Final Writing: The Girl and The Bench Wood (Fiction)

Dien Kasava / 180410150041

I was walking down the corridor of the college building. I saw someone sitting on a wooden bench in front of the laboratory. I often see her sitting there, on the same day and the same hour.

A girl with a red T-shirt, white jeans, and red shoes. Her hair always breaks down over her shoulders. Black brown and straight. A typical falling hair.
I was thought, she’s my senior. Apparently, she’s a year younger than me. I know it because I never overheard his conversation while on the cell phone.

I’m interested in becoming her friend—or even more, maybe?

Today I intend to talk to her. Just a small talk, ask from whichever direction, get acquainted, exchange contacts, to be friends.

I sat down beside her, while she kept struggling on her cell phone. But, seconds later, she turned to me. Wait—it was like being stared with eyes that caught someone.

I gave my head, looked at her, and smiled. Asked, "what time is it, right?"

The girl smiled back. God. How sweet.

"Eight," she replied. Seconds later she added, "O’clock."

I nodded with my mouth forming the letter O. And we looked back at each other’s cell phones. Well, I thought, who else is not fascinated with the sweet girl?

Silence long enough to feel my throat choked.

It was Friday, eight o’clock in the morning. I know, rarely do students choose classes on Friday mornings. It is exhausting and makes the level of laziness higher. That is also one of the reasons why the hallway of the building today looks deserted. Can countless fingers how many people passing by.


Someone called my name. Her voice was soft and pleasant to hear. It did not take long to realize that this was a girl’s voice. Wait, is this the voice of the girl next to me?

When I turned to her, she smiled. Then said, "go home from campus later, through the Melati road. You know? At the end of the alley is a stationery shop. "

Is she giving advice? Reign me? Or what?

Anyway, wait—where does she know my name?

"The stationery store in the alley also sells Dilan novels," she said when I was about to open my mouth to ask why she knew my name. Then add, "but, you have to plaster to the brother who keeps his shop".

She stood up while I was frowning. She should have known, I was confused now. Really.

Instead, she said, "I am first, yes" and smiled. She had walked to the end of the hall, then turned back to me, "oh yes, call your mother now! She’s worried!" Half shouted, she still smiled at me, and walked casually farther away from me. Leaving me motionless swallowed my confusion.

Who is that girl?

She knows my name. We have not even shaken hands and exchanged names.

Shit. I have to go to class.

A few hours after my last class was over, I immediately packed up my things and walked to the parking lot. Oh, I’m still thinking about what the girl said. Girl with red shirt. The girl who told me to pass the Melati Street. Strangely, my heart said I must obey her words. But my insane brain balks. Finally I did not choose the Melati Street and passed the usual road that I always pass.

When I arrived at the boardinghouse, my cell phone rang. Incoming call from my mom.
I thought my mom would have a nag because last week I did not call her. Apparently not, my mother immediately asked questions. She’s worried about it. I told her I was fine. Even better than usual. Considering I skipped the theater practice—which is took so much time. I spent the night before my sleep, after my mom turned off the phone.

The sun was drowning when I woke up to the ringing sound of a cell phone that sounded shrill and—to be honest—very annoying. Until entering into the dream of sleeping the sun, as if shouted aunts with a shrill voice.

Fifty-eight missed calls. Thirty-three from Lisa—my best friend. The rest of my classmates.

What the hell, anyway?

My phone rang again. Immediately, I answered the incoming call. Oh, my God. Why is Lisa’s voice such a shrill on the phone? She asked me in a high voice I was okay, and so on. Correct, not high notes. But half shouted. Why, she is this?

I told her I was okay, and I just woke up. If only this high-pitched cell phone ring would not bother me, I would still be asleep now.

Then Lisa said, "thank goodness" her voice is slower than before.

"In the chat group again the news of a student was grabbed until his stomach pierced," Lisa said. There was a different stressed when she said ‘a student was grabbed until his stomach pierced‘.

I said, "not me," if that is what Lisa wanted to hear from my mouth. And I hope my voice sounds as calm as possible. At least to confirm that I was fine.

The phone ends after Lisa scolds me with a million advice suggestions. It was like having a second mom.
I am still lying on my bed. I let the phone lie just beside me. I stared at the ceiling, a little dreamily.

If only this afternoon I did not miss theatre training, I would come home late evening. And the mugging happened around seven-thirty. The right hour for me passed that way. The way I used to go. But, wait— what?

That girl!

The girl with the red shirt I often met in the hallway.

She already told me to pass the Melati Street. And I keep going the way I used to go. It could be the victim of the mugging is me, if I come home late afternoon.

The girl… know it? I mean, she knew about the mug before it even happened?

Who the hell is that girl?


A few days later, I intended to return to the same building, the same hallway, the same lab, the same wooden bench, until the same hour.

Run as fast as I can, because—who knows—perhaps I would be late for her.

But in that place. In the same place as yesterday, I did not find anything, or anyone. Only the wooden stools are slightly rotted and scuffed at the end.

Stupid! It is Monday.

I decided to go back to the boardinghouse. The thought of a red T-shirt girl was not out of my mind. How come? She knows my name, she knows my mom is worried, she knows the events of the jambret’s at that time, even she knew I was wanting to buy novels Dilan He is Dilanku 1990.

Who is she?

I mean, this girl.


A week later, on Friday morning. On the same clock and wooden bench. I looked back at her figure. The woman with long hair over the brown shoulder—was sitting there. And her position remains the same, struggling with her cell phone.

"Hi," I said.

She turned to look at me. I smiled, without a smile from her. She is just … frowned?

"I’m Nino, remember?"

God, her forehead is even more wrinkled.

"Last week, you told me that Dilan’s book is in a stationery shop at the end of Melati Street," I explained.

Not just frowning, now she shakes her head in confusion. She does not remember or pretend not to remember?

"At that time you suggest me to make through Melati Street way back home,"

Now she looks at me without blinking. Also without a head shake, while the wrinkles on her forehead are still faithful to decorate.

I sighed, gave up, "do not remember, huh?"

There was a pause for a few seconds, until finally he asked, "We’ve met you, have not we?"


Haha, what the hell is this? Joking? Acting? Test? Or April mop joke?

Just one week, and she forgot? Today is even September!

"You really do not remember?" I asked once again. Ensure.

She shook her head, "I guess we’ve never met at all."

How funny! She deserves to be recognized as the best actress. And— wait—

Her voice. This girl, has a different voice with the girl last week. But, wait— I’m sure this is the same girl. Her face is the same. Her hair too. Even her cell phone. But, her voice..

"Sorry, Mas. I go first" she said as she stood up and left me.

Oh, my God! If this is a dream, please wake me up.

Unfortunately, dreams like this are too confusing to end. And this is not a dream.

I have to wait another week, if I want to make sure. Although actually, after that incident, repeatedly I passed the laboratory room and did not see again with the girl. At all.

Who else whose life wants to be haunted by curiosity during this week?

When the Friday came back and the same hour, in front of the same lab room, there was nobody, nothing. The wooden bench that the woman always occupied was not there either. I think the guard moved it.

I had time to ask my friends. On passersby. And to his fellow classmates. Tell them their physical characteristics. I told them that the woman often sat on a wooden bench in front of the laboratory room, in the same day and hour.

The hairs on my neck were shivering when their answers were all the same, "in front of the lab room never had a wooden bench".

I went home to visit my mother.

Word count: 1620

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s