Not Ready to Go Home

“El, come home with me,” Joya kept coaxing her son, hoping he would return to Indonesia with her.

“No, Mom. I prefer staying here,” Langit refused for the umpteenth time.

He was already dressed neatly, preparing to leave for work. Langit worked at Magnifique’s main headquarters in Paris.

“I don’t care what you say. I’ll ask them to fire you so you’ll be forced to return to Indonesia!” Joya threatened, having run out of ways to persuade him.

Langit had lived in that country far too long. Because of a heartbreak, he had left the place he was born, running away from his past.

He looked at his mother—frustrated, desperate—before cupping her face and smiling gently at the woman who had given birth to him.

“Mom, I’m really not ready to go back. Please don’t force me,” Langit pleaded, then kissed her forehead.

Joya froze. She still didn’t fully understand what had happened eight years ago that made Langit insist on transferring schools even though exams were near. She had been threatened that if she didn’t transfer him, he would never continue his studies. And without hesitation, Langit demanded to move abroad.

Langit left for work, leaving Joya alone in the apartment. She could only keep searching for ways to bring her son home.

**

Langit tried working as usual, but his focus was shattered by his mother’s constant pleas for him to return.

“Why do you look distracted today?” one of his coworkers asked in English.

“Nothing. I’m just a bit tired,” Langit replied with a thin smile.

His coworker glanced around, then looked at Langit as he resumed typing.

“El, do you have time tonight? How about we grab a drink?” the tall, beautiful woman asked.

Everyone knew about Langit’s reputation—how he slept with many women, some of whom even offered themselves just to see what he was like in bed.

Langit went silent at her invitation, then answered, “Alright. After work.”

She smiled, cleared her throat lightly, and walked away.

He actually didn’t want to go, but the thought of hearing Joya’s nagging again made him accept the offer.

**

In Indonesia, nighttime had arrived as Bintang returned from work. She stepped out of her car, entered the house, and was greeted by the warm voice that always soothed her heart.

“You’re home? Want me to make you hot chocolate or something else?” Annetha asked when she saw Bintang come in.

Bintang placed her blazer on the back of the sofa and walked to the dining room, where Annetha was preparing dinner.

“What did you cook?” Bintang asked, eyeing the dishes one by one.

“Beef stew, just for you as usual,” Annetha replied while glancing at her daughter.

Bintang smiled broadly and kissed her mother’s cheek.

“I’m going to shower first, Mom. Hot chocolate sounds good,” she said before leaving the dining room.

Annetha smiled, relieved to see her daughter looking cheerful and carefree. She had worried that Bintang might be stressed and that it would affect her health. She and her husband had done everything to keep her mentally well.

Bintang entered her room—now drastically different. Her old study desk had been replaced by a vanity full of makeup. The pink walls were now a soft nude tone, matching the new version of herself. The origami stars that once hung by the window had vanished.

She undressed, preparing to shower, when thunder suddenly boomed. The already-dark sky grew even darker as black clouds rolled in.

Bintang walked to the window, staring at the sky now hidden by storm clouds. That bleak night reminded her of the night she broke a young man’s heart—along with her own.

“Langit, how are you? If we ever meet again, could you forgive me?”

The words slipped from her lips without command. Though she feared meeting him, she couldn’t deny the wish to free herself from eight years of guilt.

Everyone thought she was doing fine, but she had spent all these years burying pain and regret. Sometimes she wondered why she had been so cruel—why she had crushed the heart of the boy she had loved so deeply.

**

Paris, France.

Langit went to a club with the woman who had invited him. They sat at the bar and ordered drinks. They toasted and downed several glasses.

“You refused to date me. I’m surprised you agreed to drink with me, El. I thought you were avoiding me,” she said after finishing her drink.

“I just don’t want any kind of attachment. If you want to go out with me, it’s a no-strings-attached date. Even sleeping together would be voluntary, with no commitment,” Langit replied casually, sipping the brown liquid in his crystal glass.

The woman swirled her drink, her eyes fixed on him.

Noticing her gaze, Langit set his glass down and leaned slightly closer.

She studied his face intently. His friends were right—Langit was exceptionally attractive, with a charm that made women fall at his feet.

“Want to take things further?” Langit asked, his voice low.

“If you want to, I don’t mind,” she answered with a seductive smile.

Meanwhile, Joya grew anxious. Langit hadn’t returned home, and work had ended an hour ago. She tried calling him, but he didn’t answer.

“Where is he?” Joya paced in worry, imagining the worst—especially if Langit was fooling around again.

“No, I can’t let this continue. I have to find a way to bring him back to Indonesia.”

She thought hard. She couldn’t let her son’s future be destroyed by the nightlife of that city.

**

Langit went to the woman’s apartment. They had drunk a lot and decided to go to her place to do what they had implied at the club.

“You live alone, right?” Langit asked as they entered.

“Yes. If I didn’t, I’d have taken you to a hotel instead,” she replied, setting her bag on the sofa.

She turned toward him, slipping off her blazer in a sensual motion.

“Do you want to shower first, or .…” she teased, letting her words trail off for him to choose.

“I can do things in any condition,” Langit said. He pulled her by the waist, closing the distance between them.

“Even if you want to do it in the shower, I can,” he added.

She smiled, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her lips to his. Their mouths moved together, deep and hungry.

They walked slowly, lips still locked, until they reached the bedroom.