8
That afternoon, after class, I stopped by Kembang Setaman as usual. Pak Ato welcomed me warmly, and we chatted like we always did.
(But in the middle of our conversation, I heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching. I didn't know who it was—until I saw her. Slowly, carefully, she walked closer. To the casual eye, nothing seemed unusual. No one would guess she was blind.)
"Maybe because every corner of this shop is already etched into her memory…" I thought.
"Papa, these past few days Nina has been hearing you talk with someone. His voice sounded familiar. Who is it, Pa?"
(Her question slipped out so naturally from those lips, red and delicate. I remembered that voice—faintly. Because I had only heard it once, during our very first meeting. Yet my ears instantly recognized it. That soft voice, speaking so gently, word by word…)
"Oh right, Papa hasn't introduced you two. Gibran, this beautiful young lady is my niece—Nina."
For a moment, I froze. (If only my reason could see further than human limits, perhaps I would have known then—that this was the beginning.)
"Ah, yes… I'm Gibran, the one who's often here chatting with your uncle. We've actually met before, a few months ago—when you accidentally broke a vase out front."
(Did either of them notice how my tongue clumsily tripped over itself? Did they know how my feelings tangled, refusing to be tamed?)
"Oh! So you're the one from that day? No wonder your voice sounded familiar, even though we only met for a moment. Ha… it's embarrassing to remember that incident."
Her words flowed gently, her tone warm, unguarded.
Pak Ato guided her to a chair beside him. Now, it wasn't just the two of us talking anymore. Nina's presence filled the room, her voice weaving into ours.
I knew this moment was destined to happen. Time itself had carved this meeting. Could it be that somewhere, in the unconscious depths, our lives already remembered this? That this encounter was written as the turning point of mine? From the beginning of my feelings for her…
And that day, the truth revealed itself—not through Pak Ato's stories, not through anyone's words, but simply by being near her.
Nina was blind.
---
So what now? Would I become "selfish," after knowing this truth?
Before, I used to say selfishness was the nature of every human being. But was it truly selfish to want the best for my life?
When I first stepped into this city, I had resolved to leave behind the old me—the solitary man I once was. Perhaps it was that determination that brought me here, to this path of change. It started with meeting Pak Ato. His stories, his scars, made me realize I wasn't alone. Slowly, they dissolved my selfishness.
(So what choice do I have now?)
Every human being longs for what's best in life. That longing is part of our morality, our very essence. And so—I, too, have the right to choose my own path. Let time be the judge of it.
"I don't care… even if she's blind."
My thoughts had always been guided by reason. Never had I acted against my conscience. And that hasn't changed. This choice, too, flows from my heart.
Call me selfish if you will—if choosing a blind girl makes me stray from what others would call "normal."
(Or perhaps I speak too soon? As if declaring a certainty before it's even been tested? Perhaps my feelings should remain hidden, until time itself offers the answer I long for.)
And yet, questions kept tugging at me, restless, relentless.
---
9
Life went on. I stayed in my small rented room, grew busier with new classes as the semester advanced. But my visits to Kembang Setaman became more frequent. Perhaps because now, it wasn't only Pak Ato who drew me there.
(Strengths and weaknesses are natural. Gratitude for blessings should come easily. Yet why do people let their weaknesses shrink their spirit?)
Not Nina. Her blindness never once dimmed her. She radiated joy, optimism. She never hid her warmth, never hesitated to meet someone new—like me. That was why I no longer felt stiff or awkward around her.
In fact, her presence made me forget she was blind at all.
Time passed. Our bond grew. Laughter often slipped into our conversations. In such a short time, she made me feel like a different man—lighter, happier. Maybe that spirit had always been in me, buried under an old, heavy past.
"I don't know," I thought. "But I like who I am now."
---
And so, every meeting carried meaning. Every visit became a chance to bring a smile to her face.
I wasn't a stranger in Kembang Setaman anymore. I knew the shop inside out, the garden beside it where Nina often spent her days among the flowers. That little garden became our usual meeting place.
Like that evening, at sunset.
"How are you, beautiful girl?" I teased. (Strange words for me. Anyone who knew me would be surprised. But change had already happened. At least I was no longer shy with her.)
"Ah, Mas Gibran, I'm doing well, Alhamdulillah," she replied with a sweet smile.
"You've been here long? I was daydreaming, didn't realize you'd come."
"Not really, just arrived," I lied (though I had been there a while, watching her sit in silence).
"What were you thinking about? Were you… daydreaming about me?" I joked.
"Ha… you're funny, Mas Gibran."
That was how it often began—simple words, ordinary conversations. Yet each one seemed to weave us closer.
So close, in fact, that even Pak Ato began to notice.
---
That day, the shop was quiet. I had just come from campus and found Pak Ato waiting as though he'd expected me. After our usual greetings, he suddenly asked,
"How's college, Gibran?"
"Alhamdulillah, going well, Pak. A little busier, more classes this semester, but I'm managing. At least I didn't have to repeat anything from last term," I answered lightly.
Pak Ato smiled, then paused before speaking again.
"Good, good… Actually, there's something I'd like to talk to you about. You have time?"
"Of course, Pak. What is it?"
"Nothing urgent, I just want to chat," he said.
We found a quiet corner of the shop. The air was calm, the breeze gentle. For a while, silence lingered—until finally, he spoke.
"Ehm… Gibran, lately I've noticed you and Nina have grown closer." (He smiled as he said it.)
"I'm happy to see it. It's been a long time since I've seen Nina so cheerful. I truly thank you for that."
I felt flattered, though a little embarrassed too.
"Ah, it's nothing, Pak. I already think of you like family. And Nina—she's easy to talk to."
But then, his expression shifted. His face grew serious.
"To be honest, I see something more than just friendship between you two."
("What does he mean…?" My heart skipped.)
"Maybe I'm wrong. But as her guardian, I feel it. Gibran, it seems you've developed feelings for Nina, haven't you?"
I fell silent. His words startled me, leaving me with no quick reply. Was it really that obvious?
I laughed nervously.
"Ha…ha… Is that how it looks, Pak? We're just friends, nothing more."
(But even as I said it, doubt filled my voice. My denial felt weak, unconvincing.)
He smiled knowingly.
"You don't have to hide it. There's nothing wrong with how you feel. I know you, Gibran. I trust you. And Nina… she always lights up when you're around."
He paused, then his voice softened.
"But… you already know her story. You know she's blind."
The words caught in his throat. His face tightened, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I don't want Nina to be hurt again. I love her too much. And Gibran, I care for you too—you're like family to me. But please, don't mistake pity for love. There are many other girls out there… whole, perfect. Don't choose Nina out of sympathy, only to regret it later."
His words cut deep. They were spoken with care, but firm. I sat frozen, unsure how to answer.
Inside, my heart screamed: Is it pity that brings me to her? Or something more?
At last, I found my voice.
"Pak… I'll be honest. You're right. I do have feelings for her. Since the first day we met. But what's wrong with that? I already know her shortcomings, but I don't see them as a reason to turn away. To me, we're still just friends—but why should her blindness change how I feel?"
My voice rose without meaning to. Not from anger, but from the weight of sincerity.
Pak Ato sighed. "I understand. But what if, one day, it leads to something more? What then, Gibran?"
"I'm sorry," he added softly, his sadness plain. "I only want the best for both of you."
I couldn't reply. His last words lingered heavy in the air.
So I asked instead, my tone weary but earnest:
"Then what should I do, Pak? Stay away from Nina? When she's the one who makes me feel alive? When my only wish is to make her smile? Wouldn't leaving her only bring us both sorrow?"
Pak Ato looked torn. "I won't forbid you from seeing her. I know Nina's happiness began when you entered her life. But… maybe it's best if you see her more like a sister. We are family, after all. Think carefully, Gibran. Youthful feelings can be intense, but decisions made rashly often lead to regret."
That was the heart of it. His true concern.
I stood slowly, forcing a smile.
"I understand, Pak. I should go now—I've got assignments to finish."
He smiled back, though sadness still shadowed his face.
"Thank you, Gibran, for giving me your time."
I only nodded, then left.
---
9
Alone again. The dim room mirrored the quiet outside. I sat on the long wooden chair, two thick books lying abandoned on the floor. Philosophy—its tangled concepts weighed heavily on my mind.
Two weeks had passed since that talk with Pak Ato.
Since then, I rarely visited Kembang Setaman. And when I did, it was only in passing, exchanging brief greetings. I couldn't hide my hesitation. I wasn't good at pretending. The air between us had changed.
College kept me busy, but once classes ended, I was alone again. Life slipped back into monotony.
Before, the boredom of my days had been lifted by Nina's laughter. By flowers and conversation. But now? The shop felt distant, like a place I no longer belonged to.
I didn't even know why.
Maybe because Pak Ato's words still weighed on me. Maybe because the fragile happiness I had begun to build was crumbling.
And I wondered…
Was I truly destined to never taste joy?