OWNER OF HEART

Eps 1's

“Running, or running from someone?”

I also tiptoed, looking at the bench beside me, which was previously empty, now filled. The owner of the voice, - who asked who— was - a man wearing a coat that was soaked. His drops fell one-on-one on the floor, just near his feet. I shifted.

“Sorry,” he put the backpack with half slammed it, then tried to take off the wet-clad coat.

“The rain is heavy once,”

I just nodded. The rain has been relentless since this morning. Until late afternoon like this twilight was reluctant to glance at the face of the earth.

“So, did you run away or accidentally run from someone?”

Then, I glanced at him, making sure he asked me. But if he asks me. His face did not see me. The man was busy looking for something. I also began to be vigilant. I was once one

benches on an inter-city bus with a dapper boy, then pretends to lose his wallet.

“Aarrgg, definitely missed!” Eranggilih, I clasped tightly on the rope of my backpack, intending to get away if he started to say something.

“You, have a match?”

What kind of question is that? I'm shaking.

“Definitely don't have one, right? It's nothing.” He was seen slamming a small rectangular white box. I just got it, he's looking for a match to light his cigarette.

“If I run away," he said. “Run from reality.” He laughed in a wink. Sounds like I've heard, but I don't know where. I am like that, often dejavu with what I see even

i'm living.

“Throughout the years of believing the same, it was not enough to last. Especially when suddenly the person you trust says there is a difference that may be difficult to build a bridge. Ye know? gibberish

what kind of blank is it?”

My throat was instantly dry, eight hours before I sat here, someone I didn't want to name told me about the difference. He asked me over and over again if I was going to go again, or stay. He, someone I didn't want to call his name, said he was worried. The longer I go, the more he doesn't recognize me. What kind of sentence is that?

“Taste like a needle prick. Here,” the man in front patted his chest.

Yeah, I feel exactly the same way. So hurt.

I came home, after a few seasons overseas. I brought the sheets of my novels and poems that were published in the media. I told him how I write on long nights. How painful it is to get rejection. How I save money to buy a quota.

I told him too, that this one, or that one, was inspired by the times we passed. I offered him to read. But considering it, it was a question that made me gape, “I told Mr. Kades that you're going home soon," at all outside

which I guessed.

“After everything he said, I don't think I need to ask what he means.” The man beside me broke my daydream. But at the same time it also led me to the memory of someone I did not want to call his name.

I asked him yesterday, what did he mean? Why should I bring Mr. Kades? But, the man who did not want me to say his name actually threw a sentence like this, “kukira all this time I understand you,. Apparently not. Maybe I was too far away, to balance your thoughts.”

Instantly I was upset. “What do you mean?” I return the same question. And then again, he answered beyond what I thought. “Go if you want to go. I won't arrest you. I don't want to be a hindrance to what you want, because I can't give you what you dream. We don't have to pretend anymore.”

“Pura-pretend what?”

The heat of my chest clenched, plunging into the groin. In all my memory, he never said that to me. It's like I don't recognize him anymore.

“Not all the things that happen as we expect, right?” the man beside me, once again broke my daydream.” Whether people accept it or not, destiny happens. Now I may not be able to accept it, so I run. Who knows, tomorrow or the day after I can receive.” He chuckles at his own words.

“The world is not over, just because someone left us, right?” ask again.

This time I nodded. Yeah, the world isn't over just because someone won't defend my existence.

“Our relationship may end, but I don't want it to end. My day may be fractured, but my body is still intact. I just want to be a good human being, want to enter heaven.” Seen, he began to smile, a poignant smile.

His smile immediately rubbed on me. Of course I am too. I want to be a good person. And I want to go to heaven.

Suddenly the man left. He didn't have his backpack and coat. After the smile he transmitted, I was immediately back on my guard. Let's not say he left a forbidden item in his backpack. How could he be

just drop the stuff on an unknown person.

The current crime mode is messy, isn't it? Or like if in the backpack it contains a bomb, for example.

“God, I can't imagine, if that thing explodes, then I'm destroyed, and then I get on the news. Maybe in the headline it will be written, ‘a writer became one of the victims of the bomb explosion.’ Maybe social media will be a hit. And maybe my work will be searched for. Oh my God, but I'm not ready to die right now, I still want a family. Have children and grandchildren.” I'm back on edge, I'm spreading my eyes. Instantly I was filled with relief the moment the man appeared. Seen in his hand there are two bottles of mizone.

“MINum.” He offered me one, I shook my head.

“Only drink mizone, don't worry. I don't give poison. I told you, I want to go to heaven, so it's impossible to poison people. There I will go to hell line VVIP.” He chuckles. “Udah grab!”

I'm being hired. Receiving a bottle of mizone. Then he moved the bottle from his left hand to his right hand. While I was, hugging the mizone with my ten fingers.

For a moment we kept quiet. To be exact, he no longer told her about her heartbreak. The man was busy drinking the mizone.

“You're still afraid of drinking, huh?”

I'm turning. Of course I'm still vigilant. How is he a stranger ‘kan?

“You must be suspicious of me,”. He returned to the bottle, before standing up, and threw the empty bottle into the trash. “But it's good. You have to be careful with strangers.

Moreover.you look very messy. Excuse me. I mean look like a heartbroken man.”

I gaped, “not that, you?”

The man chuckled back. “Well that dong, making a sound. Ever since I arrived, I've been just monologuing. I suspect you can't talk.”

“Sorry.”

“Nothing. Well, my train is leaving. Thank you for listening to all my stories.”

The man rushed to grab his backpack. Don't forget he grabbed a wet coat and draped it around his left arm.

“Thanks for the mizone.”

He nodded.”May God always take care of you.”

Then he left, I saw his long steps with a backpack weighing down his shoulders. As soon as he turned, I just remembered we were not even as competitive as acquaintances. I should have responded to the story, not just shut up and suspected it.

Regrets are always broken. I took out a small notebook from inside the backpack. My train's still about fifteen minutes away. It's still enough for me to write a short story premise, about a wet-coated man dividing

fill his head with me, just now.

“Should have been, you said something was missing.”

I tiptoed, looking up in shock. The man in the wet coat suddenly appeared before me. Bending down, picking up a pack of cigarettes that lay next to me sat down.

“Sorry, I don't see it.” Tukasku. I was just about to ask him what his name was, when he suddenly snatched my notebook and pen. Write something quickly and hand it back with a slight smile.

“See you, strange girl.”

This time he really ran.

I stood staring at his increasingly distant steps. “Name?” Stiffest.

He turned his head, “Pengelana.” Then turn into the car.

I was still standing staring at the train that was leaving. Feel like a spectacle of people in the waiting room. I sit back. I drink a mizone that's half a bottle. What was his name?

“Play? The maulana?