Damar’s Dark Side

A thin rain fell, dampening the signboard of “LangitNet” at the corner of Kota Awan. The neon light flickered softly, as if it too were tired of accompanying my long nights as an internet café operator. Inside the air-conditioned room that constantly hummed, life seemed to move without a sound.

My name is Damar.

During the day, the café was filled with university students working on their theses, high schoolers browsing for assignments, and younger teens playing games while nervously glancing at the clock, afraid of being scolded at home. Late afternoon was usually noisy—laughter, small shouts, the hard tapping of keyboards.

Nighttime was different.

Online entrepreneurs came with serious faces. Sending price lists. Replying to business emails. Checking bank transfers. This small town might look quiet, but business moved silently in the dark.

And among all those customers… there was Septa.

The first time she came, she only asked how to create an email account. Her hair was tied simply. Her skin was fair, her gaze sharp yet innocent. She was nineteen, recently graduated from high school, waiting to enter college.

“Mas, can you teach me?” she asked that day.

Since then, she came often. Sometimes truly for the internet, sometimes just to sit near my operator desk. Asking small questions. Laughing for no clear reason.

I had never felt this café so warm before.

At first, we only went out casually. To the small mall—the only one in Kota Awan. Watching movies we barely understood. Once, we even went fishing by the reservoir, sitting side by side, casting hooks that mostly came back empty.

Then she began coming to my boarding room.

A simple room on the second floor. Peeling paint on the walls. A window facing the rooftops of nearby houses. At first, we truly just sat and talked. She brought her science books, pretending to study while asking about formulas I had half forgotten.

We sat next to each other.

Slowly, the distance shortened.

One afternoon, when the rain fell heavier than usual, she looked at me for a long moment.

“Mas… we’re dating. Why haven’t you ever kissed me?”

My chest trembled strangely.

“Don’t… you’re still young,” I answered, trying to sound wise though my voice wavered.

She laughed softly. “I’m already nineteen, Mas.”

After that day, the boundaries began to blur.

She asked to be hugged—just for a moment, she said. Then a kiss on the cheek. Eventually, on the lips. And every time I tried to hold back, she became braver, as if her curiosity was stronger than my reason.

Strangely, she was not the most restless one.

I was.

Every night after closing the café, when the chairs were empty and I turned off the monitors one by one, her image always came back. Not just her face, but the feeling that followed it. There was warmth… but also darkness.

She no longer wanted to go to the mall or fishing.

“Let’s just go to your place, Mas,” she would say each time.

The room that once felt lonely became the place she always chose. And there, I began to realize something—not about her.

About me.

About how I waited for her messages.

About how proud I felt when she chose me.

About how I slowly enjoyed her boldness.

The dark side was not in the touch.

Not in the kisses.

Not in our bodies drawing closer.

The dark side was within myself.

I began to tie my sense of worth to someone younger, less experienced in life. I began to feel needed in an egoistic way. As if I were the center of her world, when in truth, I should have been the more mature one.

One night, the café was very quiet. Only one online businessman sat in the corner booth, busy typing an email offer. Outside, fog descended, wrapping Kota Awan in silence.

Septa sent a message.

“Mas, I miss you. Can I come over?”

My fingers froze above the keyboard.

The monitor screen reflected my own face. The face of an ordinary man. An internet café operator in a small town. But behind it, there was a battle that never seemed to end.

I typed slowly.

“Sept… let’s meet outside tomorrow. During the day.”

There was no reply for a long time.

I took a deep breath. Somehow my chest felt lighter… and emptier at the same time.

Perhaps this is the true dark side—not about what has already happened, but about the decision that must be made before everything turns into regret.

Outside, the fog grew thicker.

And for the first time in a long while, I turned off the café lights earlier than usual.

Not because it was quiet.

But because I did not want to lose myself.

Sisi Gelap Damar

Hujan tipis turun membasahi papan nama warnet “LangitNet” di sudut Kota Awan. Lampu neon berkelip pelan, seolah ikut lelah menemani malam-malam panjangku sebagai operator. Di ruangan ber-AC yang selalu berdengung itu, hidup terasa berjalan tanpa suara.

Namaku Damar.

Siang hari warnet ini diisi mahasiswa yang mengerjakan skripsi, anak SMA yang browsing tugas, dan anak SMP yang bermain game sambil sesekali melirik jam takut dimarahi orang tua. Sore menjelang petang biasanya riuh. Tawa, teriakan kecil, bunyi keyboard ditekan keras-keras.

Malam hari beda lagi.

Para pengusaha online datang dengan wajah serius. Mengirim price list, membalas email penawaran, memeriksa mutasi rekening. Kota kecil ini mungkin tampak sunyi, tapi bisnis tetap bergerak dalam diam.

Dan di antara semua pelanggan itu… ada Septa.

Pertama kali datang, ia hanya bertanya cara membuat email. Rambutnya terikat sederhana. Wajahnya putih bersih, sorot matanya tajam tapi lugu. Umurnya 19 tahun, baru lulus SMA, katanya sedang menunggu masuk kuliah.

“Mas, ajarin dong,” katanya waktu itu.

Sejak hari itu, ia sering datang. Kadang benar-benar untuk internet, kadang hanya duduk di kursi dekat meja operatorku. Bertanya hal-hal kecil. Tertawa tanpa alasan jelas.

Aku tak pernah merasa warnet ini sehangat itu sebelumnya.

Awalnya kami hanya jalan-jalan. Ke mall kecil satu-satunya di Kota Awan. Nonton film yang bahkan kadang tidak kami pahami alurnya. Pernah juga mancing di pinggir waduk, duduk berdampingan sambil melempar kail yang lebih sering kosong.

Lalu ia mulai sering ke kosku.

Kos sederhana di lantai dua, cat dinding mulai mengelupas, jendela menghadap atap rumah warga. Awalnya benar-benar hanya duduk. Ia membawa buku MIPA, pura-pura belajar sambil bertanya soal rumus yang bahkan aku sudah setengah lupa.

Kami duduk berdampingan.

Lalu jarak itu pelan-pelan memendek.

Suatu sore, saat hujan turun lebih deras dari biasanya, ia menatapku lama.

“Mas… kita pacaran kok kamu belum pernah nyium aku?”

Dadaku bergetar aneh.

“Jangan, Dik… kamu masih muda,” jawabku waktu itu, mencoba terdengar bijak meski suara sendiri terasa goyah.

Ia tertawa kecil. “Aku sudah 19, Mas.”

Sejak hari itu, batas-batas mulai kabur.

Ia minta dipeluk. Katanya cuma sebentar. Lalu minta cium pipi. Lama-lama bibir. Dan setiap kali aku mencoba menahan diri, ia justru semakin berani. Seolah rasa ingin tahunya lebih kuat dari akal sehatku.

Anehnya, bukan ia yang paling gelisah.

Aku.

Setiap malam setelah warnet tutup, ketika kursi-kursi sudah kosong dan layar monitor satu per satu kumatikan, bayangannya selalu datang. Bukan hanya wajahnya, tapi perasaan yang menyertainya. Ada hangat… tapi juga ada gelap.

Ia mulai tak mau lagi ke mall atau mancing.

“Ke kos aja, Mas,” katanya setiap kali.

Kos yang dulu terasa sepi kini jadi tempat yang selalu ia tuju. Dan di situlah aku mulai menyadari sesuatu — bukan tentang dia.

Tentang aku.

Tentang bagaimana aku menunggu pesan singkatnya.

Tentang bagaimana aku merasa bangga ketika ia memilihku.

Tentang bagaimana aku perlahan menikmati keberaniannya.

Sisi gelap itu bukan pada sentuhan.

Bukan pada ciuman.

Bukan pada tubuh yang makin sering saling mendekat.

Sisi gelap itu ada pada diriku sendiri.

Aku mulai menggantungkan rasa berharga pada seseorang yang lebih muda, lebih polos dalam pengalaman hidup. Aku mulai merasa dibutuhkan dengan cara yang egois. Seolah-olah akulah pusat dunianya, padahal seharusnya aku yang lebih matang.

Suatu malam, warnet sangat sepi. Hanya ada satu pengusaha online di bilik pojok, sibuk mengetik email penawaran. Di luar, kabut turun menyelimuti Kota Awan.

Septa mengirim pesan.

“Mas, aku kangen. Ke kos ya?”

Jariku berhenti di atas keyboard.

Layar monitor memantulkan wajahku sendiri. Wajah lelaki yang terlihat biasa saja. Operator warnet di kota kecil. Tapi di balik itu, ada pertarungan yang tak pernah selesai.

Aku mengetik pelan.

“Sept… kita ketemu di luar aja. Besok siang.”

Lama tak ada balasan.

Aku menarik napas panjang. Entah kenapa dada terasa lebih ringan… sekaligus lebih kosong.

Mungkin inilah sisi gelap yang sesungguhnya — bukan soal apa yang telah terjadi, tapi soal keputusan yang harus diambil sebelum semuanya berubah menjadi penyesalan.

Di luar, kabut makin tebal.

Dan untuk pertama kalinya sejak lama, aku mematikan lampu warnet lebih cepat.

Bukan karena sepi.

Tapi karena aku tak ingin kehilangan diriku sendiri.