The First Day
POV 1 – Rizka, A Little Girl (8 years old)
Grown-ups are weird. That's what I thought back then.
I was sitting under the guava tree in front of our house when I saw an old man—thin, frail, and wearing a round, slightly tilted hat—placing a wooden chair right in the middle of the village square. He sat on another chair, facing the empty one. Not saying a word.
It was a hot day, but he just sat there. And the next day, he came again. The same thing every time. Always two chairs. Always silent. Always staring at that empty chair like he was having a conversation with someone invisible.
I asked Miss Reni, my homeroom teacher, after school.
"Miss, why does that old man sit alone every morning?"
She just said, "Oh, him? People say he lost his wife. But no one really knows for sure."
But that answer didn't satisfy me. I had my own theory: the chair could talk. But only to people who were really, really patient. Like that old man.
Sometimes he smiled at the empty chair. I even saw him cry quietly once.
I tried sitting in front of a chair at home, staring at it blankly. But my mom thought I was possessed.
"What are you doing?"
"Waiting for the chair to talk back…"
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POV 2 – Mrs. Lastri, Market Vendor (45 years old)
I don't believe in the supernatural. But that old man gives me goosebumps.
For more than a week now, I've been setting up my vegetable stall before dawn near the square, and there he is. Arrives before the rooster crows. Places two old wooden chairs—God knows where he brings them from. Sits alone, staring at one spot. Never speaks.
The first time I saw him, I thought he was nuts. But every movement he made was calm, deliberate. Not like someone lost or confused.
"Ma'am, who is he?" a customer asked one morning.
"No idea. But some say he was a respected healer, until his wife died because he failed to save her. Now he comes here every day to ask her spirit for forgiveness."
That's just market gossip, of course. But who knows, right? Some say they've seen jasmine flowers suddenly appear on the empty chair. Others swear they smelled a strong floral scent even though no flower vendors were around yet.
I feel a bit scared. But also... sorry for him.
Sometimes I leave a rice cake wrapped in banana leaf near him. He never looks up. But when I come back, it's always gone.
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POV 3 – Tegar, Journalism Student (22 years old)
My thesis was boring. I needed a story that could "go viral" on local news portals. Then I found it—an odd man sitting in the village square every single morning for days.
I brought my camera. I recorded. But the more I observed, the more the story refused to become just "clickbait."
On the twelfth day, I dared to sit near him.
"Sir, may I ask you a question?"
He stayed silent. Then slowly turned toward me.
"If you want to know... you must sit patiently. Like she did," he said, staring at the empty chair.
"Who is she, Sir?"
He didn't answer.
I did some digging. Asked around. Checked village records. Turned out his name was Mr. Sumarwan. He used to be an elementary school teacher. His wife, Mrs. Rahayu, died in a bus crash during a pilgrimage trip five years ago—the bus plunged into a ravine. Only her scarf was found. He always has it wrapped around his arm.
But why now? Why for forty days?
The answer came from an old woman who knew my mom.
"They say… if you do something every day for 40 days to honor someone who's passed, on the final night... they can 'respond' from the other side."
I started to wonder… is this journalism or something spiritual?
Still, I kept coming every morning. Sitting from afar. Watching. Waiting. Hoping for answers—for the grief I, too, had long buried.
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POV 4 – Dion, Skeptical Young Man (28 years old)
To me, this was all nonsense. One guy sits in the square and suddenly he's a living legend? Too much drama.
Every workday, I passed that road. And every day, there were people snapping photos, whispering prayers, or murmuring like they were seeing some sacred statue.
Please. He's just a lonely old man.
Until one day I passed by and my eyes locked onto something strange—a shadow on the empty chair. I even rubbed my eyes. Maybe I was sleep-deprived?
Ever since, I began having strange dreams. In those dreams, I was sitting in the empty chair and someone was staring at me from across. Their face always blurred. But with each dream, it became clearer.
On the 13th night, I woke up and unconsciously whispered, "I forgive you."
I didn't even know who I was speaking to.
Maybe... I was staring at the empty chair inside myself.
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POV 5 – Mbok Nah, Elderly Woman (71 years old)
On the 30th day, I finally dared to speak to him.
"Sumarwan…"
He was startled. But smiled faintly.
"Does Rahayu still love jasmine flowers?" I asked.
He didn't answer. But tears gently rolled down his cheeks.
I know love doesn't die. But sometimes it goes quiet for too long, waiting for our old bodies to catch up to it.
What few people know is that Rahayu and I were once close friends. We both loved the same man—Sumarwan. But I stepped back because I knew they had chosen each other.
I thought I had let it go.
But seeing him on that chair... was like seeing a youth that never ended.
So I sat on the empty chair. For the first time, after forty days of waiting. And he looked at me—not as Rahayu's friend.
But as a soul that once shared a quiet, lingering loss.