Aku di Sini – The Last Goodbye

The fortieth night arrived with heavy rain. The sound drummed against the roof of Putri’s house, steady and relentless, as if the sky itself knew what was about to unfold.

She sat on her prayer mat, the silver bracelet in her hands. The engraved initials glimmered under the faint light of her desk lamp. For days, she had prepared herself, whispering prayers, asking for strength. Yet now, with the final night here, her chest felt hollow.

She closed her eyes and spoke softly. “If you are truly here, Agus, then come. For the last time.”

The air shifted. The rain outside seemed to quiet, and a chill spread through the room.

Her window rattled, then fell still. The lamp flickered. Her books rustled as though a breeze had passed, though the room was shut tight.

Putri’s breath caught.

And then she smelled it. His cologne. Faint but undeniable.

“Agus,” she whispered, tears already burning in her eyes.

The shadows in the corner stretched, forming something more than darkness. A figure. Faint, blurred, but familiar.

He stood there, just as she remembered. His hair damp, his smile crooked, his eyes tender.

Her lips trembled. “You never came that night.”

The figure tilted its head, as though in sorrow. His mouth moved, and for the first time, the whisper was clear, like he was right beside her.

“Aku di sini.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, sobs breaking free. “I waited for you. I thought… I thought maybe you changed your mind. I thought you forgot me.”

The figure shook its head slowly. His voice came again, faint but steady. “Never. I tried. I wanted to give this to you.”

The bracelet in her hands grew warm, almost alive. She clutched it to her chest. “I know. I know, Agus. But why me? Why did you stay?”

His form flickered, his eyes filled with something both human and beyond. “Because I loved you. Because I could not leave without telling you.”

She reached out instinctively, her hand trembling in the air between them. For a moment, she swore she felt warmth, the echo of his palm against hers.

But the contact slipped, like smoke through her fingers.

Her tears fell faster. “Don’t go. Please. Not yet.”

The shadow trembled. The rain outside surged again, as though time was running short. His voice came one last time, gentler than ever.

“I must. Pray for me, Putri. Let me go.”

Her chest clenched. She wanted to beg him to stay, to hold on to this last thread of their love. But her grandmother’s words, the kyai’s advice, and her own heart told her the truth. Love was not keeping someone trapped. Love was letting them rest.

She wiped her tears with shaking hands. “I love you, Agus. And I let you go. Aku ikhlas.”

The figure’s edges blurred, the shadows folding back into the corners of the room. For an instant, she heard him laugh, soft and warm, the way he had in the library on the first day they met.

And then he was gone.

The room stilled. The lamp glowed steady. The bracelet lay cold and solid in her palm.

Morning came. Putri rose with swollen eyes, her heart both heavy and light. She walked to the cemetery outside the city, carrying flowers wrapped in brown paper.

The earth over his grave was still fresh. She knelt, placing the flowers gently.

“Thank you for staying with me,” she whispered. “For as long as you could.”

The wind brushed her cheek, cool but not cold. She closed her eyes, a small smile breaking through her tears.

She could almost hear it, carried on the breeze.

“Aku di sini.”

The End