KAEL'S APARTMENT, MONTMARTRE - A QUIET NIGHT
The night fog shrouded the window of Kael's small, cluttered apartment, filled with canvases and sketches. After leaving the airport, he didn't go straight home. He walked aimlessly along the Seine for hours, letting the cold Paris air clear his troubled mind.
Now, in the silence of his apartment, the sadness ambushed him. He looked at the picture of Elara he had drawn when they were still together—a pencil sketch of a young Elara with a wide smile that used to brighten his days. His fingers traced the lines of her face in the picture.
"I almost had you back," he whispered to the image, his voice hoarse. "Almost."
He picked up his phone, scrolled through his contacts until he found the name: Bimo. The profile picture showed an eight-year-old boy with a wide smile who had inherited his brown eyes.
The video call rang several times before connecting.
"Dad!" Bimo's face appeared, his hair still wet from a bath. "Where are you? Why is it so dark?"
Kael quickly wiped away tears, forcing a smile. "In Paris, sweetie. Have you had dinner?"
"Yes! Mom cooked chicken noodles. But it wasn't tasty enough, so I added lots of soy sauce," Bimo joked innocently. "When are you coming home, Dad? I miss you."
"Soon, sweetie. Dad promises." Kael felt a pang in his chest. He missed Bimo, his son who had always been his support after the divorce from Clara.
"Bimo, Mom needs to talk to Dad for a bit," Clara's voice came from the background. Bimo's face disappeared, replaced by a woman in her mid-thirties with wise eyes and slight wrinkles at their corners. Clara, his ex-wife.
"Kael," Clara greeted, her eyes immediately reading the situation. "You've been crying."
"No, I—"
"Don't lie to me.I've known you since we were nineteen. I know when you're hurt."
Kael surrendered, wiping his face. "I saw her, Clar. Elara."
Clara sighed."And she chose to go back to her husband."
"Not certain yet.But... her husband came. He's here. And seeing them together..." Kael couldn't continue.
"You still love her very much,"Clara said, not as a question, but a statement.
"Always. Even when I married you, even when Bimo was born... part of my heart always belonged to her." The admission came out with difficulty. "I know that wasn't fair to you. And I'm sorry for that, Clar. Again."
Clara smiled wryly. "We discussed this during the divorce, Kael. I knew from the start your heart wasn't entirely mine. But we have Bimo. And a good friendship after it all."
"You're too good for me."
"Or maybe I'm just realistic."Clara sighed. "Tell me. Everything."
A HEART-TO-HEART ACROSS THE OCEAN
And Kael told her everything. About David's call asking him to watch over Elara, about the beautiful weeks in Paris, about how it felt to see Elara laugh again after so long, about the kiss under the fireworks, about his inner struggle between respecting Elara's marriage and his own desires.
"And today," Kael finished, his voice almost inaudible, "I saw them hugging at the airport. And in her eyes... I saw the love that still exists for David. A wounded love, but still alive."
Clara listened patiently, without judgment. "And what will you do now?"
"I don't know.David is giving her time to choose. And I... I'm just waiting. Like I've always done."
"Kael," Clara's voice softened. "During the ten years we were together, I saw you keep Elara's photo in your wallet. I saw you go quiet when certain songs played—songs you both loved. I accepted it because I loved you. But now, after all that's happened, the question is: Is this love you've held onto for years healthy for you?"
Kael was silent. He had never questioned that.
"You are an extraordinary man,Kael. Loving, loyal, artistic, a great father to Bimo. But when it comes to Elara... you seem trapped in time. As if part of you stopped moving when she chose David."
"How can I forget her, Clar? She was the first love. The true love."
"And me?"Clara asked, without an accusing tone. "Was I just an escape? A substitute?"
"No!You... you were a different love. You were family. You gave me Bimo."
Clara nodded. "I know. And I have no regrets. But, Kael, listen to me carefully: if Elara chooses David, you have to let her go. Truly let her go. Not just pretend, but truly release her."
"How?"Kael's voice broke.
"By acknowledging that love doesn't always mean possession.Sometimes, the greatest love is letting the person you love find their happiness, even if it's not with you." Clara paused for a moment. "Like you did back then when she chose David. You let her go gracefully. Go back to being that man."
RELEASED TENSION
Bimo reappeared on the screen. "Dad, I want to show you something!" He held up a drawing he had just made—a family picture: Kael, Clara, and Bimo with their home in Bandung in the background. "This is us! When Dad comes home, we can put it on the fridge!"
Kael's tears finally flowed freely. "The drawing is wonderful, sweetie. Dad loves you so much."
"I love you too,Dad! Mom said you were sad, so I drew this to make you happy."
Kael sobbed. "It worked, sweetie. Dad is happy now."
After Bimo went to bed, Clara returned. "He inherited your sensitive heart."
"Thank you,Clar. For everything. For still being willing to listen to me after all that happened."
"We are family,Kael. An unconventional form of family, but family." Clara smiled. "Now, listen to the advice of your very wise ex-wife: give Elara space. Don't pressure her. If she chooses you, it will come naturally. If not... then the world is still wide. And you still have Bimo who idolizes you, and an ex-wife who, strangely, still cares about you."
Kael let out a small laugh, the first time since leaving the airport. "I don't deserve you."
"Indeed,"Clara joked. "But it's too late for regrets now."
A MORNING BRINGING CLARITY
After the call ended, Kael stood before a blank canvas. All this time, he had only drawn Elara. Perhaps it was time to draw something else. Perhaps a Parisian scene. Or perhaps Bimo's face.
He picked up a pencil and began a rough sketch. The hand that usually immediately formed Elara's silhouette now deliberately formed different lines: the curve of a bridge, the shape of a tower, the silhouettes of trees.
The process felt like a release. Each stroke was a step away from Elara's shadow that had haunted him for ten years.
But when he finished, in the corner of the canvas, unconsciously, he had sketched the profile of a woman with long hair blowing in the wind. Elara. Always Elara.
He put down the pencil, gazing at his work with tear-filled eyes. Perhaps Clara was right. Perhaps he was indeed trapped in time. But is being trapped in genuine love so bad?
His phone rang. From Elara.
"Kael,can we meet? I need to talk."
Kael's heart pounded. "When? Where?"
"Tomorrow morning.At our usual cafe."
After the call ended, Kael stared at his phone. This might be the end. Or perhaps a beginning. One thing was sure: tomorrow he would know.
He looked out the window, toward Elara's apartment just a few floors away. There, a family that might reunite, or might change forever.
And he, here, with his wounded but still hopeful heart, with memories of a wise ex-wife and a loving son, had to prepare himself for all possibilities.
That night, for the first time, Kael prayed not for Elara to choose him, but for whatever Elara's decision, he would find the strength to accept it.
Because true love—as Clara taught—sometimes means letting go, not holding on tightly.