Jembatan Hati (Bridge of Heart)

Setiap hari, tepat pukul tujuh malam, Jason Laurensius berdiri di jembatan tua yang membentang di atas sungai kecil tak jauh dari kantornya. Dengan jas kerja yang masih rapi dan tas selempang yang sama, ia menyandarkan diri pada pagar besi jembatan, menatap lampu-lampu kota yang memantul di air.

Bukan karena pemandangannya indah. Tapi karena di sanalah ia bisa merasa tenang.

Dunia kerja yang keras, orang-orang yang terus menuntut, dan hidup yang berjalan seperti mesin, semuanya seolah berhenti sejenak saat Jason berdiri di sana. Hanya dia, angin malam, dan suara aliran sungai.

Hingga suatu hari, jembatan itu tak lagi sepi.

"Masih kalah cantik dari matahari terbenam, ya?"

Sebuah suara ceria menyapa dari samping. Jason menoleh. Seorang wanita duduk di pagar jembatan, dengan rambut panjang tergerai dan senyum yang terang dan senyum yang bertabrakan dengan matanya yang... kosong.

"Indira Anita," katanya sambil menyodorkan tangan. “Tapi orang-orang bilang aku terlalu cerewet untuk nama seanggun itu.”

Jason tak membalas tangan itu, hanya mengangguk. “Jason.”

“Itu saja? Jason... siapa?”

“Jason Laurensius.”

“Wah, kayak nama karakter utama di novel roman Katolik,” celetuknya. “Aku suka.”

Jason tak tertawa. Tapi untuk alasan yang tak bisa ia jelaskan, ia tidak pergi juga.

Sejak malam itu, mereka sering bertemu di jembatan. Indira selalu muncul tiba-tiba, duduk atau berdiri di sampingnya, melemparkan candaan, kadang cerita receh, kadang juga keluhan hidup. Jason hanya mendengarkan. Ia bukan pendengar yang hebat, tapi Indira tak pernah keberatan.

Sampai suatu malam, suara Indira tak seceria biasanya.

“Kamu tahu,” katanya, “aku dulu sering ke jembatan ini juga. Sama seseorang.”

Jason menoleh, menunggu lanjutannya.

“Kami biasa duduk di sini sambil bercanda soal masa depan. Tapi minggu lalu... dia menikah. Bukan denganku.”

Jason terdiam. Baru kali ini Indira menyinggung masa lalunya.

“Aku pikir aku kuat,” katanya lagi, suaranya nyaris pecah. “Tapi ternyata... aku cuma pinter pura-pura.”

Jason merasakan dadanya sesak. Ia ingin berkata sesuatu, tapi hanya mengulurkan botol air mineral yang selalu ia bawa. Isyarat diamnya yang berarti: aku di sini.

Malam demi malam berlalu.

Indira perlahan kembali ceria. Tapi kali ini, tawa itu lebih tulus. Sementara Jason mulai belajar bicara. Tentang pekerjaannya. Tentang ayahnya yang meninggal dua tahun lalu. Tentang jembatan ini yang dulu jadi tempat dia dan ayahnya memancing saat kecil.

“Aku kira aku datang ke sini buat sendiri,” ujar Jason suatu malam. “Tapi ternyata... aku menunggu.”

“Menunggu siapa?” tanya Indira.

Jason menatapnya. “Mungkin kamu.”

Indira tertawa kecil. “Aku? Gadis patah hati yang sok ceria?”

Jason mengangguk. “Yang bisa buat tempat sunyi ini terasa hidup.”

Namun, seperti semua cerita, waktu menguji perasaan mereka.

Suatu hari, Indira tidak datang. Dan besoknya juga tidak.

Jason menunggu, lebih lama dari biasanya. Tidak ada tawa, tidak ada suara sarkas, tidak ada “halo, pria pendiam.” Hanya angin malam dan lampu kota.

Tiga hari kemudian, Indira muncul. Wajahnya lelah, tapi matanya masih sama.

“Aku pergi ke Bandung. Temui dia. Bukan untuk balikan... tapi untuk melepaskan.”

Jason mengangguk. Tidak marah. Tidak heran.

“Aku ingin mulai dari nol,” lanjut Indira. “Tapi... aku takut.”

Jason mengulurkan tangan. “Kalau kamu mau... kita bisa mulai dari jembatan ini. Sama-sama.”

Indira tersenyum. Dan untuk pertama kalinya, senyum itu tak bertabrakan dengan kesedihan.

Sejak malam itu, jembatan itu bukan lagi tempat pelarian.

Tapi tempat awal untuk dua hati yang sama-sama rusak, namun perlahan memperbaiki satu sama lain.

Mereka tahu cinta tidak datang secepat lampu kota menyala. Tapi mereka juga tahu… cinta bisa dibangun. Di tengah malam. Di tengah luka. Di atas sebuah jembatan hati.

[Bahasa Inggris]

Every evening, exactly at seven o’clock, Jason Laurensius stood on the old bridge spanning a small river not far from his office.

With his work suit still neat and the same sling bag across his shoulder, he leaned against the metal railing, watching the city lights reflected in the water below.

It wasn’t because the view was beautiful.

But because there, he could feel peace.

The grind of work, the constant demands of people, and a life that moved like a machine, all seemed to pause when Jason stood on that bridge. It was just him, the night breeze, and the sound of the flowing river.

Until one day, the bridge was no longer silent.

"Still not as pretty as a sunset, huh?"

A cheerful voice greeted him from the side. Jason turned. A woman was sitting on the railing, her long hair loose, her smile bright but clashing with the emptiness in her eyes.

"Indira Anita," she said, offering her hand. "But people say I'm too talkative for such an elegant name."

Jason didn’t take her hand. He just nodded. “Jason.”

“That’s it? Jason... who?”

“Jason Laurensius.”

“Wow. Sounds like a main character in a Catholic romance novel,” she quipped. “I like it.”

Jason didn’t laugh.

But for reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t leave either.

Since that night, they often met on the bridge.

Indira always appeared out of nowhere, sitting or standing beside him, throwing jokes, sometimes silly stories, sometimes life complaints. Jason simply listened. He wasn’t a great listener, but Indira never seemed to mind.

Until one night, Indira’s voice wasn’t as cheerful.

"You know," she said, “I used to come to this bridge, too. With someone.”

Jason turned to her, waiting for her to continue.

“We used to sit here, joking about the future. But last week… he got married. Not to me.”

Jason fell silent. It was the first time Indira had ever brought up her past.

“I thought I was strong,” she added, her voice nearly breaking. “But turns out... I’m just good at pretending.”

Jason felt a tightness in his chest. He wanted to say something but instead handed her the bottled water he always carried.

A silent gesture that meant: I’m here.

Night after night passed.

Indira slowly returned to her cheerful self. But this time, her laughter felt more genuine. Meanwhile, Jason began to open up. About his job. About his father who died two years ago. About how this bridge used to be the place he and his dad went fishing when he was little.

“I thought I came here to be alone,” Jason said one night. “But maybe... I was waiting.”

“Waiting for who?” Indira asked.

Jason looked at her. “Maybe you.”

Indira let out a soft laugh. “Me? A heartbroken girl pretending to be fine?”

Jason nodded. “The one who made this quiet place feel alive.”

But like all stories, time tested their connection.

One day, Indira didn’t show up. Nor the next day.

Jason waited longer than usual.

No laughter, no sarcasm, no “hey, quiet guy.” Just the night wind and city lights.

Three days later, Indira came.

Her face looked tired, but her eyes were still the same.

“I went to Bandung. Met him. Not to get back together... but to let go.”

Jason nodded. Not angry. Not surprised.

“I want to start over,” Indira said. “But... I’m scared.”

Jason reached out his hand. “If you want... we can start from this bridge. Together.”

Indira smiled.

And for the first time, that smile didn’t clash with sadness.

From that night on, the bridge was no longer a place to escape.

But a beginning for two broken hearts, slowly healing one another.

They knew love wouldn’t come as quickly as city lights turning on.

But they also knew... love could be built.

In the middle of the night.

In the midst of wounds.

On a bridge between two hearts.