AHNVENTURE's Archive

Shabil suddenly laughed at something that wasn't even funny anymore. It was an old inside joke from years ago, the kind only a few people would still understand. “Ribs” by Lorde happened to be playing, and for a second he felt that weird ache of realizing how much had changed since then. People who used to be around every day now had their own lives, conversations became occasional check-ins, and those carefree days slowly turned into stories he told with a “remember when?” He hated how nostalgic it made him feel, because nothing was really wrong—life was just moving forward without asking if he was ready. And honestly, that was the part that hurt.

Kischka used to think forever was a pretty simple thing: you stay, they stay, and somehow life just keeps going like that. Then people started leaving, plans changed, and suddenly “selamanya” felt like a word people said way too easily. While “Sampai Jadi Debu” by Banda Neira played somewhere in the background, she looked around at the people she still had and wondered how long they would remain part of her life. It wasn't exactly sadness—it was that quiet fear of losing something before she even realized how much it meant. So for once, she didn't overthink it. She just stayed a little longer, laughed a little louder, and tried to enjoy the moment before it became another thing she had to remember.

She had gotten pretty good at saying “I'm fine” without even thinking about it. Late at night, “Moon Song” by Phoebe Bridgers played softly while she sat on the floor, scrolling through old messages she knew she shouldn't be reading anymore. Nothing dramatic happened; people simply grew apart, life got busy, and some things stopped feeling the way they used to. Still, there was this stupid little part of her that kept wondering if things would've been different if she'd tried harder, stayed longer, or said what she actually felt. She locked her phone, sighed, and laughed quietly at herself. Some things really are easier to miss than to let go of.

December came with the kind of cold that made Geoffrey remember her. Not because he wanted to, but because some memories just refuse to stay buried. With “Desember” by Efek Rumah Kaca playing in his headphones, he found himself thinking about the last time they were together, when everything still felt possible and neither of them knew it would be the last. It had been a while since they went their separate ways, yet somehow, every December carried the same ache. Geoffrey knew he couldn't bring anything back, so he just let the memories pass, quietly wishing that wherever she was now, she had found the peace they both failed to find back then.

It was one of those nights where Kindi didn't really know what he was feeling. He just lay there, headphones on, letting “Space Song” by Beach House play over and over while his mind went absolutely everywhere. Lately, everything felt kinda unreal—people changed, routines changed, even he didn't feel like the same person anymore. There wasn't some huge tragedy behind it, he just slowly stopped recognizing the life he used to be comfortable with. Maybe that's the weird part about growing up; nobody tells you when you're leaving an old version of yourself behind. Kindi closed his eyes and let the song drown out his thoughts for a while, because honestly, figuring himself out could wait until tomorrow.

Rain had been falling for hours when Mahir found himself sitting alone by the window, listening to “Amsterdam” by Coldplay. Somehow, the song brought back everything he had tried not to think about—the apologies he never said, the people he pushed away, and someone who had once waited for him to become a better version of himself. He remembered how easy it was to believe there would always be another chance, until one day there wasn't. Mahir stared at the blurred lights outside, wondering if things would have been different if he had realized sooner. But the past didn't ask for permission before becoming a memory, so he simply stayed there, listening to the song until it ended.