Room 206: Where Grief Wears a Hat

In a small town called Sentana, there stood an old inn named Lotus Inn. Few knew its history—only rumors suggested that the inn had once hosted mysterious travelers since colonial times. The building was colonial-style with large windows and peeling paint. Yet, the quiet and melancholic atmosphere strangely attracted visitors wanting to escape the hustle and bustle of the outside world.

That afternoon, rain poured heavily. A light mist blanketed the cobbled streets in front of the inn. Mrs. Marni, the middle-aged owner of Lotus Inn, was mopping the floor when the front doorbell rang softly. She turned and saw a tall man in a long black coat standing at the entrance, his face partially hidden by a wide-brimmed hat.

"Good afternoon. Do you have any vacancies?" he asked softly.

"Yes, sir. But only Room 206 is available."

"I'll take that one."

Mrs. Marni hesitated. "We rarely rent out that room, sir. People say... it's haunted."

"I don't mind ghost stories," the man replied. "My name is Raka."

Without asking further, Raka paid in cash and carried his own suitcase up to the second floor. The hallway leading to Room 206 was silent, with only his footsteps echoing.

The first night passed uneventfully. But on the second night, some guests began feeling uneasy. The hallway lights flickered, and knocking sounds were heard near Room 206, but no one was ever found outside. Dinda, a university student staying there temporarily for an internship at the city office, was especially disturbed.

"He's strange. Never smiles, never greets anyone. Always goes out at night. What if he's a fugitive?" Dinda whispered to Mrs. Marni.

Mrs. Marni replied calmly, "Don't judge people by how they look, Dinda. But yes... he is mysterious."

Dinda's curiosity grew. One night, she secretly followed Raka when he went out around 11 PM. She saw him standing for a long time in the backyard of the inn, staring at the sky and then at a spot on the inn wall covered with bougainvillea flowers. After a few minutes, Raka placed something beneath the bush—a crayon drawing.

The next day, Dinda couldn't resist. She sneaked into Room 206 when she knew Raka had gone out. Inside, she found something completely unexpected.

There were no suspicious items. Instead, the room was filled with children's drawings, neatly arranged on the wall. A small doll sat on the table, and a portrait of a smiling little girl was framed. On the back of the photo, it read: For Daddy, from Nadira.

Suddenly, the door opened. Raka stood at the threshold.

"I know you think I'm suspicious," he said quietly. "But I'm not a criminal. I'm just a father who lost his daughter three years ago. This... was our last vacation spot before she fell ill."

Dinda froze, speechless.

"I come back here every year. I bring her drawings, her favorite things. It's the only way I feel close to her again."

That night, Dinda returned to her room in silence. She stared at the ceiling, thinking about how easily people judge others based on appearances and unusual behavior. She felt ashamed of her suspicion.

The next morning, Dinda wrote a small note and left it at the door of Room 206.

I'm sorry for judging you by your appearance. Nadira must be proud to have a father as strong and loving as you.

Room 206 was empty a few days later. Raka left without a word. But at the front desk, Mrs. Marni found something: a crayon drawing of the Lotus Inn beneath a sunset sky, with two figures—a man and a child—holding hands. Below it was written:

Thank you for keeping our memories safe.