Second Marriage

Aruna liked quiet mornings. She liked how the sunlight slipped through the gaps of the cream curtains, dancing softly across the dining table still covered with crumbs from last night. The kitchen wasn’t completely tidy yet, and she didn’t mind. She sat on the rattan chair, watching the thin steam rise from her cup of tea. Raka wasn’t up yet. Or maybe he was still buried in his work inside their small office—one that always smelled like stale coffee and had cables scattered everywhere. He wasn’t the romantic type, but he always made sure of two things: that Aruna had breakfast, and that the house never ran out of kitchen tissues. “I don’t understand why tissues are so important to you,” Aruna had once said, laughing. “Because you’re forgetful and you spill coffee a lot,” Raka answered calmly, without even looking up from his laptop. That was then—when little conversations like that felt like tiny pieces of daily happiness. Now, things had changed a little. Aruna felt a distance she couldn’t quite name, even though they lived under the same roof and slept in the same bed. Not because their love was fading, but maybe because routine had turned too quickly into habit. The door to the workspace opened. Raka came out with his glasses perched on the tip of his nose, his hair messier than usual. He wasn’t the handsome man from TV dramas, but Aruna knew this: he knew how to love quietly—and that mattered more. “You made tea?” he asked, sitting across from her. Aruna nodded. “But you’re late. It’s not warm anymore.” Raka took the cup and blew gently across the surface, out of old habit. “Warm is for later. What matters is you and tea in the morning.” That sentence was supposed to make her smile. But this morning, she only looked out the window. There was something she couldn’t name—an emptiness creeping into her chest without permission. “Raka…” “Hm?” “If one day I forget everything… what would you do?” Raka turned to her. His brows knitted, his smile fading into a thin silence. “I’d make you fall in love with me again. Over and over, until you get tired of it,” he finally said. Aruna chuckled softly, unaware that one day, those words would no longer be a joke. She watched his face as he went back to staring at his phone. No more conversation, only the sound of a small teaspoon tapping the cup and the occasional sigh of someone too tired to talk. For the last three months, their mornings had been like this. No arguments, no tears—just a quietness that pushed them gently apart. They were fine, but not really close. “Raka,” she called again. He looked up a little. “Hm?” “Are you off work this weekend?” “Probably not. There’s a tender revision, and the audit team’s coming Monday.” Aruna nodded slightly. She had guessed the answer, but still wanted to ask. Maybe hoping for something different. Maybe needing to feel that she still cared. She sipped her tea. Lukewarm. Tasteless. “You tired?” Raka asked suddenly. “No.” “You’re different today.” “Maybe just bored,” Aruna replied with a shrug. Silence wrapped them again. Raka stood, grabbing his blazer from the chair. He looked at her for a moment before saying, “If you’re bored, we’ll plan a trip, okay? Anywhere you want.” She smiled faintly. “Promise?” “Promise.” He kissed her forehead—something he never skipped, even if sometimes it felt like routine. Then he left, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne mixed with coffee and a morning left hanging in the air. When the door closed, Aruna stayed where she was, staring at the empty seat across from her. She loved that man. But why did her heart feel so lonely? She didn’t know that time would soon teach her the true meaning of love: loss, sacrifice, and choosing again—even the same person. The day passed as usual. Aruna cleaned the kitchen, replied to emails for her online boutique, then sat in the living room rewatching a Korean drama she had finished three times already. She liked the sweet scenes—far from reality, but comforting. Near evening, she glanced at the clock. Almost five. Usually, Raka would send a text or a voice note, but today her phone was silent. No notifications except a bakery promo near their house. She didn’t want to disturb him. Raka could be very focused when he worked. But something inside her nudged—maybe longing, maybe worry. Her hand was already reaching for her phone when she heard a motorcycle engine outside. She glanced toward the window. The sky had turned gray, as if hiding something. Rain fell softly as Aruna finally decided to leave the house. She planned to go to the minimarket just to buy soap, but deep down she knew—she simply needed an excuse to go out. To chase away the quiet. She wore a thin coat and took her folding umbrella. The road was wet and slippery, but her steps felt light. She liked the sound of rain hitting the leaves, the smell of wet earth rising from the pavement. The world felt clean. Empty, but clean. At the intersection, a car sped too fast. Aruna stopped, turning toward the noise. Everything happened too quickly—far too quickly. Flashing lights. Screeching brakes. A sharp cry from someone nearby. And then— darkness. She felt her body hitting the asphalt, her limbs numb, sleep dragging her under. One word slipped from her lips before everything faded. “My husband.” ❤️❤️❤️ The rain hadn’t stopped when Raka’s phone buzzed on his desk. Half the office lights were off, leaving the room dim, illuminated only by his laptop screen. In front of him, a stack of documents waited, but his mind drifted. He felt drained, though he didn’t know why—as if his body refused to be at ease. He ignored the first notification. The second, he glanced at. An unknown number. Usually, he wouldn’t care. But something made his fingers unlock the screen quickly. “Good evening, this is from Siloam Hospital Balikpapan. Is this Mr. Raka Adinata?” “We’d like to inform you that a female patient named Aruna Devi has just been admitted to the ER due to a traffic accident. We kindly ask you to come immediately.” Raka froze. In that instant, the sound of the rain seemed to disappear from the world. His phone nearly slipped from his hand as he shot up from his seat, grabbed his car keys, and hurried out of the office. He didn’t care about the documents, his laptop, or his working hours. There was only one thing in his mind: Aruna. Her name echoed inside his head. Loud. Unrelenting. He drove through the heavy rain, the wipers moving frantically across the windshield. Streetlights blurred, reflections shone on the wet road, but he didn’t slow down. He couldn’t. His thoughts spiraled into the worst possibilities. Accident. Hospital. ER. Each word hit his chest like a blow. “Are you okay?” he whispered to no one. “Did you see the road?” “You must be scared…” His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. He tried to breathe steadily, but his body refused. The fear was too real. Not the fear of losing a life—but of losing the person who had quietly become the center of his world. When he reached the hospital, he barely felt the rain soaking his clothes as he ran inside. He searched for the ER, his heartbeat pounding painfully fast. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a patient named Aruna Devi. She was brought here after an accident!” he nearly shouted at the receptionist. The staff quickly stood. “Please wait, Sir. Let me check—” “Please don’t ask me to wait! Where is my wife?!” A young doctor approached, his expression calm yet sympathetic. “Mr. Raka Adinata?” “Yes. I’m her husband. Where is she?” “Please follow me. Her condition is stable, but she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. We’ve done a CT scan, and—” Raka stopped walking. “CT scan?” “There was an impact to her head. Not severe, but enough to cause a mild concussion.” “A concussion?” “We can’t confirm the extent yet, Sir. We’ll keep monitoring her. For now, let her rest until she wakes up.” The doctor led him into the observation room. And there she was—Aruna. Lying weakly with an IV in her hand, an oxygen tube under her nose, and a small bandage on her temple. It was the same face he saw every day. But it felt painfully different with her eyes closed. Raka approached slowly, his knees trembling. He sat beside her bed and held her cold hand. “Love… I’m here.” He pressed a trembling kiss to her fingers. “You’re not allowed to leave me. We haven’t taken our trip. You haven’t tried riding a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, remember? And… I haven’t even told you how much I love you. Please wake up…” No response. Only the steady beeping of the heart monitor. And the sound of rain that still fell, as if the sky was crying with him.