Until We Meet Again In Another Life

The neon light in the ceiling of the first-floor corridor of the Faculty of Languages and Literature emitted a low, constant hum. Its pale white light blinked twice, creating momentary dark pauses before stabilizing again to illuminate the dull marble floor. Dyah stood motionless under the corridor ceiling, feeling the weight of her backpack pressing more and more on her left shoulder. The laptop and stack of books inside seemed to grow heavier with each crawling second. The evening sky outside the large window at the UNAS campus glowed a faded orange, slowly fading, obscured by a thin mist. The wind entering through the ventilation gap felt warm and damp, carrying the scent of wet asphalt from the light rain earlier. Dyah shifted her footing, staring at the hallway growing increasingly quiet. A few minutes ago, this space was still full of the clamor of students—bursting laughter, conversations about group assignments, and plans for hanging out tonight that faded as footsteps receded. Now, there was only the sound of her own breath and the ticking of the analog watch circling her left wrist. She glanced at the watch. 17.23. Dyah took out her phone from her pants pocket. Its screen lit up, displaying the last conversation still hanging. She scrolled the screen upwards, staring at the message sent forty-eight hours ago. "See you later in the FIB corridor at four, okay. There's something I want to show you." Dyah took a deep breath, feeling her chest slightly tight. Sudiro should have been here an hour and a half ago. She turned off the phone screen, but still gripped it tightly until her palm felt warm. Every classroom window she passed as she began to walk slowly reflected her own image: a shoulder-length-haired woman whose shoulders seemed to slump from fatigue. "Dyah, still waiting for Sudiro?" Dyah gave a small start, her head turned toward the source of the voice. Reynold stood at the end of the corridor, his shadow elongated on the marble floor. A large black camera bag hung on his right shoulder, and his curly hair looked messier than usual, as if just blown by a strong wind. "He said four o'clock," uttered Dyah. She tried to control her tone of voice to sound flat. "Maybe he's in a meeting with a lecturer." Reynold walked closer. His heavy footsteps echoed in the empty corridor. His eyes, usually full of suspicion, now appeared wrinkled as he stared at Dyah. "I saw him this morning, in the canteen. He seemed in a great hurry. Just a quick handshake, then left." Dyah stopped walking. "Rushing to do what?" "Don't know. But..." Reynold left his sentence hanging for a moment. He adjusted the position of his slipping camera strap. "He was carrying a small suitcase. The black one." Dyah felt her heartbeat quicken slightly, its throb felt to her fingertips. That black suitcase only came out of the closet if Sudiro was going to stay overnight out of town for field research. Yet, there was no story, no farewell. "Are you sure?" asked Dyah. Her voice sounded smaller, almost drowned by the hum of the neon light above them. Reynold nodded definitively. "Sure." Dyah took a long breath, trying to suppress the discomfort creeping in her stomach. She stared at the tip of her shoe, slightly dirty from rainwater splashes. Maybe a sudden project. Maybe forgot to tell. Maybe his battery died. "Dyah." Reynold's voice broke her reverie again. "What is it?" Dyah tried to pull the corner of her lips, an attempt to smile that felt stiff on her face. Reynold did not return the smile. He fished out his own phone. "I tried calling this afternoon. Three times already. Went straight to voicemail." The air in the corridor suddenly felt denser, as if the oxygen there was slowly thinning. Dyah looked towards the window, seeing how the orange light had been completely replaced by the gloomy purple shadows of dusk. In the distance, the sound of car horns and engine roar from the main road sounded like meaningless background hum. "Let's check his locker," suggested Reynold. His voice was flat, without excessive intonation. "Maybe he left a note or something." They walked along the corridor toward the graduate student's room on the second floor. Each of Dyah's steps felt heavy, as if the marble floor she usually walked on now had stronger gravity. The classroom doors they passed were tightly closed, locking the darkness inside. The neon lights on the second floor began to light up one by one, blinking before stabilizing. Sudiro's locker was in the row at the very end, right under the small window facing the campus garden. Dyah fell silent for a moment in front of locker number 217. She remembered Sudiro's reason for choosing this number. "I like to see the flamboyant tree from here," the man said once. Now, the flamboyant tree outside stood with its dark green leaves still, not moving an inch in the dead night air. "Do you have the combination?" asked Reynold. Dyah nodded slowly. She brought her fingers, feeling cold, to the metal number wheel. With a movement she knew by heart, she turned the wheel: 2-9-1-1. Their birthday date. Click. The sound of the unlocking mechanism sounded satisfying in the silence. Dyah pulled the locker door slowly. Inside, a stack of thick books on semiotics and narrative psychology stood neatly. There was a blue folder containing printed journals and a half-full bottle of mineral water. Dyah shifted some folders, searching for a scrap of paper or any message. There was no note. No message left behind. She let out a long breath—a mixture of relief because nothing bad was visible, and disappointment because there was no answer. However, as she was about to close the locker door, her eyes caught something tucked in the gap between two books. A key with a small wooden keychain. Dyah took it, feeling the slightly rough texture of the wood on her palm. On the wood, "Kos Bambu Kuning" was written in blue printed letters. "This..." Reynold approached, peeking at the key in Dyah's hand. "His boarding house key. But didn't he already move from there a month ago?" Dyah fell silent, staring at the key intently. True. Sudiro had moved to a small apartment in the Kuningan area a month ago after receiving a research scholarship. Dyah still remembered how Sudiro showed his new card key with shining eyes. This old boarding house key should have been returned to the owner. "Why is it still here?" whispered Dyah, more to herself. Reynold observed the key, his forehead wrinkling. "Maybe forgot to return it. Or..." "Or what?" Dyah looked at Reynold. Reynold hesitated for a moment, wetting his dry lips. "Or he intentionally kept it." The night wind began to blow in through the slightly open window, carrying the scent of wet earth and a chill that made Dyah shiver slightly. The corridor lights blinked once again. In the distance, the faint laughter of a group of students leaving the library could be heard. A sound that usually sounded ordinary, now felt foreign to Dyah's ears, as if coming from a different world. Dyah clenched her hand around the key. The sharp wooden corner pressed her skin, giving a dull pain. This small object felt heavier than it looked, like a first question she had found. "Rey," uttered Dyah slowly. Her gaze did not leave the key in her grasp. "I have to go to his old boarding house." "Now? It's almost maghrib," Reynold glanced at the window, now completely dark. "Now." Reynold looked at Dyah for quite a while, as if searching for doubt in the woman's eyes. However, he found no reason to argue. "Alright. I'll take you." They turned, walking along the corridor now empty and dark. Their shadows elongated on the floor, merging with the darkness creeping from the corners of the room. As they passed the lecturer's room near the stairs, Dyah's steps slowed. Through the dark glass door, she saw a strip of white paper clipped to the wooden announcement board. Even from a distance, Dyah recognized that familiar handwriting. Writing that was fast and slightly slanted. "Meeting canceled. See you next week." That was Sudiro's writing. Dyah froze. Sudiro had been here today. He came to this building, canceled his appointment with his lecturer, wrote this message, then left without meeting her. Dyah fished out her phone once again with a slightly trembling hand. She typed a short message with stiff fingers. "Where are you? I'm worried." She pressed the send button. Her phone screen displayed a single check mark. Dyah put her phone back into her pocket, then walked quickly following Reynold toward the parking lot, leaving the corridor that now only held the unceasing hum of the neon lights.