I remembered the day Bubble died. I cried on Zioh’s shoulder, and his tears soaked through my shoulder, warm and heavy. When I was upset with my physics teacher, Zioh shared my anger, even though he had just won an international physics competition with that very teacher as his mentor. When I kept failing, Zioh stayed up all night teaching me until my grades finally improved. And when I was sick and alone at home, Zioh slept on the floor beside my bed, pressing cold compresses until morning.
The harder I tried to forget, the harder I ended up remembering.
Zioh used to be the eraser. He erased sadness, erased problems, erased anxiety, erased wounds.
Like a hero.
And yet, for some reason, now he’d become the pen. Writing sadness, inscribing wounds, sketching anxieties, etching pain.
Like a fallen hero.
I’d tried to deny it, but it was clear that my hero had changed into a fallen hero.
Deep down, I’d always known. Something was wrong—a poison staining him. It stole his light and dragged him into darkness, leaving him lost there for so long.
When I stepped out of the taxi a few seconds ago, rain lashed against me. My oversized hoodie and shorts had given me warmth, but now they clung to me, drenched and freezing.
It was late. And in this cold, wet, pitch-black night, I came here. To one of the city parks in the middle of Jakarta. I stumbled through the dark, frantic and directionless, turning left and right as if searching for something I’d lost. My chest was a storm as I sprinted through the rain, shouting, calling, my voice raw, and only my screams blended with the pouring rain.
“Zioh!!” I ran deeper into the park, down every path. My throat was raw from yelling, my vision blurred by the rain. I shivered but remained desperate to find someone.
Someone who made every beat in my heart like a blade to my chest. His voice had broken down over the phone, begging, crying, pleading to meet him at the park we used to spend time together. The pain I’d been drowning in all week vanished the second I listened to his broken voice.
The ache still lived inside me, but it was nothing compared to hearing him destroyed like that. Because, since I’d known him, this was only the second time I’d ever heard him sound like that. The first time had been what dragged me into this hell in the first place, and I couldn’t bear to listen to it again.
Because heroes never let themselves look weak.They only do when there is nothing left to hold on to.
Where was he?
My pulse thrummed violently against my throat; I couldhardly breathe. “Zi! Zioh!”
Then, finally, a shadow emerged by the swings, standing still and drenched to the bone.
I squinted through the rain. “Zi?” My voice cracked, nearly swallowed by the storm.
I wiped the rain from my face to see him properly, my body moving of its own accord. Step by step, I closed the distance until I stood right behind him. Reaching for his arm, I let out a word, my voice trembling with every syllable. “Z-Zi?” I tug, a silent plea in the motion. “Z-Zioh… hey…”
My hand shook from the cold, but his skin was even colder when I touched it. His arm felt like ice beneath my palm. He wore a plain black t-shirt and sweatpants soaked through.
When Zioh turned around, I held my breath. It reminded me of when I found him at that hotel, but this time it was worse. His gaze was empty and red, his face pale and drawn, his wet hair a disheveled mess. His whole body shivered, yet he stood, frozen.
I swallowed.
The rain lashed against my face, but I kept my eyes on him. “Zioh…” My hands clutched both his arms, shaking them, desperate for him to respond. But he didn’t move, speak, or even blink.
My pulse raced. I glanced around, desperate to find something: shelter, a person, a taxi,anything. But there was nothing. No one. Only us in this downpour.
Looking back, I gripped his shoulders tighter, shaking him to rouse him. My voice quivered, calling his name. “Zi…” I pleaded. “Let’s… Let’s find shelter first—”
“Tshabina.” His voice cut in, hoarse, cracked. And for the first time, his eyes stirred, trembling. His lips shivered as he looked at me.
“What should I do…” His whisper was ragged. Slowly, his hands lifted, clutching my shoulders, firm, trembling. I could feel the chill of his touch seep through my soaked hoodie, and beneath the rain, I knew he was crying. His tears mixed with the downpour.
My heart sank, and I couldn’t hold my own tears back.
They fell, mingling with the storm. I placed my hands over his, gripping tightly, meeting his broken gaze. “What’s wrong, Zi?” My voice cracked, soft, pleading. “Oh my Gosh… w-what happened…?”
Zioh shook his head hard, his grip tightened as panic flickered in his bloodshot eyes. “Please…” His voice broke into sobs. “Tell them to stop.” His words stumbled out between shallow breaths. “Tell them… toshut up.”
