“Ever hated one of your own characters?” Aldo asked.
“Oh, what’s this now? Another interview?” The woman responded with an amused look at her high school friend.
“Just curious,” Aldo shrugged.
“I can't speak for other writers, but personally, I’ve never hated a single character I've created. They’re all reflections of my own madness,” Risa confessed.
Aldo frowned, clearly dissatisfied with her answer. He seemed skeptical, perhaps because Aldo, now with his high position and power, occasionally let his biases slip into his articles. The two of them locked eyes, measuring each other silently. Risa and Aldo never saw eye to eye in long conversations due to their differing perspectives. Journalists are straightforward and crave concrete evidence, while novelists tend to be scattered, adding embellishments to dramatize stories.
“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle killed off Sherlock Holmes because he was jealous of the character’s popularity overshadowing his own. So it's only natural that I’m skeptical when you say you've never hated one of your creations,” Aldo argued, trying to undermine Risa’s statement.
It was a valid point; after all, Sherlock Holmes was the main character, and it wasn’t impossible for an author to hate their protagonist, even if that character was beloved by readers.
“Aldo, but Sherlock Holmes was brought back to life in ‘The Adventure of the Empty House’. You know what? If I hate someone, I just make them the villain. That’s it,” the novelist said. “This might sound crazy, but I feel like I’m just writing reports on their lives. That’s all, Do.”
Risa hoped Aldo would understand this too, given that he wrote, even if not novels. To her, being a novelist was akin to splitting her personality into dozens or even hundreds of fragments, blending personal experiences, those of others, and a bit of imagination to bind the story together. She thought and spoke as her characters would until what she wrote felt alive and real to her readers. People who appreciate art should understand this.
“Is there a character in any of your novels inspired by Ardo?” Indra asked with a probing look.
Risa rolled her eyes at the metrosexual man. Indra, always smelling good and impeccably dressed, was a stark contrast to Aldo, who was indifferent to his appearance, often grabbing whatever T-shirt was at hand.
“Even if there were, I wouldn’t admit it. I don’t want to pay him royalties. Ardo’s rate card must be pretty high.” Risa laughed, trying to make a joke.
Aldo and Indra exchanged glances and laughed along with her. They had known each other long enough that the two men should be able to guess who and in which book had characteristics that closely resembled Virardo Nugraha.
“I have a hunch, but I’ll keep it to myself. Last time Ardo figured out it was him, he threw away those books,” Aldo said with a mischievous grin.
“Come on, Ndra. There are over seven billion people on this planet. There are plenty of people who look alike without being related, so there must be others who resemble Ardo out there.” Risa’s hands moved animatedly as she explained.
“Okay,” Indra nodded in understanding.
“So, why did you two break up?” Aldo demanded an answer.
Risa shot him a sharp, murderous look. Could this man stop prying into her past relationship with Ardo? They were adults now, and life was dynamic, unpredictable, and exhausting to navigate.
“Why are you asking about something that expired ages ago, Do? You’re way too nosy,” Risa said, clearly uncomfortable with the personal questions.
“Because that Mountain Monkey refuses to talk, so I’m asking you.” Aldo pointed to his wedding invitation. “I love her as a first love. So… I’m sure the Monkey has similar feelings for you, at least as a first love that can never be.”
“First love? To me, that’s just puppy love, nothing worth blowing out of proportion. Sure, I cared about him, but that was a long time ago. So what now? Am I supposed to run into his arms and propose? I’m engaged, and Ardo is a man who loves his freedom. We’re not suited for anything more serious!” Risa crossed her arms, glaring at Aldo.
“Alright, alright, don’t fight here, guys! Want another drink? Hello, anyone?” Indra tried to calm the situation.
“No!” they both replied in unison.
“Precisely because it’s expired, Sa, I want to know the history. Ardo’s my friend, and so are you. There shouldn’t be any grudges between you two,” Aldo persisted, still digging for information.
Risa then looked at Indra with pleading eyes, silently asking for help to get Aldo to stop. The tall man grinned and shrugged indifferently. But he then turned to Aldo, signaling him to stop acting like a young journalist, idealistically chasing after every piece of information to the very end.
“You started dating a pilot two years later, right? Are you still together?” Indra asked.
They rarely met but kept up with each other through social media. Risa had never deliberately hidden her relationship, occasionally posting about date spots or family gatherings on both sides.
“Yes,” Risa replied lazily.
“Long-distance? No wonder it’s lasted,” Aldo scoffed.
“Barely seeing each other because of our busy schedules means there’s no time to get bored,” the novelist said with a thin smile, thinking of her fiancé, who was either in the air or on the ground somewhere.
 
***
 
For the next hour, they discussed Aldo’s upcoming wedding to Giska. The cheeky man recounted the complications of organizing everything in just a month. He had come here specifically to give Risa the invitation, as they were still friends despite rarely meeting.
“I’m off,” Risa said as she got up to leave. She bid farewell to Aldo and Indra, waving Aldo’s wedding invitation.
“Don’t forget to come,” Aldo reminded her.
“Yeah, if I can,” Risa replied with a small nod as a goodbye.
“Bye,” Indra said, waving his hand.
Risa smiled faintly at Indra in response. “Thanks, Ndra!”
She drove home alone, turning on the radio, hoping the music would accompany her and make the drive back less lonely. Risa would only be in Indonesia for a short time before settling in the Netherlands as Kala’s wife.
“Looks like we’ll meet at Aldo’s wedding,” Risa murmured.
Meeting old friends made her reminisce about her youth. She had broken up with Ardo for reasons many women trying to live a good life would understand. Ardo had been furious with her, and she had felt the same way toward him.
When a relationship becomes unhealthy, she chose to step back and end it with Ardo, leading to a great inner turmoil during her time alone. She was sad to lose the fun-loving man who had colored her days. If only Ardo had apologized, acknowledged his mistakes, and shown a desire to change, they might still be together today. But men don’t change easily unless they truly want to.
“Ardo, Ardo, your ego is too high. Marrying someone of the same age who was born in the same year seems impossible,” Risa muttered, glancing at Aldo’s wedding invitation on the passenger seat beside her, feeling a mix of emotions. The invitation had been her driving companion all along.
“Maybe there needs to be a one or two-year age difference for balance,” she mused, staring at the road. “Kala’s 29, I’m 28, perfect.” Then she chuckled to herself.