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Tosari.
Just in, and someone’s elbow digs into his ribs. Eager, maybe. Or just impatient. He hasn’t yet gotten used to the way people move here. Sharp shoulders carving paths. Bodies against bodies, barely an inch apart.
Maybe it’s just Corridor 1. What does he know. A colleague told him on the first day, Don’t take it to heart. It’s just the way Jakarta is.
A seat frees up nearby. Before he can move toward it, his pocket vibrates.
A call.
“Halo?” Hello?
He presses the phone against his ear and folds quickly into the seat. Behind, a guy sighs in annoyance. When the call picks up, it’s in a rapid baritone Indonesian.
He can barely follow. The bus is trembling, the asphalt uneven. Doesn’t help that the signal keeps breaking. Every third word swallowed whole with it.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
“Your number has a kkhhrr—zzzt— euh…” The caller switches to English. Right on cue. Though it doesn’t help that the line keeps dissolving into static. “Must do a shkkt—veri—krzzz right now.”
He frowns. “My number… what?”
“Udah, Mas. Jangan diituin,” mutters someone next to him.
Enough, bro. Don’t…?
Confused, Hanbin looks left. It’s a guy. Probably around his age. Folded against the window, one earbud hanging loose.
“Kayaknya masnya gak paham bahasa Indonesia itu.” A woman from a row back chimes in.
Seems like that guy… doesn’t know… Indonesian.
“Mukanya kayak orang Korea,” she adds.
His face looks Korean. That one he understands clearly.
“That’s a scam,” the stranger beside him says. Trying to tug Hanbin’s phone away from his ear. “Hang up.”
Next stop: Dukuh Atas. Please check your belongings and step carefully. Thank you.
Flinching, he yanks the phone out of the guy’s reach. “And what are you? Jambret?” Snatcher?
He learnt the word from coworkers. Beware of copet in TransJakarta buses. Copet means pickpocket. Beware of jambret near traffic. Someone on a motorbike grabbing your phone straight from your hand before speeding away.
Close enough to what this guy is doing now.
“What? No!”
Dukuh Atas.
The bus grinds to a halt. Half the bus surges out at once. Impatient bunch. Their seats claimed just as quickly by another wave coming in. A backpack slams into Hanbin’s shoulder. Hard enough to knock the phone back against his ear.
“Halo? Halo, sir?” the ‘scam caller’ crackles through the speaker. “You must do a verif—”
Gone.
Snatched right out of his hand. His phone.
“Eh, Bang. Udah,” the guy snaps into it. “Nipu yang lain aja. Kasian ini orangnya gak ngerti juga lu ngomong apaan.”
Bro. Enough. Poor… this person… doesn’t understand…? Probably something like that.
Angry voices burst tinny from the speaker. He catches anjing. Dog. Used as an insult. Then, as if finally satisfied, comes the beep.
The guy laughs under his breath. Hands the phone back. “Be careful, okay?”
He blinks at him. “Thank you.”
“Where’s your stop?” the guy asks. Chin tipping upward. A vague gesture toward the LED ticker.
Next stop: Karet. Please check your belongings and step carefully. Thank you.
He looks up at the blinking text, then back at him. “Bendungan Hilir.”
The guy nods quickly. “Ah, Benhil!” he beams. Brightening immediately. “Two stops left for you.”
He tucks his phone deep into his front pocket. Hands staying there. “How about you?”
“Senayan. I work at SCBD,” the guy replies. “Still got a way to go.” He frees the other earbud. Both wires hanging loose against his chest now. “First time in Jakarta?”
Briefly he thinks of it. The megalopolis. A city within a city. “A week,” he admits. “Just started a new job.”
Karet.
The doors open. They see a rush of bodies again. Where people squeeze out, more people shove straight back in it. Someone steps on another person’s shoe.
“Anjing!”
The guy shrugs. Unfazed. Clearly used to it. “Jakarta’s very…” Fingers tracing an erratic zigzag in the air.
“Crowded?” He supplies a guess.
“No— Yes, crowded too.” The guy laughs. “Also very… What is it…? Semrawut?”
“Chaotic?”
A successful guess, this one. “Chaotic,” the guy echoes. His fingers snap. Delighted now. “Yeah. That’s the word.” He sticks out a hand across the narrow gap between their seats. “I’m Hao, by the way.”
“Hanbin.”
He takes his hand. Colder palm. Firmer grip. His eyes tracking downward, curious. A lanyard swinging from Hao’s neck. Sleek corporate ID bearing a familiar logo. Green.
He freezes. Eyes darting back at his own chest. Blue.
Oh.
Hao follows his stare. Sees it too. “Oh no,” he says immediately. Laughing fiercely. “I just helped the enemy.”
He laughs too. Briefly until the announcer cuts through the laughter. When he looks up, the digital sign switches its text. Displaying Bendungan Hilir. Too soon. Too fast to even mourn it. But he strangely does.
Less than a minute before the doors open. Before they disappear back into separate office lives. Back to rival firms. Just another corporate enemy to the other. Unless.
He scrambles through the handful of phrases his local coworkers drilled into him over the lunch break two days ago.
“Boleh saya punya kamu…” May I have your…
That’s what it means, is it? He pulls out his phone. The screen’s a blank reflection, and so is his mind. Blank. Cannot recall the rest of the sentence.
Hao blinks. Mouth curling upward with it. “You want to have me?”
So that's what it means. Heat climbs into his face. Mortified. “I forgot the words.”
Hao smiles like he already understands anyway. Tilts the phone toward him with a finger.
“Nomor?” Number.
“Yes.” He laughs helplessly. That’s the word. “Nomor.”
Gone again. The phone snatched straight from his hands. Quick, long fingers fly across the interface, typing out numbers before he hands it back.
Hao with a green heart emoji. “Text me, okay?”
Outside the windows, Bendungan Hilir station slides into view. Platform already crowded with commuters waiting for the next bus. This very bus.
The brake screechs.
Bendungan Hilir.