Arga Pratama was a legend in the world of tech business. He was the CEO of Argatech, a company that developed the most advanced virtual AI assistants in the world. Every product that came from his hands turned into a major innovation. His success made him a billionaire at a young age. He was admired by many—and feared by his subordinates.
"Mr. Arga, this is the latest update report on the ArgA.I. project for the healthcare sector," said his secretary, Adi, handing over the document with a slight tremble.
Arga glanced at it briefly. "The results?"
"The research team has completed the development phase, and the disease detection system has reached 92% accuracy."
"Not enough. Minimum 98%," Arga replied coldly.
Adi swallowed hard. "But sir, that's already the highest accuracy level ever—"
Arga closed the document with one hand. "There's no room for failure. You have two weeks. If you can't do it, I'll find another team."
Adi bowed, not daring to argue. After a respectful nod, he quickly left the room, leaving Arga alone in his spacious and modern office.
Arga glanced at the computer screen on his desk. His desktop wallpaper was a plain blue sky. But inside the drawer of that desk was a different story. He pulled it open and took out an old photograph. A picture of a smiling girl with long hair blowing in the wind.
Citra.
Arga stared at the photo for a long time. His hand gripped it tightly.
"Why am I still like this? Why can't I forget you, Citra?" he thought.
Arga had tried to move on, but the memories of Citra—his beloved who died in a plane crash five years ago—continued to haunt him.
No one knew how deeply her loss had affected him. Arga, known as a tireless, ambitious figure with little empathy, secretly carried a deep wound.
That night, Arga didn't return to his apartment. He stayed at the office. A small candle flickered on his desk. Today was Citra's birthday. He poured a glass of wine and raised it into the air as if speaking to someone who wasn't there.
"Happy birthday, Cit. I hope you're happy—wherever you are."
Silence. Only the ticking of the clock could be heard.
Suddenly, the door opened and Serafim entered. A figure who often appeared during Arga's darkest moments.
"You again, Serafim?" Arga asked with a tired voice.
Serafim walked over and sat across from Arga. "You seem deeply wounded, Arga."
Arga looked at Serafim blankly. "Losing someone is terrifying. And I don't know how to get out of this." His voice cracked.
Serafim nodded with understanding. "I know, Arga. But you can't keep trapping yourself in painful memories."
"I've tried everything, Serafim. I've achieved all this... but I still feel empty. There's no Citra."
Serafim looked at him, trying to find the right words. "What are you really chasing? Success? Or are you searching for lost happiness?"
Arga sighed deeply. "I thought success would make me forget the pain. But it only made everything worse."
Serafim's eyes softened. "You've been chasing success to avoid pain, Arga. But happiness isn't something you can force. Even if you've achieved everything, it won't fill the void in your heart."
Arga looked down at his desk, trying to hold back sudden tears. "I don't know how to live without her... without Citra."
Serafim let the silence linger, giving Arga time. "Arga, you can't lock yourself in the past. You still have a life to live—and you can choose to find new happiness."
Arga looked at Serafim with doubt. "How? I've tried. I feel like it's too late, and none of it matters."
Serafim stood and walked toward the large window overlooking the city.
"It's never too late to start again, Arga. Everything in your life has meaning, but first, you must let go of the past. Let go of those memories. Let go of Citra."
That night, Arga felt his soul sink deeper into emptiness. But he knew something had to change. Serafim was right—he couldn't remain trapped in the past. He had to move forward, no matter how painful. Serafim stepped closer, placed a hand on Arga's shoulder, then left.
Arga tried to process everything Serafim had said. He tried to forget Citra—the woman who had once loved him so sincerely. But the memories kept returning. The more he tried to forget, the stronger they became. Just as his sadness peaked, a deep voice echoed through the room.
"You've succeeded, Arga! You can go to her. No more pain. No more loneliness."
Azazel appeared, a dark figure radiating a terrifying aura. Arga turned to him, eyes empty.
"What do you want?"
Azazel stepped closer with a wicked grin.
"I only want to free you from this pain, Arga. Citra is gone—you'll never be with her in this world. But you can be with her for eternity."
Arga was drawn to Azazel's words. He felt all hope had vanished.
"How? I've tried to survive, but it's all meaningless. I have everything—yet without Citra, it means nothing."
Azazel extended his hand toward a table. "Nothing is meaningless, Arga. This is your chance for peace."
Slowly, Arga walked to the table. There lay an old dagger. He picked it up with trembling hands, his tired eyes staring at it. The dagger felt so light—as if nothing was holding him back anymore.
"Citra… I'm coming," Arga whispered before driving the dagger toward his chest.
Before everything ended, Serafim appeared again—his radiant white wings glowing brightly.
"Arga, don't do it…"
Serafim rushed forward, blocking the blade just before it pierced Arga's body.
"You still have a life worth saving, Arga. Don't let yourself be trapped by this pain."
But Arga was already too weak. His consciousness faded, and his body collapsed to the floor. In despair, he believed it was over.
Arga lay in darkness. He felt detached from the world he knew—as if his consciousness drifted far from his body lying in a hospital bed. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in a strange place—a realm that seemed like the border between life and death.
Around him, everything was still. Silent. A desolate void with no boundaries.
"Citra… where are you?"
Arga shouted, though he knew no one would answer. In his heart, he hoped to meet her. And, like a vivid dream, a familiar figure appeared before him—Citra. But something was wrong. Citra looked confused, as if she didn't recognize him.
"Who are you?" she asked in a flat tone.
There was no warmth or recognition in her voice. Arga froze, heart breaking. The Citra he once knew now stood as a stranger.
"I... I'm Arga. Why don't you recognize me?" he asked with desperate hope.
Citra shook her head, her eyes vacant.
"I don't know who you are. Maybe you've got the wrong person."
The pain in Arga's heart deepened. He tried to remind her of their memories, their love that once bloomed. But Citra remembered nothing.
"This is all wrong! You have to remember me, Citra! We had so many plans together! So many things we never got to do!" Arga was almost in tears. But Citra only gave him a faint smile, stood up, and walked away, leaving Arga more confused than ever.
Suddenly, just as Arga's despair reached its peak, Citra returned. Without a word, she took his hand.
"Arga, let's do everything we once dreamed of," she said softly, as if realizing how much Arga longed for her.
They went together and did all the things they had once planned: watching movies in the theater, playing at amusement parks, eating ice cream in the city garden, talking about absurd things, and so many other moments they never got to experience in life. Arga felt as if he were alive again, feeling the joy he had once lost.
In the midst of their happiness, a dark shadowy figure appeared—someone Arga knew all too well: Azazel. Azazel arrived with a sly grin, intimidating Arga.
"You can stay here, Arga. Citra is here. You don't need to return to that world full of suffering. You can be happy forever here," Azazel tempted him, trying to lure Arga with sweet promises.
Citra, standing beside Arga, looked uneasy and glared sharply at Azazel.
"No! Don't listen to him, Arga!" Citra shouted angrily. "You have to go back to the world you belong to. In this world, all memories will vanish if you choose to stay!"
Azazel simply smirked.
"Memories? They're just illusions. They mean nothing here. You can be with Citra forever, Arga. All you need to do is let go of the world you left behind."
Citra looked Azazel in the eye with determination.
"You have to understand, Arga," Citra said firmly, "You won't be with me forever if you don't let go of that world. All memories will disappear. You'll be trapped here alone. I won't remember who you are anymore."
"No..." Arga whimpered, tears brimming in his eyes. "I don't want to lose you again. I don't want to go back to that world!"
Citra stepped closer, her gaze tender.
"Your life means everything to me, Arga. If this is love, then you need to know—love doesn't always mean possession. I will always be in your heart, but you must promise me to live. You have to find your new happiness."
Citra turned to Serafim, who had suddenly appeared.
"Serafim, please… sever the red thread between us. Let Arga live happily in his world."
Serafim, visibly saddened by Citra's decision, nodded slowly.
"This is a difficult choice, Arga. But for your own happiness, you must let go of the past."
Arga looked at Citra, tears now freely falling. "Citra, I... I can't live without you."
Citra gave him a gentle smile. "You can, Arga. I believe in you."
With a single motion, Serafim severed the red thread that bound Arga and Citra, releasing Arga from the ties that held him back. Citra leapt into Arga's arms one last time and slowly faded away—but her smile remained in Arga's heart.
"Goodbye, Arga. You must live a happy life," her voice faded along with her form, leaving Arga overwhelmed by emotions.
Arga turned toward the light leading back to the real world. He felt a calmness wash over him, even though it meant letting go of the memories he held so dear.
The next morning, Arga woke up in a hospital. His body felt weak, but his heart was lighter. As he opened his eyes, he saw Serafim beside him, smiling with hope.
"You made it, Arga. It's time to start a new life."
Arga nodded slowly, tears flowing down his cheeks. "I'll try to live better… I'll try, Serafim."
He stepped out of the darkness, attempting to begin a new life filled with new hope. Arga tried to let go of Citra and turn all their memories into something beautiful to cherish.
—
Behind it all, Azazel had long been influencing Arga—making him hardened, endlessly dissatisfied, and incapable of feeling happiness. Even behind his immense success, Arga still felt empty. Azazel had poisoned Arga's mind, injecting a sense of unfulfillment and convincing him that only by sacrificing more could he ever feel whole.
Citra, still spiritually connected to Arga, was aware of this and asked for Serafim's help once again. She realized Arga was trapped under Azazel's influence, heading down the wrong path. If Arga continued that way, he would lose everything—even himself. Serafim agreed to help.
Citra knew that as long as the red thread between them remained, Arga's life would never return to normal. She chose to sever it. Serafim honored her decision and helped break the bond. Arga returned to his life.
Serafim and Citra stood together, watching as Arga stepped into his new future. They saw a new red thread beginning to form around Arga's hand. Serafim looked at Citra with deep respect.
Serafim realized that Citra had done something extraordinary—letting go of the one she loved most for Arga's happiness. Citra understood that true love wasn't about possession, but about giving the one we love the freedom to find their own happiness.
—
***