Krisan Rahmadiani stared out the window of her small apartment, the golden sunlight filtering through lace curtains, casting intricate shadows on her sketches scattered across the table. The world outside buzzed with life—children shrieking in delight at a nearby park, the distant sound of clanging pots from the bustling food stalls—but in her introspective realm, solitude reigned supreme. As a freelance illustrator, she reveled in her creativity, yet every stroke of her pencil echoed a feeling all too familiar: the weight of being untouchable, a specter in the realm of human connection.
Since childhood, she had entrenched herself in the belief that anyone who touched her would be cursed, plagued by a string of misfortunes for twenty-four long hours. She had seen it all—a terrifying scene burned into her memory when her beloved caregiver had taken a disastrous tumble from the stairs, simply for brushing Krisan's shoulder. Every fleeting touch was a harbinger of doom; every scraped elbow, every playful nudge, turned into harrowing consequences. It was a burden she bore alone, one that tethered her to seclusion, with only her art as a companion.
Yet, she found solace in her peculiar ritual: quietly following those who had inadvertently made contact. As the minutes stretched into hours, Krisan immersed herself in a whirlwind of observations, committed to safeguarding the unsuspecting individuals from whatever vengeful fate loomed just beyond her reach. Each day became a silent saga; she wore the cloak of an unnoticed guardian, weaving through the fabric of their lives, doing what she could to intervene when disaster lurked on the horizon.
Today, she had ventured out for her daily caffeine fix. The aroma of freshly ground coffee wafted through the air as she approached her favorite café, a tiny haven nestled between high-rises, filled with the gentle hum of conversation. Krisan clutched her sketchbook tightly, a flimsy barrier of comfort between her and the bustling world. It was a perfectly routine transaction—until the moment she reached out to hand over a crumpled fifty-thousand-rupiah note.
In that instant, as if the universe conspired to shatter her fortress, a man stepped closer. His fingers brushed against hers—a fleeting touch, electric yet innocent. Panic surged within her chest like a tidal wave, and an involuntary gasp escaped her lips, drawing a curious glance from the barista.
Krisan's heart raced. The stranger who had clumsily mugged her of peace stood before her, his brown hair tousled in a charming way, revealing a strikingly symmetric face. She locked onto his deep-set eyes, confusion blending with worry. Before she even had time to think, she grabbed her coffee, the warmth radiating through her fingers, and darted out of the café, leaving behind the remnants of her sanity and a lingering anxiety.
### **What now?**
She couldn't spoil his day, too. This unintentional intruder had set off a chain reaction she couldn't ignore. It was a decision she made impulsively yet resolutely. Without considering the consequences, she trailed behind him through the streets, her heart hammering and her breath quickening.
"Why am I doing this?" she muttered to herself, a scowl crinkling her forehead as she ducked behind a leafy palm tree, watching as he moved down the sidewalk. Every instinct screamed for her to retreat, to fold herself back into the safety of her isolation, yet her feet remained anchored to the ground.
Krisan observed him: he strolled casually, turning his head to greet a passerby. He smiled that dazzling smile, the kind that could potentially charm a crowd. But as the minutes ticked away, she couldn't shake her apprehensiveness. Maybe it was the way he sprawled himself over a park bench, casually tossing a piece of bread to a hungry pigeon. Or maybe it was the spontaneous laughter bubbling from the group of friends nearby, those moments she would never partake in.
"What if the curse finally catches up to him?" she pondered aloud, barely able to articulate her swirling thoughts.
Once her analytical side had gleaned this was no ordinary day, she grasped that her worst fears might very well materialize. Once again, she'd watch over an unsuspecting victim. As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Krisan followed Topan, a silent observer swimming in existential dread.
Hours passed in a blur. She made mental notes of his movements—his choices, his interactions—as they flickered past her. Ironically, he radiated an air of carefree confidence—far removed from the impending doom she was convinced would soon lap at his heels. They meandered through an art gallery, where he stepped lightly around the sculptures, admiring every piece as if it was a living being. The level of delight in his expression contrasted sharply with her palpable anxiety.
"Hey, it's just art!" he laughed, a melodic sound that pulled her senses taut, despite being miles away. "You should join us instead of hiding in the shadows, you know!"
Krisan almost panicked. Did he sense her? Was she exposed? She pressed herself into the wall, hoping the fading light would cloak her. But he seemed oblivious, absorbed in his quest to appreciate the beauty around him while she remained the anxious shadow whispering silent pleas of protection against destiny.
With every hour that ticked by, Krisan wrestled with her personal logic—this was not how the curse usually played out. People always felt the consequences of her mere existence within proximity. But Topan was weaving together experiences, and luck seemed to cling to him like an old friend.
By twilight, exhaustion settled deep within her bones. As she trailed him toward the harbor, where street vendors began to allocate adventurous morsels and festival lights twinkled like fireflies, Krisan's weary heart fluttered with an unexpected sensation. It was both disconcerting and exhilarating. Could it really be that nothing catastrophic had happened? Perhaps for the first time in years, she entertained the wild notion that she was wrong.
"Hey! You!" he called out suddenly, and Krisan straightened at her hiding spot behind a food stall. He chuckled, gesturing toward her as if he wished to pluck her from the shadows. "Join me for some food! Don't be shy!"
The invitation hung in the air like a sweet breeze, but her instinct battered her resolve. "No!" she sputtered before she could swallow it back down. "You don't understand—"
But before she could articulate her fears, he strolled toward her, a bright glint of curiosity in his eye. "At least tell me your name. You've been following me all day. Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
Krisan swallowed hard, feeling warmth flood her cheeks. "K-Krisan," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying the quivering core of vulnerability within her.
"Krisan," he repeated, rolling her name across his tongue. "I'm Topan. And I think you've got a serious case of misplaced anxiety. Come on—live a little!"
Encouraged by his gentle demeanor, she found herself hesitating. The surrounding chaos seemed to fade, leaving only them, suspended in a moment that threatened to defy all she ever believed.
As she stepped from behind the stall into the welcoming light, each stride beckoned both fear and hope. This stranger had not set off calamity; perhaps, just perhaps, he could illuminate the shadows that cloaked her world. Or would he become yet another victim of her curse?
The charm of unforeseen companionship brushed delicately against her heart, and for the first time, a fragile crack appeared in the fortress she'd built around herself.
What did it truly mean to live?