Words That Stick

"Words That Stick"

A few days after the incident at the workshop, the atmosphere of the small town began to change.

People started talking about Mas Dion — not only about his abilities, but also his courage in facing Aditya Mahardika. Bu Sri's stall became a place for impromptu discussions every afternoon. Some defended Dion, some were neutral, and some... were afraid to speak too loudly because they knew who Aditya's father was.

But one thing is undeniable: Arum is on Dion's side. And that makes Aditya... hot.

That day, Arum was sitting in the school canteen when Aditya arrived in his car, getting out with his usual confident style.

He approached Arum directly — in front of several teachers and students who happened to be passing by.

"Mrs. Arum, I heard yesterday you were quite defensive of that... mechanic, huh?" he said in a mocking tone with a thin smile.

Arum put down her spoon, looking at Aditya calmly. "If you mean Mas Dion, yes. I defend you."

Aditya laughed shortly. "Why? Do you have a crush?"

Some students who heard that turned their heads with wide eyes, while other teachers pretended not to notice. But Arum remained sitting quietly.

"Mr. Dion is a good person. He works hard, is honest, and never looks down on others — unlike some people who prefer to show off rather than work," he said in a voice loud enough for anyone around the canteen to hear.

Aditya was silent for a moment. His face was red, but he smiled widely to hide his hurt.

"You're brave, huh? A teacher defending a mechanic in public... interesting."

"If Mr. Aditya feels belittled because of the truth, it's no one's fault," replied Arum.

Some teachers started to stand up, trying to calm the situation down. But it was all over. Arum's words had already entered and scratched Aditya's pride that had never been touched by anyone.

That night, inside his luxurious house, Aditya stood on the balcony, gazing at the lights of the quiet little town.

"Dion, huh..." he muttered coldly. "A little mechanic, pretending to be a genius, and now... grabbing Arum's attention too."

His hands clenched into fists.

"I'll make you regret coming to this city."

Since the incident, Mas Dion's name has been mentioned more and more often. Not only in coffee shops and schools, but also in local forums, community Facebook groups, and even on small community radio.

Some people started calling him "The Magic Mechanic from the Narrow Alley."

Others mocked Aditya for being less elegant in a battle of words.

But for Dion, all that doesn't change anything.

That morning, the sound of an old engine was heard from a distance. An old man with an old Astrea motorbike stopped in front of the workshop.

"Mr. Dion, can you please check this? It looks like the chain is loose and the clutch is dragging..."

Dion greeted him with his usual smile. "Yes, sir. Please sit down. I'll check for a moment."

Without further ado, he set to work. His hands were quick, his movements were deft, and his face was calm. There was no sign that he had just become the center of small-town gossip. No suggestion that someone influential was plotting revenge against him.

One by one, residents arrived. A mother brought a stuttering automatic motorbike. A young man asked to have his rear brakes checked. Small children ran around watching Dion fix his motorbike as if watching a magician at work.

Arum passed by from a distance, looking at the scene with a smile. Dion was surrounded by people, not because of money, not because of prestige, but because of sincerity and real skills.

"Mas Dion... doesn't need a stage," whispered Mrs. Sri to Arum who stopped by to buy fried food.

"His stage is here, among the oil, bolts, and smiles of the people he helps."

Arum nodded, her heart feeling warm.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Aditya hears news that Dion's workshop is getting busier. He is angry. But Dion?

Dion remained calm.

He closed the hood of the motorbike, wiped his hands with a shabby cloth, and smiled at the owner of the vehicle.

"It's done, sir. Try walking for a bit, it should feel lighter now."

That day, Arum stopped by Dion's workshop again. Not because her car was having problems, and not because she was bringing food like usual. She just passed by... then stopped. The reason? She herself couldn't explain it.

From behind the wooden fence of the workshop, Arum saw Dion squatting next to a 2000s motorbike. It was ordinary — until she realized the motorbike had the latest injection system, owned by one of the young teachers at her school.

Dion was opening the motorcycle's ECU with simple tools. No laptop, no digital scanner. Just a screwdriver, a small multimeter, and... instinct.

Arum approached slowly, pretending to be relaxed.

"Mr. Dion, whose motorbike is that?"

"Oh, this is Mr. Reza's motorbike. He said it often suddenly dies when braking."

Arum nodded. But her eyes didn't leave Dion's work. Dion's hands traced the thin sensor cables with the precision of a professional technician.

"Sir... this is a new motorbike. The system is digital, right? But you don't use a computer or a scanning tool?"

Dion did not answer directly. He just smiled slightly.

"I listen to the sound of the machine first. Sometimes the sound is more honest than the data."

Arum was silent.

He knows the automotive world pretty well — his father is a retired mechanic. But what Dion does is more than just a 'feeling'. It's a deep understanding. Very technical. Too technical... for a workshop this small.

"Where did Mas Dion learn all this from?" Arum finally asked, in a tone that was half joking, half curious.

Dion glanced briefly, then returned his focus to the motorbike. "Read a lot, try a lot. Sometimes at night I experiment myself."

A safe answer. But Arum knew... it wasn't an honest answer.

"If I bring the hybrid school car here, can you fix it?" he asked again, this time in a challenging tone.

Dion just laughed softly. "Want to try?"

Suddenly Arum felt surprised herself — why was her heart beating so fast just because of a mechanic's smile?

That afternoon, the air in Salatiga was scorching hot. The streets were quiet, except for the sound of motorbikes and the occasional howl of wind passing through the small alleys. In front of Dion's workshop, there was no queue of customers as usual — just silence and the sound of an old fan squeaking in the corner of the room.

Dion sat on a bench, turning the bolt slowly while enjoying iced tea from Mrs. Sri. The day almost felt like an unofficial holiday — until the sound of coughing from the street made him turn his head.

An old woman with a faded hijab and a vegetable basket on the back of her motorbike stood confused. Her motorbike had broken down in the middle of the road, just a few meters from Dion's workshop.

Dion got up without asking much. He approached his mother with a smile.

"I'll help you, ma'am. Please push it a little to the repair shop, so it can cool down first," he said softly.

The mother looked relieved, but also awkward. "Sir, I... didn't bring any money. This is also a borrowed motorbike for selling vegetables..."

Dion nodded casually. "It's okay, Mom. I'll just help. Fortune can come from anywhere."

Deftly, Dion checked the clogged carburetor and the nearly broken chain. He replaced the loose bolts and gave some makeshift lubricant. In less than thirty minutes, the motorbike was back on.

The mother's eyes filled with tears.

"Mr. Dion... thank you. I don't know what to say in return..."

Dion just smiled. "If the merchandise sells well, pray that my work will also run smoothly, okay, Ma'am."

The incident spread quickly. Warung Bu Sri was the first place the news circulated, then spread to the patrol post, religious study groups, and even the PKK mothers' WhatsApp group.

“That Mas Dion… helped an old woman for free. Even though other people could be indifferent.”

“What kind of mechanic refuses payment?”

"If everyone was like him, this village would be peaceful."

Even the usually indifferent RT head started to stop by, just to say hello, “The workshop is getting busier, Mas Dion…”

Meanwhile, Dion just continued his work as usual.

Not wanting to be praised, not wanting to be promoted. He still wore his shabby clothes, still wiped his hands with a dirty rag, and still treated all customers the same: calmly, honestly, and wholeheartedly.

But one thing has changed:

Mas Dion's name is now not only known... but is starting to be respected.

And in the corner of the shop, Arum silently watched all of this with a small smile.

In her silence, she knew:

She was liking someone... who was unlike anyone she had ever known before.

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