Lokey

Eight months of the same cycle: laptop, cats, and overwhelming loneliness in my bedroom. This month, I finally decided—enough. Enough of locking myself in this situation, enough of letting my mind spiral into dark thoughts.

I needed people to talk to. A change of scenery. Something to make me feel alive again.

So I set three goals: reconnect with old friends, find new perspectives, and escape my room by finding a proper workspace.

As an extreme introvert, making new friends isn’t my strength. So I started easy—childhood neighbors who used to be my best friends, and my high school best friend who’s been around for almost a decade.

Catching up with them was refreshing. Talking about old times, reflecting on how far we’d all come—it made me realize something. I was proud of these people, proud of who they’d become.

But here’s the problem: after years of separation, I couldn’t open up completely. I didn’t know who was still trustworthy and who might spread my personal business around.

My high school friend was the exception—we’d shared stories for almost a decade, and I knew my words were safe with him. But even then, it wasn’t enough. I needed another perspective. A different voice.

This part is awkward to admit, but sometimes you need a female perspective on things. They tend to see what we don’t.

Since I’m massively introverted (and the last time I actively approached someone was five years ago), I figured I’d take the easy route: dating apps.

To set expectations low, I put this in my bio: “Not gonna sugarcoat anything—I suck at texting.”

Matched with a few people. Had some conversations. No spark. Unmatch. Next person. Repeat.

The more I thought about it, the worse I felt. Like I was shopping for people instead of genuinely connecting. That’s when I realized—this wasn’t for me. So I deleted the apps for good.

Maybe I could skip this part and focus on work instead.

But that loneliness? Still there, still messing with my head.

There are plenty of cafés around my area. I tried several, but most were either too loud or had terrible WiFi. Then I remembered a place—cozy, not too crowded (probably because it’s pricey), with incredible internet.

I chose it as my regular workspace. Great ambiance, perfect environment. Soon I was going there almost every day.

“What can we do for you?” the barista asked on my first visit.

“Something non-coffee that tastes good? Any recommendations?”

“Wanna try vanilla cream? No coffee, has whipped cream on top, and it’s really nice!”

“Cool. Large size, less sugar.”

And that became my drink. The baristas eventually stopped asking—the moment I stepped in, they already knew my order.

But then, January happened.

Somewhere in January, I noticed something different. One barista stood out. The positive energy I felt when talking to her was tremendous. I kept trying to read her name tag, but my astigmatism made everything blur.

And strangely, every time I took a break from work, my eyes automatically found her.

This alone made the place my absolute go-to workspace.

Fast forward to a gloomy Sunday evening. I was at the café with my high school friend, venting about something that had happened the day before. And what were the odds? She was on shift.

As we talked, my eyes kept drifting toward her, and I finally told my friend: “See the cute barista at your three o’clock?”

“Yeah, she’s cute. What’s up?”

Out of nowhere, I said: “I have a white chocolate bar in my bag. I’m gonna give it to her right now.”

Except I didn’t.

I froze. My hands went cold. I chickened out completely.

First, I didn’t know if she had a boyfriend. Second, I have this thing where I lose all ability to function when talking to someone I find attractive.

But I wasn’t going home in defeat. Plan B: order takeout so she’d have to bring it to my table.

She did. And I still froze. But my heart was screaming, “You can do this.”

Finally, loudly, out of nowhere: “Excuse me, I have something for you. Hope this helps you get through your shift.”

I handed her the chocolate bar.

“Awww, thank you!” She rushed back inside.

That was expected. I sighed in relief. But halfway to the door, she turned around: “Are you coming tomorrow?”

Oh.

For the first time in a while, I blushed. Butterflies. A million thoughts ran through my mind in three seconds.

“Actually… I’ll be here on Tuesday.”

“Got it! Thank you!” She smiled and walked off.

I practically ran to my car, hands trembling. That gloomy Sunday turned into one of the best days I’d had in months.

We’ve been talking during her breaks, when she’s about to go home—small conversations here and there.

I asked her to go to a concert on February 14th in Jakarta. At first, she wasn’t sure.

But today? She confirmed she’s coming with me.

Life’s wild, isn’t it?

It’s 3 AM as I write this. Usually, I’d be up overthinking. But tonight, I can’t sleep from excitement.