English Short Stories, Lits/Sastra


“I dreamed of him last night,” that was the first thing she said when she noticed I was entering the room. She did not even bother to check who was coming. But she knew, it was me.

She was half lying on the single sofa she put in front of her desk, and rested her head on one side of the arm rest with both feet hanging on the other side. Her eyes were fixed to the window presenting the shadowy  afternoon. But she was not really looking. I knew her mind was somewhere else. Maybe around the dream she just had last night.

“Him? That boy?” I asked her just to make sure because it was almost couple months ago since the last time she talked about that man I only knew from her story. I thought she had forgotten him. And I told her exactly that. Continue reading

English Short Stories, Lits/Sastra



Her little finger kept tipping on the surface of the grassed ground. No one can really tell whether she was nervous or simply being too enthusiastic. But, from her smile, those seeing her may assume the latter. Though she always wore that smile. A kind of smile people loved. When she was smiling, her eyes shone and glistened. It reminded people of those eyes of a rabbit that her thick glasses could barely hide the softness in it.

It’d been approximately thirty five minutes twenty seconds that she had been sitting there at the park all by herself. Thirty five minutes twenty nine seconds now, or it’s gone half past one. That was how she’d love to count time. In details. In precise numbers. No single second left unsaid. As how she measured how many steps she took from home to the bus shelter: one hundred and fifty two steps; or from the bus stop to work: two hundred and seven steps; or how she just discovered three hundred and fifty three steps to reach the park from work. No body really knew about it. How she did all those. How she viewed things in a complex details. How she realized that her brain never let her rest a bit. How it forced her to get busy with her mind all the time.

She pictured her brain interior like a wheel train of a clock that never stopped moving in a super high speed oscillation. That sometimes she wish she could secretly put any kind of obstruent to interupt its movement so she could stop a tiny second to know how it was to be normal.

Normal. The most underrated thing people may think of. That was what she always thought.

Sixty three persons: forty eight in pair and thirteen in group and two in solitary as she was. She had been counting the visitors of the park that just passed by. The twenty four couples were her favorite. Mostly in their early adolescence. But her most favorite was always the old ones. Very few of them. But at least she knew that there was this hope that someone who could love and stay forever really existed.

She figured herself much older and be in pair with someone. How lovely the idea was. Even though she barely ever knew how it was really like to fall for someone. Was it like when her stomach reacted to see documenter of the young Lennon? Or like the strange feeling she always had whenever she was in this art class in her high school cause the teacher was so attractive, good-looking and all? Or like the nausea that always struck whenever she was too enthusiastic about something? She always wondered. 

I wish I could tell her. That someday she would know. That she would really meet this person. Someone who was odd enough to level her peculiarity. Someone as strange as her, who would sit next to her and secretly adore her complexity.

Fifty one minutes forty five seconds, she decided to walk back to her office. Another three hundred and fifty three steps, or maybe more. She would find out.

English Short Stories, Lits/Sastra


Little fume of my coffee started to vanish that it smelled less stronger now. Or, maybe it’s just I got used to the smell. As it reminded me that I’d been sitting in the corner of the coffee shop for too long. And I hadn’t drunk even a sip of my coffee, that had gotten far from hot now.

“Always drink your coffee while it’s hot.” That was what Anne always told me. Funny, that I, as a man, was always to be the one who was less masculine compared to her. From ocean diving, to the love of coffee. She was the one introduced me to a habit of drinking coffee sugarless. She said, we should not drink coffee with sugar. Even though sugar gave a sweet taste to it, still, coffee was never meant to be consumed with sugar. When you love coffee, you would mind how other different particles might ruin its taste. That was her philosophy about coffee. But I still couldn’t drink it a hundred percent sugarless. And, I would always be a joke to her for this. Her mocking at me on this usually always ended up with me getting pissed off. But it felt differently now. It made me smile by only thinking of it.

I was not my self recently. I had been avoiding people. Friends, family, whoever it was. It was like the need of my personal space just elevated. Been couple months. I didn’t feel like talking much and had been preferring hearing myself more than others.

I was surprised myself that I enjoyed all these. Going out, buying my own self some coffee, and just sitting there like the loneliest person on earth, only to finaly leave and ignore the miserable coffee I did not bother to touch.

I was sure that to be by myself was all I needed. I didn’t know why, but it was just, I felt the way people were acting to me recently was so overwhelming. I couldn’t stand their every are-you-alright or their other way of expressing sympathy. And I was sorry that they thought I needed all that.


It was not exactly what they thought and sought. I really wish they would stop asking. Cause I didn’t even know whether I was sad, or mad. What I felt inside was so unfamiliar. Things were just so strange that most of the time I felt the world had stopped moving and I could barely hear things other than my own self. And this heavy feeling on my chest, was the thing that I had never been able to get rid of.

I could only hope that one day, I would wake up in the morning feeling life has been normal again. That I would not mind any more sympathy or simply a pity. That people’s condolence and I’m-sorry-about-Anne thing would just feel like any other normal words. And that this feeling of missing her would cause no more pain on me. That my coffee would taste fine sugarless. One day…


English Short Stories, Lits/Sastra

The Smile

It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. I was sitting on a bench of a park when I saw him standing there looking at me. There were so many people. So I wasn’t really noticing as my eyes was in and out of focus. It was the thoughts.

I’ve been feeling so miserable lately and was tired of my self. I felt worthless most of the time that I forgot how it was to feel special. I cried a way too much lately. Everything just felt so overwhelming. I knew something was wrong inside my self.

Sometimes I imagined myself was made of strings. Thousands of strings that interlace one to another. And some of my strings  might be cut off. And the rest was ready to break apart to turn me into pieces.

I was thinking needing a fix. A big start. A fix to all the broken strings. I felt so gloomy inside and couldn’t help my self letting the bad emotion in.

Until in between all the useless thoughts, I realised that someone standing next to a big tree across me was staring intensely at me. And he smiled at me as he knew that I’ve seen him. I fixed the position of my glasses as I tried to see him clearer.

I remembered, it was the young guy from my office. A new guy that couple times exchanged smiles with me when we were accidentally bumping into each other. I didn’t know his name. But, I knew that he had a nice smile.

I smiled. And suddenly, he was waving his hand at me, and smiled again. We were just doing it for some intense seconds and thing just happened. It just occurred to me that I forgot everything. I forgot why I was here alone at the first place. And I never knew how. How a smile could do me the magic. Or it was the man? But I felt better. And it had rung me a bell to a wonderful feeling.

I remembered now, I had once felt special.

A prompt to the Discover Challenge: Opening Line.