That first introduction was no small matter. In less than six months, I already felt accepted by them just the way I was.
In the days that followed, Pak Ato became more than just an acquaintance—he felt like family. I found in him a place to confide, someone who listened like a brother. Every conversation with him reshaped my thoughts, clearing up the confusion I'd carried for so long.
It was that closeness that eventually led Pak Ato to open up and share everything. Stories that stirred endless questions within me. One of them: "Who is that girl?"
(It all began with this story… a sorrowful journey that changed everything.)
---
4
A long-lasting marriage can still be filled with suffering. Perhaps it was the "curse" of a union never truly blessed, or perhaps simply the impatience of youth believing that the "miracle of love" could shield them from life's storms.
They found a little happiness when a child was born. But fate spun its wheel too quickly—and always off balance.
Tragedy struck: the mother was diagnosed with a terminal illness. A sickness that might have been treated if caught earlier, but by the time it revealed itself, all she could do was surrender.
She passed away when her child was only a year old, leaving without the chance to pour enough love into the life she had brought into the world.
No one can fight destiny once it has been written. Grief consumed the father as well, and just two weeks later, he too followed his beloved wife into the afterlife.
What cruelty, that an innocent baby should enter this harsh world only to lose both parents—the very first souls meant to give him love?
The story cut deep into me. And even more so when I learned that the baby's mother was none other than Pak Ato's younger sister. Their fate might have been forgotten forever, had chance not brought Pak Ato and his brother-in-law together before death claimed him.
And so, from the age of one, the baby was raised by Pak Ato—during those tender years when a child should have been wrapped in the love of both parents.
But the story doesn't end there…
---
Life dealt Pak Ato his own share of misery, not unlike his sister's. His marriage, built on love and sacrifice, was shattered by betrayal. The wife he loved too much mistook his devotion for weakness. She left him, leaving behind only the bitter taste of infidelity.
This heartbreak struck just months before the news of his sister's passing. Broken, Pak Ato lost himself. He drowned in alcohol and powders he had never touched before—false friends that only dragged him further down.
Months passed in that haze until the death of his sister jolted him back. Barely clinging to sanity, he realized that the tiny baby left behind was not just a burden, but a gift.
That baby saved him. Gave him a reason to live. Not simply a responsibility, but a miracle that reminded him there was still meaning to be found.
Was fate cruel? Or was it simply inevitable? No human can escape what is written.
Twenty years have passed since those days. For two decades, Pak Ato poured all his love into that child. The baby is no longer a fragile infant, but a young woman blessed with beauty and grace.
She was the one I first met at the flower shop "Kembang Setaman."
The girl who softened my hardened heart, who led me to know Pak Ato.
(She is the thread that binds this entire story, the turning point that changed my life. But what happens once I know the full truth…?)
I froze when I first heard it. My chest tightened, emotions tangled inside me, my eyes stung with tears that fought to escape. In that moment, all I could whisper was:
"Life is so cruel…"
If you were in my place, could you still see it as a blessing? Could you even dare to call it the most beautiful thing?
4
"All the sorrow in my life hasn't truly ended yet, Gibran…"
(Pausing, I just sat there, silent and tense. My eyes burned, holding back tears that threatened to fall. My heart whispered, "Oh God… hasn't he suffered enough? Why must his story continue to bleed with so much pain?")
Pak Ato lowered his head. His lips trembled, but not from the cold—rather from the heat of grief burning inside him. His gaze drifted in every direction, unfocused, as though the weight of memory was too heavy to speak aloud.
"It's alright, Pak. You don't have to continue if it hurts too much. The past belongs to you alone," I said, trying to soothe him.
He looked straight into my eyes, a sad gaze full of pleading yet not asking for help.
"No, Gibran. I've long wanted to share this story. You already feel like family, and you deserve to know."
He drew a deep breath.
"Nina's presence has been a miracle for me. Because of her, I learned to endure the pain with patience. With her, my sadness slowly faded. From the day she was a baby until now, I've poured every bit of love I could. I even shielded her from the bitter truth of what happened to her parents."
He smiled faintly, but his voice shook.
"It was never in vain. Nina grew into a gentle, obedient girl. She understands me, her aging uncle, more than anyone else ever could."
(It was a touching story, the portrait of a man giving his remaining years to raise his sister's child with nothing but sincerity. Happiness was finally within his reach again—after so many storms. Yet, why did I feel that his story was not yet done? Why did it still feel unfinished?)
Pak Ato's face suddenly tightened. His cheeks reddened, his voice broke into a sob.
"It's alright, Pak. You don't have to go on," I said softly, though I too felt my chest tighten. The man I had always thought of as strong and steady revealed a heart more wounded than I'd ever imagined.
After a pause, he forced himself to continue.
"I can't hold it back. Because even the happiness I spoke of was soon tested again. About four years ago, Nina was in her first year of high school. She was cheerful, full of life, like any girl her age—until she first fell in love."
"There was a boy she met at school. His name was Liyas Mayusra…"
I leaned forward, listening intently. His tone softened.
"I trusted Nina. A good girl like her wouldn't give her heart lightly. I didn't interfere in their young love. And to be honest, I liked the boy from the start. He was polite, well-mannered, and since meeting him, Nina seemed even happier. For a while, I treated him like my own nephew."
"Their relationship lasted years—which is rare for teenagers. Their love was pure, innocent. But…" (his voice faltered),
"…for all that time, I never truly knew who Liyas was, where he came from. Nina only told me he was from a well-off family. That's all I knew."
Silence pressed in again. His face darkened. He trembled as though the next words clawed at his throat.
Finally, he exploded:
"Who would have thought—a good boy like him—came from a cursed family!"
I froze. What did he mean? Hadn't he praised Liyas only moments ago?
Pak Ato's voice was no longer calm. It was fire.
"Do you know who his father is? Bayu Ariyanto!"
The name was spat like venom.
"Bayu… the man who destroyed my life! The one who stole Tiara—my wife. The one I once called a brother, a friend closer than blood. All the while, he hid his deceit behind friendship. And it was him… HIM! Who lured me into darkness, into drugs, when I was at my weakest."
His breath shook with rage.
"And now, fate sends his son into Nina's life…"
I sat in stunned silence. The pieces of his story crashed together inside me.
Liyas—the boy Nina loved—was the son of Bayu, the traitor who ruined Pak Ato's life.
But then another thought struck me like a thunderbolt. If Bayu married Tiara, then…
Pak Ato cut me off, as though reading my mind.
"Yes. Liyas is also the son of the woman I once called my wife."
The room spun. The story grew more tangled, more painful. And still, one question remained in my heart:
What about Nina?
---
5
And so it became clear why friendship turned into hatred. For Pak Ato, Bayu was no longer a friend but a curse.
Tiara Febriyanti, once his wife, had long been Bayu's hidden desire. Wealth, temptation, and betrayal—together they shattered vows once sworn before God.
When Tiara asked for divorce, Bayu was still the one to whom Pak Ato confided his sorrow—never realizing it was Bayu who had stolen her heart. And worse, Bayu used that trust to drag him further into ruin, feeding him drugs under the guise of comfort.
Now the truth stood bare: Bayu was not just a traitor but a drug lord. And Tiara had remarried him.
That was the man who fathered Liyas.
No wonder Pak Ato's voice shook with rage as he spat,
"Bayu… that monster! And fate cursed me further by letting his son fall in love with my Nina!"
---
6
Weeks passed after that night of confessions. I carried Pak Ato's story within me, heavy like a stone.
The flower shop Kembang Setaman—the place where we first met—now felt like the stage where fate itself had played out its cruel script. From the very first moment I laid eyes on her, Nina had stirred something inside me, something I hadn't felt before.
I finally understood what it meant to live, to feel. Before her, I had been numb.
And yet, a lingering question haunted me…
"Why did Nina need help being guided into the shop that day? Why didn't her gaze ever truly meet mine, even as she smiled and thanked me?"
The answer struck me like lightning when the truth was finally revealed.
It wasn't shyness.
It wasn't guilt.
It was because she was…
A blind girl.
---
7
Time moved on as it always does. And me?
My world remained small, with only a handful of people in it. But I no longer cared about judgment or loneliness.
Because now… Nina was my friend.
I don't even know when it began—this closeness. But from the stories I heard from Pak Ato, from my frequent visits to Kembang Setaman, I found myself drawn to her. Little by little, I gathered the courage to truly know her.
It all started with one simple moment…