Central Jakarta General Court, Sunday, 09.15 am local time.

"Deandra Atma Wijaya.  You are accused of being the mastermind behind the murder of your own parents.  That night on the twelfth of November, you came home from a friend's house.  Got into a fight with your parents.  You then entered your father's room without permission and took a firearm from the bedroom drawer.  Then shoot your mother in the chest three times.  Your father tried to stop you by trying to grab the gun, but ended up getting two shots in the head and chest.  Then you decide to call the police out of panic and fear.  With so much evidence against you, I hereby demand Fifteen Years in prison for murder.”

 The prosecutor closed the blue folder in his hand.  Then rolled his eyes at a young man sitting blankly on the suspect's chair.  The heavy voice full of accusations that was loudly heard when the Prosecutor explained all the allegations and accusations against him could be heard clearly.

 Likewise with gossiping whispers from the audience.  The chill from the wooden chair he sat on, the anxious and sweaty face of a nearly thirty year old Lawyer sitting by his side.  Also the tight atmosphere in which the entire contents of this room did not support him will always be a bad memory for the rest of his life.

 "Lawyer, did the Defendant accept all the charges that the Prosecutor gave?"

 Not long after the Prosecutor sat down so arrogantly.  The judge turned to question the Lawyer.  Hesitantly the man got up.  Opened the red map he was holding.  Everything in the folder can be known just by looking at the lawyer's face.

 There was silence for a moment, the lawyer looking much more anxious than his own client.  For a moment he rolled his eyes.  He glanced at the young man sitting next to him.

 Honestly, this guy doesn't understand.  How could a man who wasn't even twenty years old look so calm when he himself knew that everyone in the room wasn't on his side?

 A moment's confusion brought the man back to their conversation last week.  Precisely in the morning, the fifteenth of November, in one of the prisons in the city of Jakarta.

 A pile of folders of various colors was painstakingly placed on the table.  A young man sits and smiles waiting for the police to call the umpteenth client in his career.

 The look on his face clearly showed that he was prepared for this case.  He seems to have had plenty of weapons against the Prosecutor though he himself had yet to meet the man he now holds the case for.

 The door opened slowly.  A young man in an orange prisoner uniform stepped in.  Behind him came a policeman.  Only to lead the foreign man to then sit on the chair right in front of the lawyer and leave him in the interrogation room with the lawyer.

 "Deandra, right?  How old are you kid?"

 The man called Deandra was silent for a moment.  His gaze was empty, his lips looked pale and dry even though it had only been two days since Deandra had entered the prison.  Make the lawyer who saw it feel pity.

 This kid, should be put in rehab and not prison.  This poor child has just lost both of his parents in a tragic incident and is instead accused of murdering his own parents.  A lawyer's soul of justice burns at the sight.

 "You're still in school, right?"

 asked the lawyer again, to which again he was met with silence.  But this time, the man in front of him reacted slightly.  A reaction that immediately made him feel uncomfortable.  Because the pair of eyes of the young man in front of him rolled and stared at him still without a word.

 This is very uncomfortable.  Because apart from the fact that he was the only one speaking here, he also felt very strange with the gazes that were directed at him.  During his five-year career as a lawyer, he has seen different types of convicts.

 Ranging from crying begging him to help, to threatening to kill him if he failed to get the person out of prison.  He had gotten used to different kinds of people.  He had learned a lot that he could even tell if someone was guilty or not just by looking into his eyes.

 But this man in front of him, died.  His eyes are dead.  He couldn't read what the man was thinking.  He couldn't even feel any guilt or even a sense of being unfairly treated.  No sadness, no fear, nothing.

 Just a blank stare that doesn't mean anything.  The man was much younger than him but one he knew at this moment when their eyes met.  That gaze that didn't imply anything was extremely terrifying.

 "Okay then, let's start the conversation.  I'm Daniel, the lawyer appointed to handle your case this time."

 Daniel smiled awkwardly as he introduced himself.  Then switch to grab one of the folders on the table and open it.  Trying to remain calm when facing the young man in front of him.

 The map contains the full identity of the man.  Deandra Atma Wijaya.  The only son of the couple Irwana Atma Wijaya and Sarah           Amara.  Seventeen years old and currently in the second grade of high school.  But because of this case he has been expelled from his school.

 “Deandra, you know that you are accused of assault and murder against your own parents, right?  I'm here to help prove your innocence so you can rest easy.  Now I need you to tell me honestly what happened that night.  Will you talk to me?”

 Daniel didn't know since when the man in front of him put the handcuffed pale hands on the table.  Deandra was still silent, her gaze still on the lawyer.  While his hands cupped on the table.  The lawyer didn't seem to stop asking questions unless he answered them.  So calmly, as if only his breath and heartbeat were the proof that he was still alive.  This man made his voice for the first time.

 “That night on the twelfth of November, I came home from a friend's house.  Got into a fight with my parents.  Then entered my father's room without permission and took a firearm from the bedroom drawer.  Then shot my mother in the chest three times.  My father had tried to stop it by trying to grab the gun, but ended up getting two shots in the head and chest.  Then I decided to call the police out of panic and fear.  With so much evidence against me, the Prosecutor hereby demands Fifteen Years in prison for murder.”

 His ears seemed to be ringing.  The man in front of him said all scenarios so smoothly and without emotion.  A young lawyer is glued to a suspect.  The white paper inside the folder was wet from the sweat that filled his palms.  Even so, the young man was not finished with his words.

 “I met the Prosecutor before I met you.  I'm sure you know that.  Because that's the procedure.  That's what the Prosecutor said when he saw me yesterday.  I'm sure the Prosecutor will say the same thing in court later because it was written on his file and he read it before me yesterday."

 So serene yet terrifying.  Almost like a swamp that unexpectedly has a crocodile in it.  Previously he had not said a word when the Lawyer showered him with questions.  But when he began to speak, the young lawyer was completely silenced.

 Wait a minute, did that guy just say yesterday?  Was he really just repeating exactly what the Prosecutor had said to him yesterday?  How could he still remember it?  Every word, every pause, every note, as if he was the prosecutor himself.  Then what's with the formal attitude?  Is it true that the man named Deandra is a high school boy who is not even eighteen years old?

 “Once the Prosecutor is done with his charges, he will sit down.  Then the Judge will turn to you.  With great authority, the judge will ask you.  Something like this: "Lawyer, did the defendant accept all the accusations given by the Prosecutor?"  Then you just have to answer like this, Mr. Lawyer."

 He couldn't face this any longer.  The gaze of the young man is still in his memory to this day.  Disturbing his sleep at night.  Even the faint smile on Dean's face he could still remember clearly as he stood frozen staring at the open folder in his hands.

 The last words from Deandra a week ago, still ringing in his ears to this day.  Accompanying every short sentence he uttered.  Like a painful echo, when with a deep breath, he finally answered judge's question for real.

 "The defendant, Deandra Atma Wijaya.  Accept every charge the prosecutor puts on him."

 In front of judges, prosecutors, and court witnesses.  He has lost.  But more than feeling disappointed at his loss, Daniel was far more worried.  Especially to the young man who was still tight-lipped by his side.  Who exactly is this Deandra?

Ten Years Later.

 A long rustle buzzed as the weathered wooden door slowly opened.  From behind it came a man.  A black jacket covered his pale body.  His face was hidden under the hood of the same jacket.

 An old woman was momentarily distracted from the flowers she was watering when she noticed the figure of the man.  She turned and smiled until the wrinkles on her face became clearer.

 "Son Dean, want to go out?"

 The man lifted his face which was originally bowed.  Then smiled at the old woman with a bit of force.

 Dean, maybe she's the only one who knows his name in this town.  Since moving from Jakarta to Bandung, Dean almost never leaves the house other than to buy food at the nearest minimarket, or to the library to borrow books for his work.

 "Yes ma'am, do you want to get something?"  Dean asked kindly.

 "Oh, if I may please buy panda milk at the mini market.  Just one"

 "Okay, I'll just take a moment."

 "Well, be careful okay!"

 They smiled back at each other for a few moments.  Until finally Dean stepped back out of the yard of the old woman's house, who was actually the mother of the owner of the rented plot that he rented for Five Hundred Thousand each month.

 With his salary as a freelancer in a publishing company, it wasn't a high price but it wasn't cheap either.  Dean is quite grateful because his income is enough to eat and pay rent.  Or not.

 He's not grateful.  Because every moment of his life, this man hoped that he would starve to death or die in one unforeseen incident.  Unfortunately, Dean is currently twenty-six years old and he is still in good health.

 "By the way, do you know the novel that just came out?  The title is Oasis.  Have you read it?”

 Why do girls like to gossip so much regardless of time and place?

 "I know, but I haven't read it yet.  Have you?"

 "Already.  Ew!  The book isn't great!  Even though the ending is happy.  But, i feel not satisfied at all! It's like something's missing!  In fact, some people who reviewed said that the book was a failure.  I agree!"

 Don't they know they weren't the only people overhearing their own conversation?

 Some people who didn't really intend to eavesdrop, actually listened because they spoke as if they were the only ones in this place.

 they are very annoying.  Especially for people who don't like gossip like this man.

 "Hey, how come it's like that?  Good thing I haven't read it."

 "Serious!  They gave the name of the novel a work that failed to know it was so bad!  In the city library, the book has already been withdrawn because it is not selling well.”

 Dean held out his hand.  Opened the glass door in front of him and was immediately greeted by cold air from inside the cupboard.

 Without much comment, the man immediately grabbed three cans of panda milk and placed them together with several packets of instant noodles in the basket he was carrying.

 While his ears were trying to deafen themselves from the two girls who for whatever reason were gossiping right next to him.

 After feeling that he had everything he needed, he walked over to the cashier.  Pay, then exit the convenience store.

 His initial intention was only to buy food.  So after leaving there Dean immediately stepped back towards the rented house.

 But the conversation the two girls had unexpectedly turned out to be a little disturbing.  The young man's heart was curious.  In a work the two girls in uniform had just talked about.  The term 'failed work' indirectly reminded Deandra of himself.  He is the one who failed.

 His footsteps slowed down.  Then before long, Dean really stopped.  On the crowded sidewalks, among the busy people who continue to move forward to continue their lives.  Dean was silent there.

 Pondered for a moment and ignored the people who gave him strange looks.  Then in one sigh, the man made up his mind.  Dean turned and walked the other way.

***

 Again, the door made the same sound as it opened.  Darkness greeted Dean as soon as he stepped into his apartment.

 With a bit of fumbling, he was finally able to find the switch and turn on the light.  Just as the light came on, there was a narrow and shabby scene typical of a young man's room.

 The laptop on the short table looks open even though it is turned off.  Dirty clothes scattered in front of the bathroom door.  The remaining cups of instant noodles are scattered like rice seeds.  Even when he saw the sight, Dean was getting impatient to hurry up –

 Thump

 – Lay his body down on the bed.

 "Haaah"

 Deandra took a deep breath.  A tired sigh that he should have just let out after finishing tidying up his rent.  But never mind, instead of doing that in fact this man prefers to look at the blue-bound book in his hand.

 On the front of the cover clearly written Oasis.  Yes, Dean finally managed to bring the book home after being disappointed because previously the librarian said that the book had been withdrawn yesterday and there was nothing left.

 This man is lucky.  Because it seemed that a man who was just about to return the book was holding the only book left.

 Although he was not very eager to read this book, he was lucky enough that the foreign man was willing to lend him this book.  At least Dean didn't come home empty-handed, and only brought a few cups of instant noodles that would soon pierce his intestines.

 It didn't take long for Dean to open the first page.  On the first page, he is immediately presented with a very unusual prologue.  So amazed, Dean read the passage in a mumbled voice.

 “I am a failed human.”

 Wait, is this book making fun of him?  No, of course that's impossible.  Dean shook off the ridiculous thought in his head and resumed his delayed reading.

 The book was completely ordinary.  Tells the love story of a beautiful girl named Licia.  The girl owns a simple cafe in a city called Jayaraya.  It almost sounded like a parody of the city of Jakarta to Dean.

 Poor girl, loves a handsome man who never loved her.  A cold and indifferent man who strangely works as a doctor.

 Dean began to wonder how the main male character named Andrea was able to get a patient with his nature and character.

 Continued on the next page by page.  Dean is presented with a very cliché story from the author.  A sad love story, a one sided love story.

 Dean could tell the guy named Andrea was a total jerk.  Because even after Licia nearly killed herself due to being rejected so many times, he still didn't accept her love.

 Dean didn't understand, because the reason Andrea didn't like Licia was not explained.  Likewise, the reason why Licia is so infatuated with Andrea is also not explained.  The story in this novel seems to just revolve around Licia's struggle to win Andrea's heart.

 Turning to the next page, Dean found a scene where Licia seemed to be being followed by someone.

 But again, in the novel it is not explained who the person who followed that girl was.  Looking back, Dean realized that the person who saved Licia when that girl almost committed suicide had never appeared again.

 The figure of a man in a school uniform who happened to be there.  Nor is it explained how the man came to be on the roof of a building.  It's as if the man is just a disposable character whose job is to save the female lead.

 Just like the man who saved her, the figure who followed her also just left without leaving anything behind.  It's as if it doesn't matter.  If it's not important, then why is it included?

 Dean began to not understand what the author was thinking when writing this book.  Even so, Dean continued to read it.  The more he read, the more Dean understood why everyone was calling this book a failure.

 Time passed, the sun was fading.  Dean had spent almost five hours just reading a book.  Without him realizing it, the sun was ready to finish its task of shining today.

 In the end, Dean came to the end of the story.  As expected, the story had a happy ending.  Andrea finally realized that Licia loved him and began to accept that girl.  They were together in the end.

 But for some reason, reading the end of the story left a feeling of dissatisfaction in Dean's heart.  Especially when he saw a blank page very clean of any scratches right on the back after the last page.

 It was just a blank page, but it was able to make this young man feel that something was missing.  As if the page should be filled in for the story to be complete.  But Dean didn't know what to fill it with.

 "Hah, you idiot!  How can you even thinking about scribble a borrowed book?!”

 Said this man while throwing the book in his hand to the side of the empty bed.  It seemed for him that the book should not be crossed out but it could be tossed aside.  I don't know, this guy is just a little unclear.

 Dean fell silent.  Staring at the dim lights on the ceiling of his rented room which will soon need to be replaced.  Once again pensive with the ticking of the clock which was the only sound in the room.  It was five o'clock in the afternoon.

 But instead of getting up and going for a shower or filling his stomach with unhealthy food, Dean would rather let time pass by while he was pensive and doing nothing.

 One question still bothers him to this day.  What was the author really thinking when creating a work that would clearly be called a failure?

 Dean didn't understand.  But he also couldn't imagine that the writer was an innocent teenager who likes to fantasize about love without knowing the truth.

 He couldn't imagine a silly writer who would spend an inordinate amount of time creating a work that would only be reproached by everyone.

 The thought of what kind of person the writer was reminded Deandra of one thing.  That he himself has not had time to read who wrote the book.  Remembering that, he turned around.

 Lying on his stomach then grabbed the book that was lying a few centimeters from him.  He pulled the book close enough that he could read the name written on the bottom of the cover.

 "Fatamorgana?"

 Deandra raised his eyebrows.  A name that is foreign to his mouth that speaks as well as to his ear that hears.  Though Dean spent a lot of time during his life to read many works.  The famous novels of Tere Liye's class never escape his attention.

 He even knew novels by new writers who were only famous in one or two applications.  Because that's his job.  A script hunter, script editor, as well as supervisor of the work of writers who work with the publishing company where he works.

 But the name Fatamorgana looks foreign.  There is not even the name of the publishing company that helped publish this book.  Making it even more strange in Deandra's eyes.

 “Self Publication?  Are you rich?"

 Publishing your own work without the help of any company is not easy.  In addition to requiring courage, it also takes a lot of money.

 Of course Dean didn't understand.  Why would someone named Fatamorgana be willing to spend a lot of money on a work that failed?  Or, could he not have thought that his work would fail?

 “Poor new writer.  I think he really is a high school or middle school kid.”

 He mumbled a little.  While throwing the poor book into the corner of the bed again.  Then buried his face in the pillow.  For a moment he looked like a frustrated man.

 When in fact this man was only gathering the intention to immediately go to the bathroom before the cockroaches crawled on his back.

***

 Time passed, Dean was grateful he only borrowed the book for one day so he could just return it the next day.  Otherwise, there's no guarantee that his adorable pet rats won't tear the book apart the next night.

 So when the sun rose the next day, Dean went straight back to the library just in time for opening.

 For a moment he looked at the clock wrapped around his hand.  The clock showed eight in the morning.  Dean stepped into the library and headed straight for the shelves as if it were his own home.

 It's not strange.  The librarian was also no longer surprised because Dean came here far more often than anyone else.  The man seemed to only live between a rented house, a mini market, and a library.

 Even because Dean didn't really talk much, the Librarian had given up trying to greet him since the third attempt because Dean would hardly return his greeting unless he repeated it twice.

 So the Librarian only glanced at the man when he entered his domain.  Then get back to busying himself with other things.  For example, playing chess with himself.

 Now Dean was standing between the two shelves.  In the corner right in front of him was a long table with chairs on either side.  There is also a fairly wide window.  The window shone in the sunlight that shone directly on the table in front of him.

 At first, Dean was confused.  Because he got this book from a man and didn't know where he should put it.  But his confusion didn't last long.  Because right now, the same man was sitting in one of the chairs in front of him.

 The man rested his chin with his hands resting on the long wooden table, and stared out the window in silence.

 A sense of awkwardness overtook Deandra.  Made it for a few moments – which seemed very long, just staring at that man.  As if now he was staring at an aesthetic painting by a famous painter.

 Dean couldn't help but be silent while holding a blue-bound book in his hand.

 "Are you done with the book?"

 Unexpectedly, the foreign man spoke.  Then slowly but surely turned to him.  As if to confirm to Dean that he had known Dean's presence a long time ago.

 But is it possible?  Even if he knew there was someone from this distance, how could he be sure that it was the person who had borrowed the book from him yesterday?

 "Yeah, I was just about to return it."

 The man carved a smile on his handsome face.  Honestly, the guy didn't look too old.  Probably around thirty-five years old.  Even his face can be considered charming.

 Making Deandra who is also a grown man feel somewhat inferior because of his own homeless appearance.

 "You like that book?  You know?  People say it's a failed work."

 Now the stranger began to act as if they were two friends who already knew each other.  Asking for an opinion from a foreign man just because they read the same book, is that normal?  Dean didn't know.

 Because it had been a very long time since he actually had a face-to-face conversation with a fellow human.  Dean was so comfortable in his relationship with the walls of his rented room that he had forgotten what it was like to talk to such a creature.

 “I don't know, I can't say I like or don't like this book.  But I seem to know why people call it a failed masterpiece.”

 Dean's gaze shifted from the man a few meters in front of him to the book in his hand.  Again, for the umpteenth time he looked at the cover of the book.

 It looks elegant in blue and has an engraved title that says Oasis on it.  Perhaps, the only thing that can be considered successful from this book is only the cover.

 "Want to discuss it with me?  I'm curious about what you think of the book.”

 Very formal language, as if he was someone who came from outside Indonesia and had just learned the language.  However, the beautiful tone and intonation as if he was in poetry made Dean feel interested.

 Although to be honest, the invitation still felt strange to him.  But alas, the poor bird with a broken wing didn't realize he was stepping into a much bigger cage than before.

To be continued ....