Things Left Unsaid
1141 Words
Sophia did not think about Adrian after that conversation.
Which was impressive considering she spent the next three days replaying his words repeatedly in her head.
That’s what survival does.
It irritated her how easily he said things nobody else seemed to understand.
Most people simplified pain into weakness because it made them more comfortable.
Adrian didn’t.
And Sophia hated that part of herself noticed.
⸻
Friday night arrived wrapped in rain and Jakarta traffic.
Sophia sat silently in the backseat of her car while brake lights stretched endlessly across Sudirman like rivers of red.
Her mother had invited her to dinner.
Which usually meant:
* her father would unexpectedly appear
* someone would pretend they were a normal family
* Sophia would leave emotionally exhausted
She almost turned the car around twice.
But guilt was a powerful thing.
The apartment building looked exactly the same as it had ten years ago.
Same narrow hallways.
Same faded walls.
Same flickering elevator light.
Sophia stepped inside carrying expensive fruit baskets her mother insisted were “too much” every single visit.
The door opened before she could knock.
“You’re here.”
Her mother smiled warmly, immediately reaching for the bags.
“You bought too many things again.”
“You say that every time.”
“Because every time is true.”
For a moment, Sophia softened slightly.
Her mother looked older lately.
More gray hair.
Thinner wrists.
Smile still gentle enough to break Sophia’s heart.
“Come in,” her mother said quietly.
The apartment smelled like ginger, soy sauce, and steamed fish.
Home.
Sophia hated that word.
Because home was supposed to feel safe.
And this place never had been.
“You didn’t have to cook this much.”
“I wanted to.”
Her mother moved around the kitchen carefully while Sophia sat at the small dining table she’d known her entire life.
Memories lingered everywhere here.
Her father laughing into another woman’s phone call in the hallway.
Her mother crying quietly after midnight.
Sophia pretending to sleep through all of it.
Then—
A knock at the door.
Sophia froze immediately.
Her mother avoided her eyes.
“Sophia…”
“Mom.”
“He just wanted to stop by briefly.”
Sophia stood up instantly.
“You said it would only be us.”
“It’s raining outside.”
“I don’t care.”
Another knock.
Then the door opened before anyone answered.
Her father stepped inside casually like he still belonged there.
And behind him—
A young woman around university age.
Pretty.
Nervous.
Familiar eyes.
Sophia felt exhaustion settle into her bones immediately.
“Ah,” her father said awkwardly. “You’re already here.”
Sophia stared at him coldly.
Older now.
Softer around the stomach.
Still carrying the same selfishness like it was something natural.
The girl beside him bowed politely.
“Hello, Jie.”
Older sister.
Sophia almost laughed.
What a ridiculous word.
“You must be Sophia-jie,” the girl said carefully. “I’m Vivian.”
“I know.”
Silence filled the apartment instantly.
Her mother hurried awkwardly toward the kitchen.
“I’ll prepare more plates.”
“You don’t need to,” Sophia said sharply.
Her father sighed. “Sophia.”
“No, let’s not do this tonight.”
Vivian shifted uncomfortably near the doorway.
Sophia noticed immediately.
And suddenly felt tired instead of angry.
Because the girl looked terrified.
Not guilty.
Not arrogant.
Just young.
Another innocent person dragged into her father’s disasters.
“She got accepted into a university in Jakarta,” her father explained. “I thought maybe you could help her settle in.”
Sophia stared at him in disbelief.
There it was.
Always something.
Always asking women to clean up the emotional messes he created.
“You thought wrong.”
“Sophia,” her mother warned softly.
“No.” Sophia looked directly at her father. “You don’t get to appear whenever convenient and play family.”
Vivian lowered her eyes immediately.
Guilt stabbed Sophia unexpectedly.
Not because she felt sorry for her father.
Never him.
But because she remembered being twenty once too.
Standing silently while adults destroyed each other across the dinner table.
The cycle repeating itself so easily felt almost cruel.
Her father rubbed his forehead tiredly.
“You always make everything difficult.”
Sophia laughed softly in disbelief.
“Me?”
“You think money solves everything.”
“No,” she said quietly. “I learned from watching you that money is the only thing people stay for.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Sharp.
Her mother looked wounded instantly.
Sophia regretted it immediately.
Again.
Why did anger always hit the wrong people first?
Before anyone could respond, her phone vibrated in her hand.
Adrian.
Sophia stared at the screen.
Once.
Twice.
Then declined the call immediately.
Her father noticed.
“Boyfriend?”
“None of your business.”
“Hm.” He sat down slowly at the table. “At least someone can tolerate your personality.”
Sophia’s expression went cold.
And suddenly—
She was seventeen again.
Standing in this exact apartment while her father mocked her mother for crying too much.
Talking too loudly.
Needing too much.
Same tone.
Same cruelty disguised as jokes.
Her chest tightened painfully.
Without another word, Sophia grabbed her bag.
“Sophia—”
“I’m leaving.”
Her mother looked panicked immediately. “At least eat first.”
“I lost my appetite.”
“Sophia.”
This time, her father’s voice softened slightly.
Wrong move.
Because pity from him felt insulting.
Sophia looked at him one last time.
“You know the worst part?” she said quietly.
“You cheated so many times that eventually none of us even reacted anymore.”
The apartment fell silent.
Even Vivian looked shocked.
Sophia opened the door before anyone could stop her.
Then left.
⸻
Rain poured heavily outside.
Sophia walked quickly through the parking area, breathing unevenly while anger and guilt twisted together painfully inside her chest.
She hated family dinners.
Hated emotional ambushes.
Hated becoming this version of herself every single time.
Her phone rang again.
Adrian.
She almost ignored it.
Instead:
“What?”
“You sound upset.”
Sophia closed her eyes briefly beneath the rain.
“Congratulations. You can hear emotions.”
“Where are you?”
“Why?”
A pause.
Then quietly:
“Because people usually shouldn’t be alone when they sound like that.”
Something inside her cracked slightly at the gentleness in his voice.
Dangerous.
So dangerous.
Sophia leaned against the side of her car.
Rain soaked through her blouse slowly while traffic hummed beyond the apartment gates.
“I’m fine,” she whispered automatically.
Adrian was silent for a moment.
Then:
“No,” he said softly. “I don’t think you are.”
- Writer
