Almost every day, a gray cat comes to a man’s house. There’s one thing the cat and the man have in common: both of them have problems with their left legs. The gray cat only has three functioning legs. Its front left leg was amputated a year ago after a fierce duel with a neighborhood cat. The man’s left leg is broken from being hit by a motorcycle. Fractured tibia and fibula. He can barely walk without his crutches.

Almost every day, the gray cat with three legs comes to the man’s house. The cat knows there’s a bowl full of cat food waiting inside. Every morning, the man prepares food for his two cats in the kitchen. He sets out the bowls on the floor, the same ritual every morning. There’s a window the gray cat uses to sneak inside, the same window the man sometimes forgets to close.

The gray cat is not his. It belongs to his neighbor.

Almost every day, the man with a broken leg drives the gray cat with three legs out of his house. He doesn’t like it when the gray cat eats food that isn’t meant for him. His own two cats just stand there when the gray cat sneaks inside. They don’t protest or hiss. They simply back away from their own bowls as the intruder eats, as if they are afraid of him.

At first, the man just shoos the cat away, waving his hand and raising his voice. The gray cat runs out immediately, hobbling on three legs. But with every passing day, the gray cat grows bolder and bolder. When the man shoos him now, the cat barely flinches. He continues eating, one ear flicked back in acknowledgment but otherwise unbothered.

Now the man has to chase the gray cat out of his house. It creates a comical show: a crippled man pursuing a crippled cat. The man lurches forward on his crutches, trying to corner the thief. The gray cat limps away, unable to run quickly, but still managing to stay just out of reach. They move through the kitchen in an awkward, stumbling dance—both of them dragging their bad left legs, both of them refusing to give up.

Sometimes the man remembers to close the window. On those mornings, he sees the gray cat sitting outside, staring at the window. The cat waits. The man eats his breakfast and pretends not to notice.

But sometimes he forgets.

Almost every day, a man with a broken leg chases a gray cat with three legs out of his house.

The gray cat always comes back.

I first noticed Yuki’s peculiar habit during our lunch meetup in northern Tokyo. As we walked to the restaurant, he led us through a series of what seemed like unnecessary detours, always managing to find a pedestrian bridge whenever we needed to cross a street. At first, I assumed it was just coincidence.

The restaurant he chose was excellent. A small ramen shop tucked away in a quiet corner. As we slurped our noodles, I finally asked him about our roundabout route.

He smiled, a hint of pride crossing his face. “I know every pedestrian bridges in Tokyo.”

I nearly choked on my noodles. “That’s impossible. There must be hundreds.”

“Four hundred and twelve, to be exact” he said, stirring his broth. “Want me to prove it?”

After lunch, he offered to walk me to Ueno Station, two stops away from where we were. True to his word, he navigated us through a maze of streets, never once using a zebra crossing. Each time we needed to cross, he’d lead us to a bridge with unwavering confidence, as if following an invisible map etched in his mind.

“This is incredible” I said, watching the cars pass beneath us on our fourth bridge crossing. “But why memorize all these bridges?”

He just shrugged, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline.

…

I thought his ability was fascinating, if a bit eccentric. His girlfriend Rin (well, now ex-girlfriend), however, didn’t share my enthusiasm.

I discovered this one Saturday evening at Hamamatsucho Station. I spotted them arguing at the station entrance. Yuki stood with his arms crossed, exhaustion evident on his face.

“I can’t do this anymore, Yuki” she said. “A thirty-minute walk turned into two hours. Just because you wouldn’t cross at street level!”

I hung back, pretending to check my phone, but couldn’t help overhearing.

“You don’t understand” Yuki pleaded. “I need to use the bridges. They’re safe.”

“Safe? It’s a crossing light, not a monster!” Rin threw up her hands. “I’m done. Find someone else to go on your bridge tours.”

After she stormed off, I approached Yuki. He stood there, shoulders slumped, staring at the ground.

“Hey” I said softly. “Are you okay?”

He looked up, trying to force a smile. “Ah, you saw that?”

…

We found a quiet bench outside the station. The evening crowds flowed around us.

“I’ve never told anyone this” he said, “But I don’t like zebra crossings.”

“What do you mean you don’t like zebra crossings?”

“I’m scared of them. I don’t know why, but I cannot cross the street on zebra crossings. That’s why I memorized all the bridges. But Rin called me crazy.”

I froze for a second. I thought he was just messing with me. That’s just ridiculous. “He broke up with his girlfriend because he’s scared of zebra crossings?” I thought. I wanted to laugh but he seemed serious, as if he really was scared of them. I coughed a little bit to hide my laugh.

I patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Hey, it’s okay buddy. I’m sure you’ll find someone else who appreciates a good bridge tour. Maybe even someone who shares your… unique perspective on street crossings.”

He looked up hopefully. “You think so?”

“Well… “
“ maybe.”

Expanded from an idea I got after watching my friend Adi, become extremely overwhelmed when we visited Shibuya Crossing

Mark busied himself with setting up the tent, his hands moving with practiced ease. He hammered the stakes into the ground, securing the canvas to withstand any overnight winds. John, meanwhile, was unloading the car, carefully placing their supplies on the table.

“Hey, Mark” John called out, breaking the silence. “I must say, last week when you asked me to go camping, I thought you were joking.”

Mark looked up from his task, a grin spreading across his face. “Why would I joke about something like this? You know how much I love the outdoors.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, but it’s been a long time since our last camping trip, you know.”

The lake shimmered under the fading light, its surface reflecting the vibrant colors of the sunset. Birds chirped their evening songs, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees.

“Mark, come here!”
“There’s like, a fresh tire track going straight into the water over there.”

Mark didn’t look up. “Yeah, probably some dudes messing around.”

John wasn’t convinced. “The lake looks pretty deep right there. Are you sure this is safe?”

Mark reached the spot John had pointed out. He crouched down, examining the ground. “You’re right, John” he said finally, his voice low “those are fresh tracks. Makes you wonder what happened here, doesn’t it? I can tell there was an accident here earlier!”

John responds “Accident? How do you know that?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Before John could get another word out, Mark made a swift, silent move. A metal baseball bat hidden behind his back, hit the back of John’s head with a sickening thud. The world spun, the lake turning into a swirling vortex, his vision blurs before fading to black.

Mark knelt beside him, the bat held loosely in his hand. His face showed a mix of rage and desperation as he leaned close to John’s ear. “Because, John” he said, a twisted smile playing on his lips “I’m the one who caused it.”

The smile faltered for a moment. “You should never have told my wife about Maya” he rasped, his voice tight with barely contained rage. “I should never have told you about her in the first place. You were my best friend! I trusted you!”

The weight of Mark’s words settled on him, heavy and suffocating. It was Maya, the woman Mark had confessed to him: another affair. The woman Mark had sworn him to secrecy about just before their wedding. John, filled with guilt and remorse, had broken that promise, blurting out the truth to Mark’s wife in a misguided attempt to ease his own conscience. Never did he imagine the devastation his confession would unleash, a consequence far worse than anything he could have ever imagined.

“Don’t worry, John” Mark continued. “It’ll all look like a tragic accident.” He cast a cold glance at John’s unconscious body. Mark, fueled by a week of meticulous planning and a heart consumed by vengeance, knelt beside John. The carefully placed tire tracks, the staged accident scene, all part of the chilling performance.

With a little bit of effort, Mark dragged John’s unconscious body towards their parked car and sat him into the driver seat. A monstrous grin stretching across his face. With a final, lingering look at his former friend, Mark pushed the car towards the lake. The metal crunched as the vehicle plunged into the inky water, disappearing beneath the silent surface.

PS: I really want to disclose my (former) best friend’s affair to his fiancée (I heard they’re getting married), but I’m afraid bro might take me to a nearby body of water and kill me.

Sudah empat kali lelaki itu datang ke kedai ini. Kedai kopi ini tidaklah spesial, hanya kedai kopi kecil pinggiran kota yang tidak banyak orang tahu keberadaannya. Karena tidak banyak yang tahu keberadaan kedai ini, aku jadi sering mengamati pengunjung yang datang, termasuk lelaki itu. Seperti kedatangan-kedatangan sebelumnya, lelaki itu hanya membawa totebag putih yang berisi topi berwarna coklat, dompet kulit yang sudah buluk, sebuah buku novel populer, dan hapenya.

“Cappuccino ice satu”, ucap lelaki itu singkat.

Kebiasaan lelaki itu setelah memesan segelas cappuccino ice adalah: ia akan duduk di meja bar sambil bengong memandang layar hapenya yang ia letakkan di atas meja. Aku bisa melihat sekilas layar hapenya. Di sana tertulis pesan singkat dari seseorang, sepertinya dari adik perempuannya.

“Mas, besok Ibu akan mampir ke kota.” Pesan itu dikirim kemarin.

Ketika minumannya kusajikan, lelaki itu baru akan membalas pesan itu.

“Maaf, aku tidak sedang di kota.”

Sambil menghela napas panjang, lelaki itu kemudian menyeruput cappuccino ice-nya secara perlahan. Seolah-olah kopi dingin itu bisa membekukan momen yang ingin dia hindari.

Dikutip dari halaman 98 sebuah buku kumpulan cerpen berjudul “Jangan Mudah Percaya pada Bayangan di Cermin Rumahmu”

Anita stands over the bathroom sink, the cold water running over her trembling hands. The blood swirls down the drain, leaving faint red streaks on the porcelain, a stark contrast to the pale skin of her fingers. She splashes her face, the icy water biting into her skin, washing away the last remnants of blood that cling to her cheeks. Her eyes, reflected in the mirror, are empty, hollow—a void where emotion once resided. But within that emptiness, something flickers, a trace of remorse that lingers at the edges of her consciousness, barely strong enough to feel real. For a moment, she lingers, staring at her own reflection as if searching for a hint of the person she used to be. The face in the mirror is hers, yet it feels foreign, distant, as though she’s looking at a stranger.

She tore her gaze away, the sound of the water still echoing in the small bathroom. She turned off the tap, and the silence that followed settled around her. With a deep breath, Anita opened the door and stepped back into the dimly lit hotel room.

She tears her gaze away, the sound of the water still echoing in the small bathroom. She turns off the tap, the silence that follows settles around her. With a deep breath, Anita opens the door and steps back into the dimly lit hotel room.

She turns and walks over to the hotel room chair where her husband’s body sits slumped. Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, she pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, knowing exactly where he keeps them. She has done this before, many times. With a practiced flick, she lights a cigarette and takes a drag, the familiar menthol taste filling her lungs as she stares blankly out the window.

“How did it come to this, huh?” she mumbles, her voice barely above a whisper. “I gave up everything for you, for us. My career… my dreams… all for what? For a family? We were supposed to build something together, but what did I get? A life full of lies and pain.”

She exhales a cloud of smoke, watching it swirl and dissipate in the dim light of the room.

“I wanted to be a mother so badly… and when we lost him, I thought I’d die too. But you… you didn’t even shed a tear. You just pointed fingers, made me believe it was my fault. Made me carry the weight of that guilt every single day. And I did, didn’t I? I believed you because I loved you… because I wanted to trust you.”

Anita’s hand trembles as she takes another drag, the ash glowing brightly with each unsteady pull.

“But it wasn’t me, was it? It was you. You and… her.” The words almost catch in her throat as she points at the woman lying in the bed. The woman’s naked body is drenched in blood, her once warm, smooth skin now stained a vivid red. “You two took my son away from me. And then you had the nerve to look me in the eyes and told me I was the one who failed. You broke me, piece by piece.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing as she looks back at her husband’s body. His white shirt is soaked in blood, now a deep crimson red. His cold, empty eyes stare lifelessly into the void.

“And all this time… you’ve been cheating with her. The same woman who helped you take away our son. The lies, the deceit, the betrayal… it’s too much. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve been drowning in this hell you’ve created, trying to keep my head above water, but I’m done.”

She stubs out the cigarette on the windowsill, the ember fading with a final hiss. Anita’s voice drops to a whisper, cold and resolute.

“You took everything from me… now, I’m taking something back.”

quoted from page 251 of a novel titled “What Would You Do When Your Country Collapse”

Di tahun 2377 semua jenis bunga kehilangan namanya. Sudah lama sekali sejak bunga-bunga di dunia ini menjadi tidak bernama. Sekarang mereka dibedakan berdasarkan warnanya dan hanya warnanya saja. Bunga merah, bunga kuning, bunga ungu, bunga putih, bunga merah muda, dan lain sebagainya.

Suatu hari seorang kakek berusia 213 tahun mampir ke sebuah toko bunga kecil yang terletak di bawah puing-puing gedung perkantoran di tengah kota.

“Berikan aku setengah kotak bunga tulip dan isi setengah sisanya dengan bunga sepatu.”

“maaf tidak ada bunga tulip dan bunga sepatu di sini. Kalau anda mau, saya bisa memberi anda bunga putih dan bunga kuning ini sebagai gantinya.”

“Kalau begitu berikan aku seikat penuh bunga matahari yang paling besar yang kau punya.”

Lima menit kemudian pemilik toko memberikan seikat penuh bunga berwarna merah muda yang tangkainya penuh dengan duri kepada sang kakek. Senyum sang kakek mengembang lebar. Dengan gembira ia membayar dengan uang berlebih lalu melangkah keluar toko sambil bersenandung.

dikutip dari halaman 103 sebuah novel berjudul “Perang Alien Kedua Meletus Ketika Aku Sedang Mencuci Piring Tengah Malam”.

Hanya ada satu kebiasaan yang tidak pernah berubah dari lelaki itu. Setiap pagi di hari genap tepat pukul sembilan pagi lelaki itu akan mengendarai vespa merah miliknya menuju ke kedai kopi langganannya.

“Seperti biasa ya, mbak”

“Baik. Satu americano ice totalnya dua puluh delapan ribu, mas”

Setelah memesan minuman, lelaki itu akan mengambil asbak dan duduk di bagian luar kedai tepatnya di meja nomor dua dari kiri. Ia akan menyulut rokoknya lalu larut dalam lantunan musik yang ia dengarkan melalui earphone.

Setiap pagi di hari genap, lelaki itu akan meminum americano ice di kedai kopi langganannya.

Dikutip dari halaman 79 sebuah novel berjudul “Laporan No. 185 (Kopi Mirna)”

Setelah lima tahun bekerja sebagai barista di kedai kopi kecil pinggir kota, akhirnya gadis itu bertanya kepada sang owner.

“Pak, selama lima tahun ini saya digaji sangat tinggi, bahkan jauh lebih tinggi dari UMR kota ini, tetapi kopi yang kita jual terlampau sangat murah. Belum lagi biaya operasional kedai ini. Apa bapak tidak merugi kalau begini terus?”

sembari membersihkan meja bar dan mesin espresso, beliau menjawab

“Saya tidak pernah merasa merugi dari bisnis kedai ini. Satu-satunya impian saya saat ini adalah menghabiskan uang hasil korupsi saya tujuh tahun lalu. Itulah mengapa kedai ini tetap saya pertahankan.”

beliau berhenti sejenak, meminum segelas cappuccino buatannya sendiri, kemudian melanjutkan.

“Saya tidak pernah mengira, membantu orang-orang sekaligus menebus dosa akan semenyenangkan ini.”

dikutip dari halaman 273 sebuah novel berjudul “10 Miliar Rupiah yang Perlahan Mengalir Keluar dari Kedai Kopi Pinggir Kota”

“Semuanya jadi delapan ribu, mba”, kata lelaki itu sembari memasukkan dua botol air mineral ukuran 1.5 liter, tiga coklat batangan, dan satu buah es krim. Lelaki itu sengaja menjual semua barang di toko kecil miliknya dengan harga yang sangat murah. “Tidak apa-apa aku tidak menjadi orang kaya, yang penting aku tetap bisa menjual barang-barang ini setiap hari.” gumamnya sambil merapikan tumpukan snack. “Karena itulah caraku membantu perekonomian dunia.”

dikutip dari halaman 47 sebuah novel berjudul “Penjaga Toko Kelontong Kecil yang Menyelamatkan Perdana Menteri Inggris”