Here is the English translation of the passage:
Urip opened his app while sitting on a bench near the indoor garden at the airport. His thumbs typed quickly:
Urip: "Ma, I'm not going straight home. I want to visit Grandpa first."
Message sent. Then came a moment of silence, the airport glass reflecting a shimmer onto his phone screen. It took a few minutes before a reply appeared.
Siska: "You're in SG? 😳 Where are you staying? Our house is rented out."
Urip smiled faintly. He could imagine his mother's expression: surprised, a bit panicked, but also touched.
He quickly typed back:
Urip: "It's okay, Ma. I'll find a cheap hotel. Don't worry. Just visiting Grandpa Gabriel's columbarium real quick. I promise I'll be careful."
He let out a deep sigh, then looked around the grand interior of Changi Airport with mixed feelings.
"It's okay, Ma... this Urip now knows how to live in Gaby's world," he thought quietly.
A bouquet of white chrysanthemums—flowers symbolizing sympathy and final respect in many Asian cultures—was held firmly in Urip's hands. Fitting. Simple, clean, and unpretentious. Just as he imagined for a man he once met only briefly, but had come to know through every heartbeat of his new body: Gabriel Sulaiman Lim.
He took a bus from Changi terminal, needing no map or directions. His feet moved confidently once he arrived at the columbarium complex. Somehow, it was as if something inside him knew exactly where to go. Maybe it was the body's memory. Maybe just instinct. But his steps were certain.
After passing through several quiet and solemn corridors, he stopped.
Before him stood a white marble shelf, calm and pristine, and among the hundreds of porcelain urns, one made his breath catch.
An old white urn, surrounded by modest decorations, bore delicate gold Chinese characters:
"Beloved Father, Gabriel Sulaiman Lim."
Next to it, a black-and-white photo of a young man with a faint smile. That face—the broad forehead, the strong brows, the jawline, even the gaze—looked so much like the face Urip now saw every time he looked in the mirror.
"Grandpa..." Urip whispered, barely audible. He slowly knelt and placed the white chrysanthemums at the foot of the niche.
"Sorry… it took me so long to come here."
Then he fell silent. No long prayer, only stillness. A meeting of two souls, one already gone, one just beginning again.
"Shalom, Mr. Gabriel," Urip said softly, his voice nearly drowned by the quiet of the marble room. His hand gripped the remaining petals tightly, his eyes fixed on the young man's photo—someone he had never known, yet knew so well.
"I'm sorry... I couldn't keep that promise."
Urip's voice was hoarse, as if trapped in his throat for years. He bowed lower.
"I once promised to marry Siska... But I failed. Even when she asked for help, I didn't come. I..." He stopped. Took a deep breath, but couldn't ease the tightness in his chest.
"I died, Sir."
His eyes turned red. He stared at the white porcelain urn, lips trembling.
"And now... I live again. But in your grandson's body. And I... I still love Siska. But I know I don't deserve her. I'm nobody now."
He fell silent again. The columbarium remained quiet, only the soft hum of air conditioning in the background.
"I'm not asking for permission, Sir," he continued softly. "I just wanted to say... thank you. Because your grandson is an amazing person. And... I'll take care of her. In my own way. Within my limits."
He gently touched the photo, then stood up, taking one last look at the name etched in marble: Gabriel Sulaiman Lim.
A name that once felt foreign, but now seemed like a part of him.
"Rest well, Mr. Gabriel..." he whispered. "And please... don't hate me."
Gaby's body turned to the right, her steps steady toward the bus stop, but her eyes no longer focused on Marina Bay or Chinatown. Her fingers moved quickly, opening a travel booking app. With a few taps, a new ticket was purchased—this time, not to Seoul. But to Jakarta.
Urip jolted. "Gaby, why are we going to Jakarta?" he whispered, as if reminding himself he wasn't just a passenger in this body.
But there was no answer. Only a compelling tug in his chest, like a magnet pulling him back to old ground—where the wounds began, where many things remained unfinished. Whether it was Gaby's will, or his own, he couldn't tell.
The sky over Singapore was grey. And in the silence that hung between departures and memories, their steps—or his steps—traced a path almost forgotten.
Soekarno-Hatta Airport was no less grand than Changi. High ceilings and modern lights welcomed him. But as soon as he passed through the international arrivals gate, Urip—or rather, the body of Lim Gabriel he was inhabiting—suddenly felt lost. His pace slowed, eyes scanning around.
A middle-aged man in a worn vest and half-friendly smile quickly approached.
"Where to, sir?" the man asked, his voice fast but not threatening.
"Sunter," Urip answered without thinking. But inside, he was startled. "Huh? Why am I going to Sunter?" Even he didn't know why that answer came out.
The man opened his phone and showed the fare on an app.
"If you use the app, that's the price. But if we go directly, I can knock fifty off. Just name your price."
Urip stared at the screen silently, then at the driver's face, then back to the screen.
"Ah, he's a taxi driver..." his mind slowly processed. "Now you don't have to call the taxi company? Just tap on a phone? Amazing..."
His fingers moved automatically again, opening a ride-hailing app. A map appeared, with pickup point, fare, and estimated time. Everything felt unfamiliar, but somehow very familiar to the body he was in.
"Back then I had to queue at a payphone just to call a taxi at midnight," he mused. "Now it's just a tap..."
The car arrived five minutes later. The destination was still the same: Sunter. But what waited there—even Urip didn't know.
"Bodhi Dharma Temple, please," Urip told the driver as they neared Yos Sudarso street, approaching Sunter. The words slipped out effortlessly, like a reflex from memories not entirely his.
The driver nodded, turning right, passing a row of shop houses and old buildings.
"Sure, sir."
Ten minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of a modest temple, calm despite the bustle of the city. Jakarta's humid air greeted him as he stepped out. The faint scent of incense drifted from within.
Urip had only set one foot outside when the driver said,
"That'll be 125, sir."
He froze. Then his eyes widened.
"Oh no..." he whispered in panic. "I forgot... I don't have rupiah."
His hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a sleek, slim wallet. Inside: international cards, business cards, Singapore dollars... but not a single rupiah.
The driver began to grow suspicious.
"No cash? You can transfer too—BCA? Mandiri?"
Urip paused, then gave a sheepish smile.
"I... just arrived from abroad. Can I pay in dollars?"
The driver clicked his tongue, then chuckled lightly.
"Well... I'll take it, as long as it's not coins. How much is that worth?"
Urip handed over a five-dollar Singapore note. The driver did a quick mental calculation.
"Alright, that'll do. Consider the rest my lunch donation."
Urip nodded gratefully and gave a small bow.
"Thank you, sir."
The driver waved as he drove off.
Urip looked at the red temple gate that stood quietly.
"Why did I come here? What is this body looking for?" But his feet were already moving inside, as if they knew the answer was waiting within.