SMALL CRACKS

 

The rain fell heavily on the third afternoon after the family moved in.
The sky was dark, the wind sharp, and the scent of wet earth lingered in the air. Alma sat in her usual chair by the window, same place, same posture when she noticed the small boy from next door, Bima, running beneath the porch, holding a tiny dinosaur-patterned umbrella.

The boy laughed as his father tried to catch him.

“Bima! Get inside! You’ll get sick!” his father called out.

“I’m a water dinosaur!” Bima replied, lifting the umbrella like a shield.

Alma couldn’t stop herself from smiling just a little. She hid it quickly, as if afraid someone might see her from afar. She pulled the curtain tighter, but Bima’s laughter slipped through the glass, making the usually silent room feel slightly more… alive.

She exhaled slowly.

Her new neighbors were far too loud for a heart that had been quiet for far too long.

That night, the house returned to silence. The rain hadn’t stopped, but it softened into a steady drizzle. Alma was making tea when the lights flickered once, twice, then went out.

Darkness. Stillness.

“Great,” she muttered. Not panicked. Just irritated.

She reached into the kitchen drawer for a flashlight, but before she could turn it on, she heard a knock at the door.

The same knock as before.

Cheerful. Polite.

And somehow... not threatening.

Alma approached the door slowly, each step careful.

“Excuse me!” a woman’s voice called out.

Alma rolled her eyes, took a long breath, then another, before opening the door just a few inches.

Outside stood her neighbor, Rani, soaked from the rain, holding Bima close to her chest. The boy shivered slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” Rani said. “Our electricity is completely out. Could we stay here for a bit? I don’t want him getting cold.”

The rain behind them made Bima’s small body look even more fragile. Alma didn’t like noise. She didn’t like strangers. She didn’t like anyone entering her house.

But she wasn’t cruel.

And when she met Bima’s wide, hopeful eyes, something inside her loosened.

She opened the door a little wider.

Still reluctant, but enough.

“Come in.”

“Thank you so much!” Rani smiled, stepping inside and immediately drying Bima’s hair.

Alma closed the door gently.

Not the way she usually did.Alma’s living room felt foreign to other people. There were no photographs. No decorations. Everything was too clean, too orderly, too controlled. Rani glanced around while rubbing warmth back into Bima’s hands.

“Your place is really tidy,” Rani said.

Alma frowned.

She couldn’t tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

“Bima, don’t run around. Sit here,” Rani said, pointing to the small sofa. Bima nodded, though his legs couldn’t stay still.

Alma sat in the corner chair, keeping her distance. The rain sounded faint outside. Eventually, the lights flickered back on, but Rani didn’t leave right away.

“Do you live alone?” Rani asked softly.

The question touched the most sensitive place inside Alma. She didn’t move. Didn’t nod. Didn’t shake her head.

Just silence.

“I’m sorry, if that’s too personal,” Rani added quickly.

“Yes,” Alma finally said. “Alone.”

“Oh… that must get really lonely sometimes,” Rani said sympathetically.

Alma swallowed.

The words pressed against an old wound.

Before she could respond, Bima spoke.

“You don’t have friends, Auntie?”

The innocence in his voice left Alma unsure whether to laugh or feel hurt.

She chose neither.

Rani gently scolded him, but something had already settled in Alma’s chest a mix of ache, tenderness, and longing for the kind of simple conversations she once had.

When the electricity in Rani’s house stabilized, they said goodbye.

And for the first time, Alma closed her door without feeling relieved.

She felt… lonely.

Ironically, loneliness was something she had chosen every single day.The next morning, Alma stepped outside to collect the newspaper. The air was still damp from the night before. As she bent down by the fence, a small voice called out.

“Auntiiie!”

Alma turned.

Bima stood there holding a toy car, his face bright.

“Good morning, Auntie!” he said, fearless.

Alma considered all the ways she could avoid him.
All the excuses she could use to ignore him.

But her mouth betrayed her.

“Morning.”

Bima’s smile widened, as if that single word was the greatest gift of the day.

It was the shortest conversation, but from that moment on, Bima always greeted Alma. Sometimes with a wave. Sometimes by shouting her name enthusiastically. And with each small interaction, the cracks in the wall around Alma’s heart became more visible.

The days that followed were filled with small encounters.

When Rani struggled with groceries, Alma helped without a word.
When Bima scraped his knee, Alma brought out the first-aid kit.
When the rain returned, Rani knocked to borrow a bucket, and Alma agreed.

There were no dramatic moments.
No deep conversations.

But those small interactions slowly pulled Alma out of her isolation.

She began noticing things she used to ignore the sound of laughter from next door, smell of Rani’s cooking drifting through the air, the way Gilang greeted everyone with ease,and the way Bima looked at the world as if it were the best place to exist.

A sharp contrast to Alma’s overly silent world.

Sometimes she felt tired.
Sometimes irritated.

But she no longer closed her door the way she used to.

Something was pulling her, something she didn’t fully understand.

One afternoon, after sweeping the yard, Bima ran toward her.

“Aunt Almaaa!”

“What is it now?” she tried to sound stern, though her voice wasn’t as sharp as it once was.

“Look!” Bima held up a small red toy car. “This is the fastest car in the world!”

“Who says?” Alma raised an eyebrow.

“I do.”

The confidence in his answer forced Alma to suppress a laugh.

Before she could reply, Rani appeared, smiling apologetically.

“Sorry, he’s bothering you again…”

Alma shook her head.

A small gesture—one that surprised even herself.

She had spent so long wanting as little disturbance as possible.

But Bima…

For some reason, he was different.

That night, after showering, Alma sat on the edge of her bed. There was something she had felt all day a gentle pull, almost like a voice calling her.

She opened the drawer beside her bed.

Took out the envelope.

Held it for a long time.

She still didn’t open it.

But that night, she dared to look at it longer than she had in months.

That was enough, for now.

Because for someone trapped in a single stage of grief, even facing the past is an act of courage.

She lay back against the pillows and reached for her phone. Anchor by Novo Amor played softly in the dark room. The song didn’t rush. It didn’t ask her to heal. It simply stayed—steady, quiet, holding her in place.

Alma closed her eyes.

For once, the silence didn’t feel heavy.

The next morning, while watering her plants, Alma noticed something hanging on her fence.

A colorful dinosaur drawing on an A4 sheet, with messy handwriting:

For Aunt Alma.
Strong dinosaur!
You are strong too!
—Bima

Something warm spread through her chest, for the first time in a very long while.

She brought the paper inside.

Pinned it to the refrigerator.

And for a few seconds, she allowed herself to admit one thing:

Maybe…
she wasn’t completely alone after all.