Di Batas Senja (At The Edge of Twilight)

Matahari hampir tenggelam ketika Angelica Helena (Angel) kembali duduk di bangku kayu usang di tepi bukit itu. Angin sore menyentuh wajahnya lembut, dan langit memamerkan gradasi jingga keemasan yang membuat napasnya terasa tenang. Setiap hari, sejak dua tahun lalu, Angel datang ke tempat ini hanya untuk menatap senja, sebuah rutinitas yang menjadi pelariannya dari dunia yang terlalu ramai.

Ia membuka buku catatan lusuh, mencoret-coret baris puisi yang tak pernah ia tunjukkan kepada siapa pun. Hanya senja yang tahu isi hatinya. Hanya senja yang mau diam dan mendengarkan.

Sampai suatu hari, langit yang damai itu diselingi oleh suara langkah kaki, bunyi rana kamera, dan suara laki-laki yang terlalu santai untuk sore yang sakral baginya.

“Pemandangan di sini... luar biasa,” ucapnya, berdiri di samping Angel tanpa permisi. Kamera tergantung di lehernya, dan senyumnya begitu mudah, begitu ringan.

Angel tidak menanggapi. Ia kembali menulis, pura-pura pria itu tak ada. Tapi pria itu tak peka pada diam. Ia duduk di sampingnya, seolah mereka sudah saling kenal lama.

“Aku Noah,” katanya, menengadah menatap langit. “Kamu?”

“Angel,” jawabnya cepat, berharap percakapan segera selesai.

Tapi nyatanya, itu adalah awal dari segalanya.

Noah Antonio datang lagi keesokan harinya. Dan keesokan harinya lagi. Selalu pada waktu yang sama, tepat sebelum matahari menyentuh garis cakrawala.

“Kenapa kamu suka senja?” tanya Noah pada sore ketiga mereka.

Angel diam cukup lama sebelum menjawab. “Karena senja tidak pernah bertanya kenapa aku diam.”

Noah hanya tersenyum. Ia tidak mendesak, tidak mencoba memahami. Ia hanya duduk, memotret langit, kadang memotret Angel diam-diam, lalu pulang saat gelap mulai turun.

Lama-lama, kehadirannya tak lagi mengganggu. Bahkan diam-diam, Angel menantikan suara langkahnya.

Noah dengan caranya yang ringan, membawa cerita dari luar sana tentang kota-kota yang pernah ia kunjungi, orang-orang asing yang pernah ia abadikan, dan senja-senja dari berbagai belahan dunia yang katanya... tidak seindah yang satu ini.

Dan Angel mulai tertawa. Bukan tawa keras, tapi cukup untuk membuat Noah tahu bahwa ia telah menyentuh bagian yang selama ini beku di hati gadis itu.

Namun segalanya berubah pada sore yang ke-37.

“Aku dapat tawaran kerja di Islandia,” ujar Noah, memandangi langit. “Dua tahun kontrak. Fotografer landscape. Mimpiku sejak dulu.”

Angel hanya menunduk. Senja sore itu terasa lebih dingin dari biasanya.

“Kamu akan pergi?” tanyanya pelan.

“Aku harusnya senang. Tapi... rasanya aku akan kehilangan sesuatu yang penting di sini.”

Angel tidak tahu harus berkata apa. Ia ingin menyuruh Noah tinggal, tapi ia tak ingin menghalangi mimpi itu siapa pun karena ia tahu rasanya punya mimpi yang dikurung.

Akhirnya ia hanya tersenyum. “Kejar mimpimu, Noah.”

Noah menatapnya lama, seolah ingin mengabadikan wajahnya lebih dari sekadar foto.

Sore itu, mereka duduk lebih lama dari biasanya. Tanpa kata. Hanya suara angin, dan matahari yang perlahan hilang di ufuk barat.

Dan pada sore ke-38, Noah tidak datang.

Beberapa minggu kemudian, Angel kembali ke bukit itu. Tapi sesuatu membuatnya berhenti. Di bangku kayu tempat biasa ia duduk, ada sebuah amplop kecil dan foto yang diletakkan rapi.

Foto itu menampilkan dirinya, tengah menatap senja. Di belakangnya, langit menyala oranye seperti lukisan.

Di bawahnya, tulisan tangan yang sangat ia kenali:

“Tak semua kebebasan harus berarti pergi. Kadang, kebebasan adalah memilih untuk tinggal.”

Angel menoleh. Di ujung jalan tanah, seorang pria berdiri dengan kamera di tangan dan mata yang tak berhenti menatapnya.

“Noah?”

Ia tersenyum.

“Aku pikir... aku bisa cari senja lain. Tapi ternyata, senja paling indah... ada di sini. Di sampingmu.”

[Bahasa Inggris]

The sun was almost gone when Angelica Helena or Angel returned to the worn wooden bench at the edge of the hill. The evening breeze brushed gently against her face, and the sky displayed a golden-orange gradient that eased her breath. Every day, for the past two years, Angel came to this place just to watch the sunset a routine that had become her escape from a world too loud.

She opened her weathered notebook, scribbling lines of poetry she never showed to anyone. Only the twilight knew her heart. Only the twilight stayed silent and listened.

Until one day, that peaceful sky was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, the click of a camera shutter, and a man’s voice, too casual for a moment she held sacred.

“The view here… is breathtaking,” he said, standing beside her without asking. A camera hung from his neck, and his smile was effortless, weightless.

Angel didn’t respond. She went back to writing, pretending the man didn’t exist. But he was immune to silence. He sat beside her as if they’d known each other forever.

“I’m Noah,” he said, eyes on the sky. “You?”

“Angel,” she replied quickly, hoping the conversation would end.

But in truth, that was the beginning of everything.

Noah Antonio came again the next day. And the next. Always at the same time just before the sun kissed the horizon.

“Why do you like sunsets?” Noah asked on their third evening.

Angel was quiet for a long moment before answering. “Because the sunset never asks why I’m silent.”

Noah only smiled. He didn’t press, didn’t try to understand. He simply sat, photographed the sky, sometimes quietly capturing Angel in frame, and left when darkness began to fall.

Over time, his presence no longer disturbed her. In fact, quietly, Angel began to wait for the sound of his footsteps.

With his light-hearted way, Noah brought stories from the outside world cities he had visited, strangers he had photographed, and sunsets from across the globe that, he claimed, were never as beautiful as this one.

And Angel started to laugh. Not a loud laugh, but enough to let Noah know he had touched something long frozen inside her.

But everything changed on the 37th evening.

“I got a job offer in Iceland,” Noah said, gazing at the sky. “Two-year contract. Landscape photographer. My dream since forever.”

Angel looked down. That evening felt colder than usual.

“You’re leaving?” she asked softly.

“I should be happy. But… it feels like I’m about to lose something important here.”

Angel didn’t know what to say. She wanted to ask him to stay, but she didn’t want to hold anyone back from their dream, she knew too well what that felt like.

So she simply smiled. “Chase your dream, Noah.”

Noah stared at her for a long time, as if trying to capture her face deeper than any photograph could.

That evening, they sat longer than usual. Without words. Just the wind, and the sun slowly vanishing beyond the western horizon.

And on the 38th evening, Noah didn’t come.

Weeks later, Angel returned to the hill. But something made her stop. On the old bench where she usually sat, there was a small envelope and a photo placed neatly.

The photo showed her, gazing at the sunset. Behind her, the sky was lit orange like a painting.

Beneath it, a handwritten note she immediately recognized:

“Not all freedom means leaving. Sometimes, freedom is choosing to stay.”

Angel turned. At the end of the dirt path, a man stood with a camera in hand and eyes that never stopped looking at her.

“Noah?”

He smiled.

“I thought I could find another sunset. But it turns out, the most beautiful one… is right here. Beside you.”