Ring! Ring! Ring!

6:00 AM. The pages of time spun backward to their cruel starting point.

Arif didn't bolt from the bed. The lingering exhaustion from his failed spiritual journey last night—where he was yanked back right as his fingertips almost brushed his mother’s kebaya—still lingered in his soul. The damp village earth, the dim porch light, and his mother's silhouette had evaporated, replaced once more by the damp walls of his boarding room. A fifteen-hour journey was an absolute barrier he couldn't physically breach within twenty-four hours.

Yet this morning, a different realization crossed Arif's mind. If space and time refused to let him go home physically, he still possessed a single bridge left: a telecommunication network cutting across island boundaries. Throughout hundreds of loops, he had always waited for 6:00 PM to receive his mother's call, or even dismissed it coldly. He had never tried to turn the tables.

With slightly trembling hands, Arif reached for the cheap smartphone resting on the cement floor. He opened his contact list, scrolling down until he found a name that now felt utterly sacred:

Mom.

Arif drew a deep breath, letting the cool aura of the Frost Circle ring stabilize his thundering heartbeat. He pressed the green call button, then held the phone to his ear.

Dial tone... dial tone... dial tone...

Every ringing tone felt like a pounding hammer striking Arif's chest. Early in the morning like this, his mother would surely be awake, tending to her morning chores in the kitchen of their modest stilt house.

Click.

"Hello, Arif? Assalamualaikum, son? You're calling unusually early today? Is something wrong, son? Are you well?"

That voice. Raspy, gentle, and freighted with genuine worry, it pierced straight through Arif's emotional defenses. It was the exact same snippet of sound he always heard, yet hearing it on a bright morning dealt an extraordinary shock to his emotions.

Hearing such sincere care after hundreds of days isolated in the falsehood of Jakarta made Arif's defenses collapse instantly. The tears he had held back all morning welled up, dampening his cheeks.

"M-Mom..." Arif whispered. His voice shook violently, choking in his throat.

"Arif? What's wrong, son? Why does your voice sound like that? Are you sick? Or haven't you eaten yet?" His mother's voice on the other end suddenly spiked, brimming with palpable panic. A mother always knows, even from just two syllables, if something is wrong with her child.

Arif tried to catch his breath, but his crying only broke through. He sobbed uncontrollably in the dark corner of his boarding room, hugging his knees—the weeping of a grown man feeling utterly broken and lonely amidst the capital's grandeur.

"Mom... Arif misses you, Mom. Arif... I'm so sorry," Arif wept amidst his tears.

Hearing her son sob hysterically, his mother fell silent for several seconds. Confusion and profound panic crept through that silence. After all, their communication over years of migration had grown hard and rigid. Arif had always erected high emotional boundary walls; he invariably spoke briefly and curtly, as if discussing feelings was taboo and embarrassing for a man seeking his fortune in Jakarta.

"Arif... Son, try to take a breath first," his mother's voice returned, this time attempting a calm demeanor despite her shaking, anxious tone. "Is there a problem at work? Were you fired? Or is it money trouble? Talk to Mom, son..."

"No, Mom... It's not about work or money," Arif's crying began to subside, turning into heavy gasps. He realized how awkward this situation was. Years of cold distance couldn't be thawed instantly through a sudden bout of crying. His mother wasn't used to seeing Arif's fragile side, and Arif had no idea how to express this deep longing without sounding like a lost stranger.

"Then what is it, son? Don't give Mom a heart attack back home," she pleaded, her voice sounding stiff and clumsy as she groped for the right words to comfort the son who hadn't vented to her in years.

"Arif... Arif's just tired, Mom. Jakarta is so lonely," Arif finally offered, selecting the safest phrase away from the insane reality of the time ring on his finger.

"Oh, dear... my boy is just homesick," his mother softened, though the awkwardness still lingered between them. "Migrating is tough, Arif. But you're Mom's strongest boy. If you're tired, rest. Don't push yourself to work endlessly. Don't miss your prayers, son..."

Arif listened to every simple piece of advice with reverence. Even though their interaction felt awkward and stuttering due to the chasmic emotional gap, hearing his mother's voice this morning poured a genuine warmth into his chest. The Frost Circle ring shimmered dimly, as if slowly adapting to the fresh serenity beginning to seep into its owner's soul.

"Yes, Mom. Arif remembers," Arif replied more calmly, wiping away the remaining tears on his cheeks. "Arif just wanted to hear Mom's voice this morning. I'm sorry for panicking you."

"It's alright, son. What matters is that you're healthy over there. Mom will call again this afternoon at the usual time," she said, trying to wrap up the unusual conversation within the daily rhythm she understood.

"Yes, Mom. Wassalamualaikum."

"Waalaikumsalam, son."

Click.

The call disconnected. Arif lowered his phone, staring at the screen as it faded back to black. His boarding room remained identical, his Thursday remained frozen, yet something had shifted deep within him. This morning, he hadn't received a physical embrace from his mother, nor any answers on how to escape this time cage. Yet for the first time after hundreds of loops, Arif felt his soul breathing again. That shattered emotional bridge now possessed a fresh foundation to be rebuilt in the loops ahead.