"I want to go to Yogya," Urip murmured softly as he stepped out of the cathedral. "I still remember Grandpa's house… at the end of a small road near a field, with a big mango tree out front."
Gaby immediately chimed in inside his head, "Let's go! I want to see Yogya! People say it's peaceful, cool, and there are street food stalls!"
Urip chuckled quietly, then tapped his forehead. "I'm out of leave days, kid."
Gaby let out a long sigh, audible only in thought. "Ugh... back to Seoul again!"
They fell silent for a moment.
"It's okay," Urip told himself, trying to soothe both his own heart and hers. "If God brought us this far, maybe one day He'll lead us back there too. Back to where all the memories began."
—
Urip gazed at the Jakarta sunset through the airport window. Gaby, inside him, was still sulking.
"Why can't we just go to Yogya first? Can't you take two more days off or something?"
Urip gave a faint smile. "If I could, I would. But life isn't just about what we want."
"But you're the one who said, 'If God makes a way...'"
"Exactly. And the way He's opened now... is to return."
Boarding was announced.
As the plane's wheels lifted from Soekarno-Hatta's runway, Gaby fell silent. But Urip knew—there were quiet tears in her heart. Tears of a young soul, newly aware of her roots, and aching to understand them.
"Tomorrow we'll go to the hospital together, okay? Help me not space out in front of Dr. Han."
"Promise."
The night sky kept them company on the journey. Far from Jakarta, heading back to Seoul. But in Urip's heart, traces of Indonesia would never truly fade.
—
Once they landed in Seoul, the mood shifted. Gaby went completely silent. All the way from the airport to the house, Urip heard nothing but the hum of the car engine and faint street noise. No conversation. No inner voice. Gaby… had vanished.
At home, the silence deepened. The house felt emptier than usual—like it was waiting for something that hadn't arrived. Urip searched for any sign of presence, but found none. Only silence embracing every corner.
Without thinking, he went straight to the bathroom. As the water flowed over him, the pounding in his ears calmed slightly. But even in that stillness, Gaby's voice didn't return. No whispers. No comments. Just an unsettling quiet.
He soaked longer than usual, trying to process the depth of that silence. At times, he stared into the mirror, seeing a reflection that still felt unfamiliar. Was Gaby truly gone from within? Or was she hiding something deeper?
The confusion grew—like he was losing a part of himself within this stillness. All that remained was the sound of water and his increasingly loud heartbeat.
"Gaby..." he whispered, hoping for a reply.
Nothing.
Had he revealed too much? Or was she shutting herself off for another reason? Urip exhaled slowly, trying to release the weight building inside.
The silence was, in a way, soothing—but also terrifying.
—
When the water turned cold, Urip finally stepped out. He dried off slowly, but his mind was still soaked in unanswered questions.
Gaby remained silent.
Wearing home clothes, he sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his phone screen. No messages from Siska. Nothing unusual. And yet, the silence… felt wrong.
He opened his photo gallery, scrolling through recent shots: a blurry image of the columbarium in SG, a plaque marked "Gabriel Sulaiman Lim," a temple in Sunter, the minimalist house that once belonged to Siska. Finally, the Jakarta Cathedral. His finger lingered on that photo.
"Panis Angelicus..." he murmured.
Still no response.
"Gabriel… Gaby… what's wrong?"
Silence.
Urip lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly, he realized something. Guilt. Not his—but Gaby's.
She wasn't just silent. She was hiding something.
"Maybe she's scared," he thought. "Or ashamed. Or… overwhelmed."
He sat up, eyes fixed on the mirror. "Gaby, listen… You're not alone. I know you might be in shock—finding out you have a cousin, learning your grandfather had a brother. Even your mom kept that from you..."
His eyes narrowed, searching his own reflection for a response.
"But you have a right to know the truth. If you keep quiet, I can't help you."
Still nothing. But Urip made a decision: if Gaby wasn't ready to speak, then he would find the answers.
"You're the younger sibling of my child. Like a niece to me," he said softly. "If you want to talk, if something's weighing on you, I'm here. I can be your friend too."
He looked into the mirror, as if waiting for a reply from the girl hidden behind his reflection.
"You're probably confused, right? Suddenly discovering a family you never knew existed. A mother who kept secrets. A grandfather with a brother no one talked about…"
Silence.
Urip exhaled deeply. "Maybe you're angry. Or scared. Or just… don't know what to say. But Gaby, you're not alone. I'm not just borrowing your body—I'm trapped in this mystery too. But we can solve it together."
He bowed his head. Droplets from his still-wet hair hit the wooden floor.
"If you want to stay silent, I won't force you. But if someday you're ready to talk—I'll be here. I promise."
There was still no voice. But something shifted. Not a sound, not a movement—just… a presence. More solid than before.
Maybe Gaby wasn't ready to speak. But Urip knew: she was listening.
—
Siska arrived, wrapping Urip—inside Gaby's body—in a tight hug, as if trying to dissolve the lingering sorrow in her heart.
"We should've gone to Jakarta together," she whispered, a trace of regret in her voice.
Urip smiled gently, offering comfort. "What, I'm not allowed to go alone? Bangkok to SG isn't far. SG to Jakarta either," he said lightly, brushing off the concern.
Siska paused, her face shifting into something more serious. Her words trailed off. The silence deepened.
Urip sensed something unresolved, though he couldn't say what. Are you still haunted, Ma? he wondered.
After a pause, Siska spoke again, more softly. "I'm sorry. I just… thought, after visiting Grandpa's grave, we should've gone to Mom's too."
Her eyes glistened, emotions surfacing from long-buried depths. Urip nodded gently, feeling the weight she carried despite her composed front.
"You don't have to apologize, Ma. Everything in its own time," Urip said, taking her hand and feeling the tenderness hidden in her worry.
Siska took a long breath, as if releasing years of silent burden. "It all went by so fast. Sometimes I feel like I didn't get the chance to really see what was lost."
"Hey, remember I told you I met someone claiming to be Grandpa's brother's grandson?" Urip asked quietly, watching Siska seated at the edge of the bed. "From the start I thought—what if he's just pretending?"
Siska turned to him. Her gaze was sharp but tired, like weighing truths too painful to resurface. She said nothing. Just stood up and mumbled, "Your dad's coming home soon... I'll go cook."
Urip watched her walk away. There was a silence that hung heavy between them. He stood, stepped quickly forward, and hugged her from behind.
"You don't have to say anything, Ma… I won't ask again," he whispered.
That hug said more than words. It was Urip—or Gabriel Lim, now inhabited by Urip—saying he accepted whatever past Siska kept hidden. He wouldn't pry into wounds that might never heal, wouldn't dig into stories with no end.
Siska didn't hug him back, but she didn't pull away either. She walked to the kitchen—carrying secrets wrapped behind the calm face of a mother who had endured too much, for the sake of what remained.
—