “Agus… if it’s really you, please stop frightening me. I miss you, but this—” She broke off, pressing her hand to her mouth.
The faintest scent of his cologne filled the air.
She sank to the floor and cried.
By the thirtieth day, her family grew more worried. Her mother noticed her hollow eyes, her father scolded her for losing focus, and Sari begged her to talk. But Putri kept the truth close. How could she explain that her lost love had not left?
At night, she sat by her window and whispered to the darkness.
“You wanted to come to me. You wanted to be here. I know. But you cannot stay forever. Please understand. I pray for you, Agus. I pray every night.”
The whisper came again, soft as a sigh.
“Aku di sini.”
Her tears fell freely. “Yes. But soon you cannot be.”
As the fortieth day crept closer, the haunting grew sharper. Lights flickered during Maghrib prayers. Doors opened by themselves. Her books stacked neatly in the morning would be scattered across the floor by nightfall.
And yet, she no longer felt terror. Instead, she felt a strange ache.
It was not a ghost that frightened her. It was the thought of losing him again.
On the thirty-ninth day, she woke to find the bracelet on her pillow. No box this time, no explanation. Just the silver circle engraved with her initials.
Her hands shook as she held it.
“Agus,” she whispered. “Is this your farewell?”
The room was silent, but she felt the answer deep in her chest.
Tomorrow would be the last night.
