Rain fell slowly, wetting the glass of the small room window where Arlan sat in thought. His hand held a faded photo, the corners of which had begun to erode with time. In the photo, a young woman smiled softly, a smile that somehow always felt familiar, even though he had never met her. Salsabila, that was the name written on the back of the photo, written in ink that was almost fading. A name that his father, a sailor who had never lived on land for long, always told him.

"She's my true love," his father said one night, when Arlan was still small.

At that time, Arlan only heard the story like a bedtime story, never thinking that the story held something bigger. But now, after his father's departure forever, the photo is the only trace left. A trace that makes him wonder: who really is Salsabila, and why is she so important to his father?

Arlan stared at the photo longer. There was something he couldn't ignore like an invisible call asking him to find answers. So he decided. This photo, which had crossed time and loss, would be the beginning of his journey. A journey to find traces of a love that never came true.