There are times when I feel small. Small is an understatement — I think most of the time, the correct word is minuscule because I feel smaller than small, I feel like I don’t matter. As I look over the Jakarta skyscrapers, I feel it once more. Minuscule. I don’t matter. It’s hard being a person and trying to think that you’re worth something when there are 8 billion other human beings on this Earth who probably deserve a lot more. So as I hold the champagne glass nearer to my lips, smelling the alcohol even before it touches them, I try to think about anything else. I try to think about the meetings that I’ll have on Monday or the potential lunches that I’ll drag my sister (half-sister) to in the future — anything else that can help distract my overflowing mind. In the end, I know the one thing that I don’t want to hyperfixate on: Sabrina.

Earlier, as I walked into the restaurant, I met a lot of our mutual friends. Katie, who was Sabrina’s roommate when we were all in Columbia, enveloped me into a friendly hug as she patted my shirt-cladded back. When I pulled away, I could still see the guilt in her eyes, as if Sabrina’s choice to sleep with another guy when we were together — or practically engaged — was her idea. (It wasn’t, though Katie was present when it happened). She told me that we should catch up next time, go to a bar together with the rest of the guys or something. At that point, I’d stopped taking interest in the conversation as I diverted my attention somewhere else.

I haven’t even started eating the buffet that they’ve served before I decide to walk out of the room and onto the balcony, finding a quieter space than the one indoors. It feels too suffocating inside and although my 3 best-friends have tried their best to cheer me up — Gazi even pulled up the momentous video of him slipping on ice in Central Park — I still feel like I need some fresh air. It’s a little dumb, to be honest, trying to find fresh air when you’re in the middle of Jakarta but it’s better than nothing.

So I sip on the champagne, letting the bitterness of the alcohol take over my taste buds as I pull my vape out of my left pocket. Before I can put it in between my lips, a voice speaks up from beside me and I freeze.

“Damn, is this smoking spot taken?”

“I don’t smoke.” I reply, trying to sound cool and aloof but the sentence gets caught in the middle of my throat and rather than sounding tepid, I sound like a cat who’s lost its voice after a day filled with begging at their owner’s feet for food.

The woman standing beside me lets out a hearty chuckle before she grabs a cigarette from her Sampoerna Mild box, “You’re too old to be vaping, isn’t that supposed to be a teens-only activity?”

“I’m trying to quit smoking.” It’s the honest answer — I really am trying to quit. Han and I started smoking around our second year in university and we never really stopped. But as we went back to Indonesia and started to search for other vices; Han and his on-again and off-again relationship with Tasha (it’s been going on for around 3 years now) has prompted him to quit smoking because the combined stress of work and the relationship never working out is a much better release than what tobacco can offer.

If Han has his relationship, I have my electronic cigarettes. Although the stranger beside me is right, I don’t really see a lot of adults vaping.

“How’s that working for you?” She asks as she tugs a strand of astray hair behind her right ear.

“Still in progress.”

“Lo temennya Alan?”

Even after 2 whole years of knowing who that man is, I can still feel my skin crawl whenever his name is mentioned. With Gazi, Han and Shua it’s a little like the dynamics between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. They deliberately never mention his name whenever I’m around because they know how it makes me feel so to hear someone say it so sovereignly in my presence is something that’s new, that’s unexpected but still makes me shudder nonetheless.

“Engga, gue temennya Sabrina.”

Friend isn’t the right word to describe the relationship that Sabrina and I had (or have) but it’s the one that doesn’t give the other person a chance to ask follow-up questions. It’s not like I’ve encountered a lot of people who don't know the story between Sabrina and I but this stranger will ask questions so I’m not letting my walls down in front of her. At least not yet.

“You?” I ask her back as I take another hit from my vape. It feels kind of childish when I vape in front of someone that I assume is around the same age as me because as she takes a drag from her cigarette and I can see her nostrils slightly flaring up from the way the smoke constricts her airways, my coke-flavored air tastes immature.

“Sabrina’s friend too, we met in Bali a few years back, she used to work with me.”

“Oh, cool,” is the only answer I can chirp up and I think she senses the awkwardness coming from me. Even when I’ve only just met her, I know she’s not the type of person who’ll let their conversation partner slip away from their grasp that easily. She’s either a lawyer, judging from her pursed lips and ever-present frown on her face, or a counselor of some kind. A shrink? Maybe. But Sabrina is neither a lawyer nor a therapist and has never needed counseling of any kind.

I try to look closer. Her long, black hair is kept simple with messy ringlets that fall off her shoulders so effortlessly. The black dress that she’s wearing is fairly new and the black heels that match the whole outfit screams formality. She’s a woman in business, no doubt about that.

“Lo kenal Sabrina dari mana?”