The clinic was on the edge of town—an old building that had once been a bank, or a school, or a prison. Bawang Putih could never tell.
The windows were always closed. The walls too white.
Dr. Surya greeted them with a nod and a clipboard.
"You're early," he said, glancing at his watch.
Putih said nothing. Jahe stood beside him. Pale. Silent.
They followed the doctor down the narrow corridor, shoes echoing on the linoleum floor.
Room 3 smelled of alcohol wipes and forgotten time.
"How have the episodes been?" the doctor asked.
He always started like that. Like this was a routine. Like nothing ever really changed.
Putih hesitated. "He's still seeing them."
Dr. Surya blinked slowly. "Them?"
Putih looked at Jahe. "People. Things that aren't there."
The doctor made a note.
"Do you still hear voices, Putih?"
Putih stiffened. "I'm not the one hearing things."
Dr. Surya stopped writing.
There was a long silence.
Finally, he leaned forward. "You've been on the medication for nearly four months now. The trauma response *should* be subsiding."
"Trauma?" Putih echoed.
"You watched your best friend die. That kind of loss fractures the mind in strange ways."
Putih's jaw clenched.
Across from him, Jahe didn't speak.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Outside, the wind picked up.
Branches scratched against the clinic windows like fingernails.
Putih shifted in his seat. "What if it's not trauma?"
The doctor tilted his head.
"What if something's… wrong? Not with me. With him."
Dr. Surya set the pen down. His expression didn't change.
"There is no 'him,' Bawang."
Putih felt something tighten in his chest.
"You're wrong," he said.
Dr. Surya sighed.
He reached into the drawer and pulled out a folder.
"You never asked to see these," he said, opening it.
Photos. A crushed car. Blood on the pavement. A white sheet covering a body.
"Don't," Putih whispered.
But the doctor turned one more page.
The morgue tag.
JAHE D. WIRATAMA – DECEASED
That night, Bawang Putih didn't speak during the ride home.
Jahe sat in the passenger seat.
Hands folded.
Eyes on the road.
As they passed the edge of town, the radio turned itself on—just static.
Putih didn't touch the dial.
The static grew louder. Almost like whispering.
Jahe turned to him, voice low.
"You shouldn't trust him."
Putih gripped the wheel tighter.
"Why?"
Jahe smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Because he's lying to you."