Who Came Too Prepared | Tebuireng Online

Since middle school, Laras has gotten used to not being chosen. She is a fat, cute girl, and is always the one who makes the class laugh, not the one who makes the boys fall in love. He knew exactly what a pleasant friend he was in, but he never imagined he would have one. No bench was deliberately moved closer to him. There is no secret message in the notebook. There isn’t anything.

Deva was there at that time. His classmate. Quiet, sweet black, and looks down more often. They weren’t close, they only knew each other’s names.

Years later, when Laras was in college, a message came to his cell phone from an unknown number.

“Ras, this is Deva. Your middle school friend.”

Laras was silent for a long time before replying. He barely even remembered her face clearly. But since that night, Deva began to appear slowly, politely, and never forced.

Only then did Laras find out that Deva had liked him since middle school, from his stories, but had never dared to approach him.

“I don’t feel worthy,” said Deva one night.

“You always seem distant.”

They started talking often, not with promises, not with status, just honest and warm conversations. Deva tells about his life, about efforts to establish himself, about plans to migrate for the future. Laras listened and without realizing it, opened a space that had been tightly closed.

Deva also often mentions the name of a woman who is openly chasing him, a woman who is crazy about him, her name is Erna.

“I was never comfortable,” said Deva.

“I like you, Ras.”

Laras knows it’s love.

But he also knows, love never stands alone.

They became increasingly intense until after graduating, Laras worked at his old school. Meeting old teachers, walking down hallways full of memories, and working with his former sister, Hilda, they were both administrative staff. Hilda’s daughter was friendly, agile, and didn’t talk much.

Laras’ days revolve around two worlds, days with work, and nights with Deva on WhatsApp.

Their relationship was never official, just a kind of HTS that was too deep to be called casual. Until one night Laras sat opposite his parents.

His mother spoke first.

“Laras, don’t be stupid. Life needs to be realistic.”

His father continued, without hesitation.

“Deva is black, ugly, not yet rich. What kind of future do you want?”

The words hit home.

Laras didn’t cry, and didn’t argue. He just kept everything, including the fact that Deva was traveling, working hard, and struggling to improve his fate. He never told Deva that.

Instead, he remains present… but hanging. Not going. Not come.

Until one night, a year after that.

Deva’s message came in.

Deva: “Ras… I was matched.”

Laras’ heart stopped for a moment.

Laras: “With who?”

Deva: “You know.”

The first name that appeared in Laras’ head was Icha, her friend, who according to her, many men have always liked her. Yes, Icha is also beautiful, so why should she be sad about news that is not worth crying over?

His chest was tight.

Laras: “Icha?”

The message took a long time to read.

Deva: “No.”

A few seconds of silence.

God: “Hilda.”

Lara fell silent.

Hilda.

His classmate, his former room mate, a woman who had heard stories about Deva.

Laras: “Why him?”

Deva: “He came when I needed certainty, you… always doubted.”

Laras wanted to explain everything. About his parents. About his fears. About how he actually loves Deva. But that sentence never tapped his fingers.

Only one came out.

Laras: “Are you happy?”

Deva: “I learned to accept. Because waiting too long is tiring.”

Laras closed the cell phone.

No tears. Just a quiet sense of defeat. Deva came into his life not without love. But with a readiness that he ultimately did not welcome. And that night, Laras understood one thing, sometimes people wait until they deserve it. But when it comes properly, we are not yet brave enough to choose it.

Five years later, Laras learned to love morning without waiting for anyone’s message. As he got older, his face didn’t change much. Her body was still the same fat woman with a rarer but more honest laugh. He works in a new place, with a rhythm of life that is no longer rushed to chase validation. Occasionally he is still humorous, but now he mostly keeps his humor to himself.

Deva rarely appeared in his mind. Not because I forgot, but because memory has found its place. Until one afternoon, Laras received a digital invitation to the junior high school alumni group.

“Walimatul Khitan, first son of Deva & Hilda.”

Laras read the name slowly. There is no feeling of falling. Not cramped either. Just a kind of small nod in the chest like someone who finally understands why a door was closed.

Laras closed the cell phone.

That evening, he returned to his parents’ house. His father is now quiet most of the time, his hair is white. His mother no longer asked much about marriage. Time has taught them things they never had the chance to learn together before.

“Mother,” said Laras quietly, as they sat together.

“In the past… mother was right about living a realistic life.”

His mother turned around, smiling slightly.

“But mother was also wrong, Ras. We often forget… feelings also need to be treated fairly.”

Laras nodded. No more anger there.

A few days later, a message came from an old number that he almost deleted.

Deva: “Ras… I hope you are okay.

Laras read without rushing.

Laras: “I’m good. I hope you are too.”

The message was answered quickly.

Deva: “Are you happy?”

Laras smiled faintly.

Just be honest.

Laras: “I’m whole. Not happy. Not sad. Whole.”

He closed the cell phone and put it on the table.

****

Five years after everything was over, Laras was no longer waiting for anyone. His life is simple. A steady job, quiet mornings, and evenings that he no longer fills with rereading old messages. She was still the same fat, cute, and humorous woman, only now she laughed less often, as if she knew exactly when to keep it in.

Until one afternoon, the rain fell slowly, and the message came in without warning, yes, even though it seemed trite with a question like that.

Deva: “Ras… are you still saving my number?”

Laras stared at the screen for a long time. Five years is enough time to learn to calm down, but never enough to be completely invulnerable.

Laras: “Still. Why?

Three dots appear. Is lost. Appears again.

Deva: “I’m not happy.”

Laras sighed. That sentence is too heavy to just read.

Laras: “Deva… you already have a family.”

Deva: “I know, but I’m never done with you.”

Laras’ heart beats faster.

He wanted to be angry. Want to close chat. But his hands remained still.

Deva: “For the past five years, I’ve lived well outside. I work on the road. My children are healthy. But every time I’m tired…what I look for is you.

Laras closed her eyes.

Laras: “Still Hilda?”

Several seconds passed before a reply came.

Deva: “Hilda is good, too good for me to come home to honestly.”

That sentence cuts deeper than a confession of love.

Deva: “I got married because I was tired of waiting, not because I stopped loving.”

Laras felt something collapse inside him not hope, but belated understanding.

Laras: “If I say I still care…it won’t change anything, Va.”

Deva: “I didn’t ask you to come, I just wanted you to know…I never moved.”

Laras stared at the window. The rain was still falling, like the nights before when he had hung Deva unconscious.

Laras: “Deva, love comes too late…it’s not fate, it’s a lesson.

Deva did not immediately reply.

Deva: “I know. And this is the fairest punishment.”

Laras typed slowly, choosing words like someone who was letting go of something for the last time.

Laras: “Don’t make me a reason to be unhappy. And don’t make Hilda a victim of unresolved feelings.

The message was read….it took a long time.

Deva: “Thank you… for loving me, even though you never chose me.

Laras put down the cell phone. His chest was tight, but his head was clear. The plot twist of his life is not about Deva still loving him. But rather about the fact that love that is not chosen can turn into a burden for many people.

And that night, for the first time, Laras really closed the door not because he didn’t love, but because he was old enough not to be anyone’s escape. He smiled slightly to himself. Some loves are never finished. But not everything has to be continued.

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Writer: trough
Editor: Rara Zarary