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A fan fiction for this story: https://meigess.medium.com/54a3cf6a9ed5

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Her name comes up so casually in a conversation that you almost miss it. But it's hard to miss a name you miss every night. The name you say in your prayers every single day until you stopped, seven years and eight months ago. The name you have imagined countless times would be written next to yours in golden script, on fancy paper with floral ornaments, under the words “You are invited to the wedding of”. The name that ended up next to a name that is not yours, on a wedding invite you didn't get, seven years and eight months ago.

There it is again. Her name. Mentioned so carelessly as if it doesn't still break your heart. You tell your friend you know her. “We used to date,” you say. Five years, three months, twelve days. “It didn't work out.” And I don’t know why.

Sharing stories from your past feels weird. It hurts, but you're smiling. Your friend looks intrigued. “You should come!”

To her sacred brunch? She would hate that.

“Seven years is such a long time ago!” your friend insists. Which is funny, because if time heals, then why is she a doctor?

Maybe it’s because you’re ashamed to admit to your friend that you have not moved on. Maybe it’s because you miss her every day, still. Maybe it’s for the chance to take her away from her husband, even for an hour, the way he took her away from you forever, seven years and eight months ago. Regardless, here you are.

You are dressed up and an hour early. You worry a little that you may come off too eager for this meeting, but you are, you realize, eager. And what is the point of hiding something that will change nothing?

The woman next to you is debugging an error in her code. You see her change a line and relaunch her app, change another and launch it again, and yet there it is always: a wrong message in screen three.

It reminds you of seven years ago, of the series of proposals you launched her way, each met with rejection. At first it was soft, delayed, full of apology. By the end it was violent, full of tears, and final. And as you thought it couldn’t get worse, she married her next boyfriend, not even a year after your breakup.

You’re having a hard time breathing. You left South Jakarta. You changed your career. You’re not that guy anymore. You left everything behind. You changed your entire life. You are no longer a person who can be hurt by the mention of her name or the memories of her smile.

But your heart betrays logic, and you let it hurt.

She still wears striped t-shirts. Her hair is longer, her lipstick a little more subdued. You miss her more than you could ever imagine. She still has on those plain white sneakers. She doesn’t tie her hair up anymore. Strange that you miss her even more, now that you’ve seen her. She still prefers backpacks to totebags. She has a rose gold band on her right ring finger. You wonder why she ended the relationship.