Jakarta at one in the morning was different from Jakarta during the day.
The roads were empty in a way that felt strange after getting used to traffic that never truly stopped. Streetlights flickered over the wet asphalt. There were no horns, no street vendors, no city racing against itself.
Just us, and twenty-five minutes that felt far longer than they actually were.
I tried calling my father again.
First ring. Second. Third.
Then—click.
"Ela."
His voice. Alive. Slightly confused from having just woken up, but alive.
Something in my chest that had been wound painfully tight loosened by one layer.
"Are you okay, Dad?"
"I'm fine. What's wrong? What time is it—"
"Someone may be heading to your house tonight." I chose my words quickly, without unnecessary dramatics. "His name is H
