Time keeps running (not sure to continue it or not)_

on the way home

*Bab 6: what did you after?*

English version

The night air clung to them, cool and damp, as they made their way down the quiet street. The soft drizzle had eased into a mist, blurring the glow of the lamps that lined the road.

Indo tugged his jacket tighter, his thoughts still drifting back to the endless shelves of the library. He had expected the search to feel exciting, but instead it left him hollow—like standing at the edge of something vast and unreachable.

Singa walked beside him with his usual calm stride, hands tucked into his pockets. His presence was steady, grounding, though he didn't say much. Indo found comfort in that silence.

After a while, Indo exhaled.
Indo: "Do you ever feel like you're chasing something you can't even name?"

Singa tilted his head slightly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.
Singa: "That's... a vague way to put it."

Indo gave a small, rueful smile. "I mean... you keep searching, hoping for an answer, but the more you look, the less you find. Like it's right there, but just out of reach."

Singa was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the slick pavement ahead.
Singa: "Yeah. I've felt that. But sometimes... the act of searching teaches you more than the thing you're trying to find."

Indo blinked, taken aback. He hadn't expected such a thoughtful reply. He let the words settle in, warming him more than the jacket wrapped around his shoulders.

The street grew narrower as they entered a quieter part of the neighborhood. Most of the shops were closed, their shutters pulled down, the signs dark. Only a single light glowed faintly from a corner bookstore. Indo slowed, his eyes drawn to it.

The store looked old, almost forgotten, with its crooked sign and dusty window. Yet inside, a faint golden light flickered—strange, considering it should have been closed hours ago.

Indo stopped walking.
Indo: "Hey... did you know this place was still open?"

Singa turned his head, following his gaze. His brows furrowed slightly.
Singa: "It's not. I've passed here plenty of times. That shop hasn't been open in years."

A shiver crawled down Indo's spine, though he wasn't sure if it was from the damp air or the weight of Singa's words.

The two of them stood there, staring at the faint light that flickered like a heartbeat behind the dusty glass.

Indo's chest tightened. For the first time all day, the hollow ache of disappointment gave way to something else—an odd, restless anticipation.

Indo stood frozen on the damp street, his gaze fixed on the faint light beyond the bookstore's dusty window. The glow wasn't steady—it wavered, as if it were coming from a candle rather than an electric lamp. Each flicker pressed against the glass like a quiet invitation.

Singa shifted beside him, his usual calm expression unreadable, though Indo noticed the faint crease in his brow.

Indo (whispering): "You're sure this place hasn't been open?"

Singa's reply was firm, though his voice stayed low.
Singa: "Positive. This shop shut down years ago. The owner moved away. No one's been here since."

Indo pressed a hand against the cool glass of the window, leaving behind a faint smear in the condensation. Inside, the light pulsed again—soft, golden, and oddly warm against the otherwise lifeless room. He could just barely make out the outlines of shelves, rows upon rows of forgotten books, all cloaked in dust.