Until We Meet Again In Another Life

The Room That Was Too Tidy

Jakarta night wind slipped in through the c***k of the half-open taxi window, bringing with it the thick smell of exhaust mixed with the scent of frying oil from the row of food stalls they passed. Dyah leaned her head against the cracked synthetic leather seatback that was cracked. She stared out the window, seeing streetlights blinking in a random rhythm that made her eyes sore. Her mind was still stuck on the hum of the neon lights in the campus corridor they had just left.

Next to her, Reynold sat with the camera bag held tightly on his lap. He was silent, but occasionally his eyes glanced toward Dyah's hand. There, Dyah's thumb continuously rubbed the surface of the rough wooden keychain, as if trying to spell out an answer from its protruding wood fibers.

"Still far?" Reynold's voice broke the silence, sounding hoarse over the roaring taxi engine.

Dyah shook her head slightly without turning. "Near Pasar Pejaten. Go into an alley a little."

The taxi turned sharply, pushing Dyah's body toward the door side. She knew this route. The winding road toward "Kos Bambu Kuning" was a path she had memorized by heart for the last two years. They passed a satay vendor at the street corner whose smoke still billowed thickly, spreading the pungent smell of burnt meat into the taxi cabin. Next to it, a small coffee shop was still brightly lit with the sound of an old radio playing dangdut songs with disturbing noise.

The taxi slowed as it reached a pile of used cardboard boxes in front of a grocery store that was never tidy.

"Can only go this far, Ma'am," said the taxi driver while looking back. "The road ahead is very narrow."

Dyah took out her wallet and handed over several bills with a slightly stiff hand. As she got out, the humid night air immediately seized her skin, feeling heavier than the air on campus earlier.

The alley looked darker than she remembered. The only adequate lighting came from a pale white neon light at a bakso stall still open a few dozen meters ahead. That light emitted a cold, bluish hue, making Dyah's and Reynold's shadows appear elongated and strange on the uneven, rocky road surface.

"Dark too, huh, at night like this," murmured Reynold. The sound of his shoes was noisy amidst the silence of the alley, only interrupted by the sound of crickets from behind the high walls of residents' houses.

Dyah just walked straight. Her mind focused on the three-story building of faded yellow color that now began to appear at the end of the alley. Most of the windows on the upper floors were already dark, resembling closed eyes. Only the porch light and one small window on the second floor still allowed light to seep out.

The tall iron gate was already padlocked from the inside. Dyah felt along the wall beside the fence, searching for the worn-out doorbell button with the label "Tuan/Puan" whose ink was almost completely erased. She pressed it for a long time. A loud, ear-piercing ring broke the night silence, followed by the sound of a dog barking from a neighbor's house.

Several seconds passed in chilling silence. Then, the main porch light turned on, and the figure of Ibu Dibyo appeared from behind the blurry glass door. The woman was wearing a floral-patterned house dress with reading glasses hanging at the tip of her nose. She walked slowly toward the gate, her steps sounding dragged.

"Dyah? This late at night," she uttered upon recognizing Dyah's face under the dim street light. She fished through her house dress pocket, searching for the gate key. Her voice was hoarse, remnants of sleepiness still audible there.

"Sorry for disturbing you late at night, Bu. We..." Dyah paused for a moment; her throat suddenly felt dry. "We are looking for Sudiro."

Ibu Dibyo stopped turning the gate key. She frowned until the wrinkles on her forehead became more clearly visible. "Sudiro? Didn't he move out a month ago?"

"Yes, Bu. But..." Dyah raised her hand, showing the wooden key she had found in the locker earlier. "We found this in his locker this afternoon. And he hasn't appeared for two days now."

Ibu Dibyo's expression changed instantly. The drowsy look in her eyes now tensed, turning into something approaching restrained anxiety. She opened the gate lock with slight haste.

"I don't know anything about Sudiro," she said while pulling the loudly creaking iron gate. "His room has been empty since he left. I even cleaned it for a new potential occupant."

"May we look at his room for just a moment?" asked Reynold. His voice was polite, but there was a firmness that made Ibu Dibyo not immediately refuse.

The old woman looked at both alternately, then let out a long sigh. "Alright. Follow me."

They entered through a small yard crowded with pots of ornamental plants. The smell of wet soil and the musty smell typical of old buildings greeted them. Dyah followed Ibu Dibyo up the stairs to the second floor. Each wooden step emitted a familiar creaking sound—a sound that for two years had always accompanied Dyah's visits.

Sudiro's room was at the end of the second-floor corridor, a door with the number 8 whose paint was starting to peel at the bottom. Ibu Dibyo took out a master key, turned the keyhole, then pushed the door until it opened fully.

The white neon light inside the room turned on with a short humming sound. As soon as Dyah stepped in, she immediately felt something was wrong. Her body reacted physically spontaneously; the hairs on her nape stood up, and her breath felt shorter.

The room measured 3x4 meters. Empty. A single bed in the corner, a wooden study desk under the window, and a two-door wardrobe next to it. The floor was covered with white ceramic tiles that now looked shiny,y reflecting the light.

But its tidiness was unnatural.

"This... why is it so clean, Bu?" asked Dyah. Her voice was almost a whisper.

The room was too tidy. Not a speck of dust on the desk. No footprints on the floor that looked like it had just been mopped. No musty smell that was usually detectable in a room left empty for a month—instead, there was a sharp smell of liquid soap and a bit of disinfectant that stung the nose. The bedsheet on the bed looked newly changed, its folds very precise and perfect.

The books on the desk shelf were arranged neatly according to height, very different from Sudiro's habit of always stacking books haphazardly until forming a wobbly tower. Even the clothes hangers behind the door were all empty, hanging with precise spacing like soldiers in formation.

"This..." Dyah could not finish her sentence. She touched the edge of the desk; her finger left no trace whatsoever.

"I cleaned it three days ago," explained Ibu Dibyo. However, there was a tone of doubt in her hoarse voice. She herself looked slightly confused seeing the room's condition.

"But, Bu... it's not usually this clean," Dyah responded.