"The Invisible"

A man named Damar lived in a quiet little town, nestled under the shadows of green mountains. He was just thirty years old, but his face bore small wrinkles that hinted at a heavy life experience. Damar worked as a clerk in his family's bookstore, which had been passed down for two generations. Yet within his simple life, there was something special.

He had an ability that others did not possess. Damar could see things that were invisible to others. Whenever he looked at the people around him, he could see faint shadows of thoughts or feelings they were hiding. He glimpsed the hidden pain behind sweet smiles, the small fears lurking behind feigned bravery, or the unspoken affection despite indifferent expressions. For him, the world was a blend of reality and what people concealed from the real world.

This ability, though initially Damar considered it a curse, slowly became a part of his life. However, the longer he lived with this gift, the more he felt alienated. He could see too much—things that others did not want to see, not even themselves. In every gaze, a story was waiting to be told, but not every story wanted to be shared.

One day, a young woman named Sekar entered the bookstore. Sekar was not an ordinary customer. With graceful steps, she wandered through the aisles, searching the poetry section. Her face appeared serene, her smile warm, but Damar saw something different. There were shadows swirling around her body as if she were enveloped in a gray mist, signaling deep sorrow she hid behind her gentle smile. Damar couldn’t help but notice, for the mist was thicker than he was used to seeing.

"Good afternoon," Sekar greeted, her voice as soft as leaves rustling in the wind.

"Good afternoon," Damar replied, hesitantly. "Looking for something specific?"

"Oh, not really," Sekar said, "just hoping to find some peace."

There was something strange about her statement, Damar thought. It wasn't about finding a book, but peace. Damar paused for a moment. He held back the urge to ask further, even though his heart wanted to know what was hidden behind that gray mist.

Days passed, and Sekar began to visit the bookstore more often. She always chose the same corner, sitting in a wooden chair near the window, reading leisurely. But the more frequently she came, the denser the mist around her became. Damar felt increasingly connected to her, even though they rarely spoke beyond brief greetings. Something was unsettling in Sekar's presence, something that called to him as if pleading to be freed from the invisible burden she carried.

One afternoon, as rain poured heavily outside, Sekar still sat in her usual spot, but this time her face looked more somber. Damar summoned the courage to approach her.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, trying to break the ice between them.

Sekar gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "Of course, why do you ask?"

Damar wanted to talk about the gray mist surrounding her, but he hesitated. What if Sekar thought he was strange? What if it pushed them further apart?

"I just feel... like there’s something you’re hiding. Something heavy."

Sekar was silent for a moment, then looked at Damar with a puzzled expression, as if she had just heard something unexpected.

"You’re right," she finally said, her voice trembling. "But how did you know?"

Damar felt a surge of hope, but also a great risk if he overstepped. "I can see things that others can’t. And since the first time you came here, I could sense… there’s something you carry with you that others don’t see."

Sekar was silent. Her eyes slowly softened, but tears brimmed at the corners.

"I lost someone," she said in a husky voice. "Someone who meant the world to me. Since then, I have felt lost in sorrow. I try to cover it up, but… it seems too heavy."

Damar looked at Sekar, and now the gray mist seemed clearer. It wasn’t just ordinary sadness; it was a burden she had long carried and could not release.

"You’re not alone," Damar spoke gently. "Everyone has something invisible, something they hide. But sometimes, letting it be seen can lighten the load a bit."

Sekar took a deep breath as if seeking the courage to say something she had never expressed before.

"My brother died a year ago," she finally said, her voice breaking. "We were very close, and his passing shattered my world. Since then, I haven’t been able to truly be happy. Every time I try to smile, I always feel guilty. As if I’m betraying his memory."

Damar nodded slowly. "I can’t imagine how heavy that must be for you. But one thing I know is that your brother wouldn’t want you to suffer like this. Sometimes, permitting ourselves to be happy again is the best way to honor those who have gone."

Sekar wiped the tears flowing down her cheek, trying to smile, even though it still looked weak. "Maybe you’re right," she said softly. "Maybe I’ve been trapped in this sorrow for too long."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of rain outside. Damar felt the gray mist around Sekar beginning to fade as if by speaking, she had started to release part of the burden she had carried for so long.

"Thank you," Sekar finally said. "I’ve never talked about this with anyone before. It feels like… like a new beginning."

Damar smiled gently. "Every story needs to be told, even the hardest ones. Sometimes, that’s the only way to heal."

After that day, the gray mist around Sekar slowly began to dissipate. She still came to the bookstore, but this time with a more genuine smile. Damar also felt something change within himself. Seeing the invisible no longer felt like a curse. Instead, it allowed him to help others, even when they were unaware of it.

The sadness and invisible burdens may never fully disappear, but Damar realized that sharing stories, sharing feelings, could make things that appeared heavy feel a little lighter. This world is full of invisible things, but therein lies hidden beauty; in the chance to see and feel more than what appears.

And in the stillness of that quiet bookstore corner, Damar learned that what is invisible is not a burden, but a gift that can connect human hearts.