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A Very Simple Love Story.


                The rose in the vase had wilted. It was time.
               “Nenek, where are you going?” her Grandson asked, curious. He sat on the couch, a comic book opened on his lap. His gaze followed her, for it was unusual for Nenek to dress up like this. Usually, she would just don a daster and a sweater, a simple hijab framing her face. Even when there was a special event—like a wedding, she would just don her favorite silk abaya, the one that has silver lilies painted on the bottom, and a plain, fluffy hijab. But today she wore a kebaya—white, adorned with gold kerongsang brooch and paired with a richly drawn batik, her hijab done in the twisty, complicated style. This is special, he thought.
               Nenek paused, musing. Finally, she said, “You know, Nak, I'd rather show you. You come with me. Now, change your clothes into something nice. And no, this is not a wedding."
               Her Grandson rose from the couch and disappeared into his room, only to appear five minutes later in his best attire: a silver tuxedo he had worn on his graduation day.
               “Let’s go, Nenek!”`
               And so, they went out, into Jakarta’s scorching heat.
***             
  Out of all places, he had never expected Nenek to take him into a cemetery. They wore kebaya and tuxedo, for God’s sake. He thought Nenek was going to take him into a restaurant, or maybe to an arisan. He didn’t mind arisan, where the neighbourhood gathered to socialise, because he could eat good food for free (and the other elders were nice to him, often giving him pocket money), but this?
               Nenek saw the look on his face and laughed. “Sorry, Nak, this is your Kakek’s request. You see, we met at a library, fighting to get the last copy of Beauty and The Beast. We decided to borrow it under his card and take turns in reading it. By the end of this turn he got two things: me and a heap of library fines,” she said. “But that’s not all. He also said that if he passed away first, I was to buy a single rose, put it in a vase, and wait until it wilts. Only when it wilts shall we visit his grave.”
               “So the nice clothes are for him? Because you said that we should put on our best clothes to meet the people we respect most?” he asked. Nenek had told him this when he had put on a dirty koko for a Friday prayer, admonishing him for being so thoughtless. She smiled sadly and took out the single wilted rose from her bag.
               “Yes, Nak, exactly.”
               In silence, they prayed.
***


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