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Raline Felicia’s childhood had once been a canvas painted with the hues of laughter and warmth, where every day felt like a dance beneath the golden sun. Born in Bandung, she had grown up surrounded by love—her mother’s melodic voice filling the house, her father’s strong arms lifting her high, and her older brother Malik’s endless teasing. But when she was five, the colors faded. Her mother’s passing stole the warmth, leaving behind a house filled with echoes instead of laughter. Soon after, her father, once a pillar of strength, withdrew into himself, his eyes shadowed with sorrow. He no longer played with her, no longer told bedtime stories. The grief was a chasm Raline couldn’t cross, except for the presence of Malik, who held her hand through the storm.

Not long after, they moved to Jakarta—a new city, a new house, but the same hollow silence. And then, she arrived. Nadira. The woman who was supposed to be her new mother. Raline despised her presence, resented the way she took her mother’s place at the dinner table, how she tried to be kind when all Raline wanted was for her to disappear. She would glare when Nadira spoke, refuse to answer when she asked about her day, and run to Malik whenever Nadira tried to get close. “You’re not my mother,” she once spat, venom laced in her young voice. Nadira never responded in anger, only offering her a soft, understanding smile. It infuriated Raline even more.

One stormy evening, as lightning cracked through the sky and the wind howled through the windows, Raline found herself trembling under her blanket. Malik was away at a school camp, and for the first time in a long while, she was alone. The rain hammered against the roof, and a loud thunderclap sent her heart racing. She curled into herself, burying her face into the pillow, trying to suppress her fear. Then, a gentle knock. “Raline?” Nadira’s voice was quiet, hesitant. “Can I come in?” Silence hung between them, but then another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky, and Raline whimpered. Without waiting, Nadira stepped in, carrying a warm blanket and a cup of milk. “I used to be scared of storms too,” she murmured, sitting beside her.

Raline peeked up, surprised. “You did?” she asked, her voice small.

Nadira nodded. “When I was your age, I would hide under my blanket and sing songs to distract myself.” She smiled and, without hesitation, began humming a soft lullaby. It wasn’t the same as her mother’s, but it carried the same warmth. Slowly, hesitantly, Raline edged closer, allowing Nadira to drape the blanket over both of them. The fear ebbed away, replaced by something unfamiliar—comfort. That night, for the first time, Raline didn’t feel alone.

From then on, the walls between them began to crumble. Nadira never forced her love upon Raline, never tried to replace what was lost. Instead, she stood beside her, patient and unwavering, until one day, Raline no longer looked at her with resentment but with something softer. Maybe, just maybe, Nadira wasn’t here to steal her mother’s place. Maybe she was here to help Raline find a new kind of love—one that didn’t erase the past, but embraced it while moving forward.

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In high school, Raline Felicia was the kind of girl who blended into the background—quiet, reserved, always hesitant to step into the spotlight. She wasn’t exactly invisible, but she never sought attention either. That changed when she met Alya, her bold and charismatic best friend, who had a talent for pulling Raline out of her shell. "You’re too pretty to be this shy," Alya would tease, linking arms with her in the hallway. It was Alya who introduced her to Reyhan, a senior with an easy smile and an effortless charm. "You’ll like him," she had said, nudging Raline toward him during lunch. And she did. More than she expected.

Their connection was instant but unspoken—shared glances across the schoolyard, long conversations about nothing and everything. Reyhan had a way of making Raline feel seen, like she wasn’t just another face in the crowd. Before she knew it, they were inseparable. What started as high school puppy love grew into something deeper, something that withstood the test of time. Seven years. Seven years of laughter, whispered dreams, and promises that felt unbreakable. Until, suddenly, they were.

One evening, after yet another pointless argument, Reyhan exhaled sharply and said, “I think we should break up.”

Raline blinked, stunned. “Because I didn’t reply to your text fast enough?” Her voice wavered, disbelief creeping in.

Reyhan rubbed his temples. “It’s not just that.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded.

He paused for a second too long. Then, with an almost rehearsed nonchalance, he said, “I don’t know. I just feel like… we should.”

That was it. No real reason. No closure. Just an ending that didn’t make sense, unraveling everything they had built for seven years. Raline felt like a passenger in a car that had suddenly crashed, and she never saw it coming.

Heartbroken but determined to move forward, she leaned on Alya, the one person she trusted most. Until the betrayal came.

It was a random afternoon when she saw them—Alya and Reyhan, laughing at a café, fingers intertwined across the table. Her stomach twisted into knots. At first, she told herself it was just a coincidence, just a mistake. But it wasn’t. The truth came like a slap to the face: Alya was dating her ex.

When she confronted her, Alya barely looked apologetic. “It just happened, Raline,” she said, as if that excused everything.

Raline stared at her, searching for the best friend who once swore they'd always have each other’s backs. But she wasn’t there anymore. She was gone.

That night, Raline made her decision. She packed her bags, booked a one-way ticket, and left Jakarta behind. The city held too many ghosts, too many memories that no longer felt like home. She didn’t leave a note. She didn’t say goodbye. She just walked away, determined to start anew—somewhere far from the past, somewhere no one knew her name.

Because if love and friendship could crumble so easily, maybe it was time to rebuild something of her own.