The woods behind the old bridge weren't on any map.
Bawang Putih knew that.
As kids, Jahe had once dared him to go past the first line of trees. He hadn't made it far.
But now he walked deeper than ever before, barefoot, breath fogging in front of him though the night was warm.
Jahe didn't speak. Just moved ahead, quiet as wind through leaves.
There were no animals.
No crickets. No owls.
Only the sound of their footsteps—and even that seemed swallowed by the trees.
No echoes.
As if the forest didn't want to remember them.
They reached a clearing.
In the center: a mirror.
Old, cracked, framed in blackened wood.
It stood unsupported, sunk into the ground like a gravestone.
Putih's chest tightened.
"I've seen this," he whispered. "In a dream."
Jahe nodded. "Not a dream. A memory."
Putih stepped closer.
And saw it.
His reflection.
But not just his.
Standing behind him… Bawang Merah.
Eyes wide.
Mouth sewn shut.
Putih spun around.
No one.
He turned back to the mirror.
His own face was gone.
Replaced by **something else**.
Tall. Pale. A grin too wide.
Its hand reached out.
The glass rippled.
Putih stumbled back.
Jahe caught him.
"She's trapped," Jahe said. "Where I was."
Putih looked up. "What is it?"
"A gate. A prison. A promise." Jahe's voice grew quieter. "I saw it first. Right before the crash. I thought I was hallucinating too."
Putih's hands were shaking. "Is it real?"
Jahe turned toward him—and for the first time, Putih saw fear in his friend's eyes.
"I don't know anymore."
They left the woods as dawn broke.
The mirror remained behind them, untouched, but now heavy with meaning.
Putih didn't speak.
Neither did Jahe.
Until they reached the edge of the forest.
"Why me?" Putih finally asked.
Jahe looked up at the sky, as if listening for something.
Then answered:
"Because you didn't let me go."