With her body growing weaker and her heart aching every single day, Priska felt that life had become meaningless and empty. Her stomach constantly rebelled in hunger, demanding food, but she refused to eat anything. She was afraid of becoming greedy, and even more afraid of continuing this shattered existence.
That night, just like so many others before, Priska fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion from crying. Even in her dreams, she encountered them again—those heartless men, monsters disguised as humans. She should have died sooner rather than endure this endless suffering.
“Pris, Pris, Priska,” Satria called out gently.
The sound of his voice pulled her from the nightmare. Startled, she found Satria in her room. Perhaps he had heard her sobbing and felt compelled to check on her. Fear gripped her instantly. She slapped his hand away when he tried to touch her sweat-drenched forehead and yanked the blanket up to cover herself.
She clutched the fabric so tightly that her fingers turned rigid. Terror flooded her mind. What if he was just like them? What man would be kind without expecting something in return? No such person existed in this world—Priska was certain of it.
“Don’t touch me! Get out!”
Her voice trembled, but Satria remained where he was, sitting beside the bed, his gaze filled with concern. A long argument ensued, leading Priska to say things she found utterly disgusting. She accused Satria of trying to take advantage of her, of pretending to be kind just to exploit her vulnerability.
Satria’s eyes widened in shock, but he didn’t lash out in anger. Instead, his expression softened, filled with sympathy. Yet, that didn’t mean Priska would easily trust him. His gaze swept across the room, pausing at the shattered glass, the razor blade, and then the rope hanging from above. He looked at her again, his stare lingering.
“Do you really think death will solve everything, Pris?”
“But I can’t keep living like this,” Priska murmured, gripping the blanket even tighter.
Satria excused himself briefly and returned moments later, showing her his doctor’s identification card. He gently urged her to stay for a while, assuring her that he was rarely home anyway. But Priska refused to believe him, rejecting his words with hysterical screams every time he tried to explain.
She couldn’t stand hearing his voice, even though she knew he wasn’t lying. Her cries grew uncontrollable, making it hard to breathe. Without warning, Satria pulled her into his arms. She struggled, fighting to free herself, but he held on, his embrace firm yet careful, as if afraid of hurting her.
“You’re safe with me. I promise… you’ll be okay,” Satria whispered, his voice thick with guilt. “I’m sorry for trying to push you away earlier.”
He held her for a long time, waiting until her sobs subsided. When he finally let go, his heart ached at the sight of her tear-filled eyes. If only he had known sooner, he never would have been so cruel as to send her away.
Gently, he wiped her tears, his fingers grazing her thin, hollow cheeks. He tried to lighten the mood, asking about her studies, whether she had eaten, and how she had been spending her days here.
“Come on, Pris, eat something. I bought bread and milk. You shouldn’t keep your stomach empty.”
“Doctor,” Priska mumbled. “Can I call you Doctor? Just Doctor?”
Satria was momentarily taken aback. “Of course. I am a psychiatrist, after all.”
***
The next day, Priska found herself in Dr. Satria’s office, just as they had agreed the night before. He asked her many things—about her past, about the tragic incident—but never pushed too hard, always keeping the conversation light.
At first, Priska hesitated to talk about herself or the trauma that haunted her, but Satria never judged her. Each time she fell silent, he simply smiled and waited patiently. And for the first time in a long while, she felt heard. She felt… valued.
She was only twenty-one years old, with no family in this city, still studying at a state university. An orphan who had grown up in an orphanage, but now that orphanage was being demolished. The other children had already been relocated or adopted.
“Our orphanage was never backed by a major charity,” Priska explained. “We only relied on church donations, but after what happened… suddenly, someone offered to help. I’m sure he was behind it.”
“He? Who are you referring to? Your assistant lecturer or the businessman?” Satria asked, his voice calm yet attentive.
“Probably the businessman,” Priska replied, unwilling to say their names aloud.
Aldo was a well-known journalist, now an executive editor at Hindia Insight magazine. Indra was a businessman and the son of a prominent politician. How could she possibly fight them with nothing but empty words and no proof? No one would ever believe her.
“So, do you plan to take legal action?” Satria twirled his pen between his fingers.
“I could never be that brave, Doc. They’re not ordinary people,” she whispered, her hands clenched so tightly that her fingers turned red.
For nearly two hours, they talked—heart to heart—like old friends reuniting after years apart. Priska felt as though Satria could see right through her, peeling away every layer of her pain. She assumed he was merely gathering information to make his job easier, trying to diagnose her psychological condition.
“This is a list of medications you need to take, Pris.”
Satria handed her a paper filled with scribbles that looked more like seismic readings than actual words. Then, his expression turned serious. “And… I owe you an apology for last night. For holding you without your consent. I just… I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
But now, here in this office, they were no longer just two lost souls crossing paths in the dark. Now, they were doctor and patient. And yet… Satria knew he could never be truly objective when it came to her.
“Are the meds expensive, Doctor?” Priska hesitated. She refused to use money tainted by corruption, but her personal savings weren’t much either.
“Don’t worry. Use my card for now,” Satria said with a warm smile, sliding the card toward her hand.
Priska hesitated, glancing at the consultation fee—300,000 rupiah for the session, 250,000 for the prescribed medication. Then, she looked up at the man in the white coat, her expression conflicted. Why was he being so kind? Did he really expect nothing in return?
“How can I ever repay you for this, Doc?”
“Just finish your studies and graduate on time. You’re so close, Pris. Once you land a good job, we’ll talk about your debt—and the interest.” Satria grinned, his tone teasing.
Priska couldn’t help but smile, amused yet touched by his words. That morning, they had discussed her education, and Satria had promised to cover her tuition fees for the upcoming semesters.
So, in the next few days, Priska began handling her college administration, preparing for the new semester. After that, she was allowed to go home. Satria insisted she take a taxi for safety. He himself wouldn’t be home until ten or eleven, as he had other matters to attend to after work.