I told myself I didn't need him.
That I could figure things out on my own, without relying on anyone. Not my friends, not Alya, not even the part of me that kept searching for answers in other people.
If something needed to change, I had to face it myself.
That included him.
That included Gilang.
At first, it felt right.
Giving him space. Giving myself space. Not overthinking every word, every silence.
But space has a way of becoming something else.
Something colder.
A week passed.
Then two.
Then a month.
And somewhere along the way, the absence stopped feeling temporary.
It became real.
A month without him didn't feel like peace.
It felt like something had been quietly taken, and I was the only one who noticed it was gone.
The cafeteria felt different now.
Not because it was empty, but because something was missing.
Or someone.
I sat in my usual spot, a piece of fried chicken untouched on my plate.
"You're doing it again."
I looked up to see Rina sitting across from me.
"Doing what?"
"Waiting."
"I'm not waiting."
She didn't look convinced.
"You used to complain about him being here all the time," she said. "Now you look like something's wrong when he's not."
I let out a small breath. "Maybe I just got used to the noise."
"Or maybe," she said gently, "it wasn't just noise."
This time, I didn't argue.
Because I was tired of pretending.
The truth was, I had been difficult.
Not just distant.
Difficult.
I pushed him away when he got too close. I snapped at him for things that didn't matter. I made him feel like he was always doing something wrong.
There was one moment I couldn't forget.
"Can you just stop?" I had said, my voice sharp. "You're so annoying. Like a stray that doesn't know when to leave."
The words slipped out before I could take them back.
I still remembered the way his expression changed.
Not angry.
Not obviously hurt.
Just… still.
Like something inside him had quietly stepped back.
He didn't argue.
Didn't defend himself.
He just nodded once and said, "Okay."
And that was it.
I thought he would come back the next day.
He didn't.
"Maybe he got tired," Rina said later when I finally admitted he hadn't shown up in weeks.
"Tired of what?"
"Of trying," she said. "You didn't make it easy for him."
"I never asked him to try that hard."
"That doesn't mean he didn't want to."
Her words stayed with me longer than I expected.
I had my reasons.
I always did.
I didn't like being pushed. I didn't like feeling cornered. I didn't like the idea of someone forcing their way into my life when I wasn't ready.
There were other people too.
Guys who thought persistence was enough.
Who thought if they stayed long enough, I would eventually say yes.
I had learned to shut that down quickly.
"I'm not interested," I would say.
Sometimes that wasn't enough.
So I made my words sharper.
Enough to make them leave.
I told myself it was necessary.
But Gilang was different.
And I treated him the same way anyway.
Now he was gone.
And I didn't know if he would come back.
At night, I found myself remembering things I used to ignore.
The way he would sit across from me without asking.
"You're not eating," he would say.
"I am."
"No, you're thinking."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not."
I used to roll my eyes at that.
Now I missed it.
"You should just message him," Rina said one day.
"No."
"Why not?"
"I'm not the one who disappeared."
"Maybe he thinks you don't want him around."
I exhaled slowly. "Maybe I gave him a reason to think that."
"Then fix it."
"It's not that simple."
Because I didn't know what I wanted.
Because reaching out would mean something I wasn't ready to admit.
Because pride was easier than honesty.
"I just… can't."
Rina sighed. "You're going to regret it."
"I know."
But knowing and doing were different things.
Days passed.
And the silence stayed.
Until one night, my phone lit up.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
Then I opened it.
Can you meet me tomorrow?
No name.
But I knew.
Where?
A restaurant. I'll send you the location.
Okay.
The next day, Bandung felt sharper than usual.
Or maybe it was just me.
I arrived ten minutes early.
Of course I did.
I chose a seat near the window, my hands resting on the table as I tried to steady my breathing.
"Relax," I whispered. "It's just him."
That didn't sound convincing anymore.
"Lusiana."
I looked up.
Gilang.
Standing a few steps away.
And somehow, he felt different.
Quieter.
More distant.
"You came," he said.
"Of course. You asked me to."
He nodded and sat down.
No teasing.
No easy smile.
Just calm.
And for the first time, that calm made me nervous.
"You disappeared," I said.
"You told me to stop."
"I didn't mean for you to vanish completely."
"I didn't vanish," he said. "I stepped back."
"That's the same thing."
"It's not."
"I thought you were done," I admitted.
"With what?"
"With me."
He looked at me for a long moment.
"I don't do things halfway."
I remembered that.
"And this?" I asked. "Is this halfway?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Then what is it?"
A pause.
"Me trying to do it right."
Something in my chest shifted.
"I wasn't easy to deal with," I said.
"That's one way to put it."
"I said things I shouldn't have."
"You did."
"And you just… left."
"I stayed as long as I could," he said, "without making you feel like you had no choice."
That hurt more than I expected.
"I don't know how to do this."
"Neither do I."
"Then why does it feel like you do?"
"I don't. I just don't want to mess it up."
I let out a quiet laugh. "You already did."
"I know."
This silence felt different.
Not distant.
Honest.
"You've changed," I said.
"A little."
"For me?"
"Partly."
"That's dangerous."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want you to feel like you have to."
"I don't have to," he said. "I choose to."
That stayed with me.
"We're still going to argue," I said.
"I know."
"And you're still stubborn."
"So are you."
"That's different."
"It's not."
I shook my head, but there was no real annoyance left.
"Lusiana."
"Yeah?"
"I'm not here to play around."
"I know."
"I just need you to be sure."
"About what?"
A pause.
"About letting me stay."
My heart skipped.
Not loud.
Just enough.
For the first time, I understood what Alya meant.
It was never about whether he liked me.
It was about whether I was ready for someone like him.
Someone who didn't leave easily.
Someone who didn't love halfway.
I looked at him.
And for the first time, I didn't push him away.
Not completely.
"Stay," I said softly.
Not a promise.
Not yet.
But not a refusal either.
And somehow, that felt like the beginning of something far more dangerous than either of us expected.