OWNER OF HEART

Eps 8's

“Daffa to Korea.”

I just finished serving when Dad called. I say hello to the head of the ER room and several nurses and doctors guard, say hello and immediately get out of the room. Outside the drizzle.

“Halo, Dad...” I fixed the hansfree, developed an umbrella and started down the road outside the hospital gate. The streets look so crowded.

“She told you?”

“Ngak...” I haven't even communicated at all with Daffa since the phone time.

“You are still marahan?” ask Dad.

I just stared at the end of my shoes that were darker in color due to rain drops.

“Maybe just misunderstood. Why is he going to Korea?”

“So you guys are still quiet with each other?”

“He said what, to Dad?”

“You try to wander he said.”

Traveling to Korea?

I thought about that word while turning to the minimarket. Close the umbrella and put it on the corner of the door. I walked to the drink stall on the other side.

“Mizone, Ma'am,” I said while taking off handsfree. Roll the cable and put it in your pocket.

I immediately paid and thanked him, bringing a bottle of mizone to an available bench.

“What made Daffa decide to go?” I took a sip of the mizone, but my mind wondered why Daffa went to Korea?

I still remember, one day I was grumbling because Daffa decided to leave campus in his first year of college. He said, “learn can be anywhere. It doesn't have to be on the bench in a class. Anyway, as far as I go. My return must have stayed here. I'm not going anywhere, because my future is here.”

“But your departure gives a lot of things.”

“But that means, I let you hoe yourself.”

“Yes, that's why, you must really learn, not even go home like this when your parents have sacrificed a lot.”

But regarding the decisions related to himself, Daffa is stubborn indeed. It's not like I finally agreed. He still did not want to go back to college.

Daffa worked hard after that. Go to the fields early in the morning blind. Try different types of plants. Looking for a variety of superior seeds. Compounding fertilizer. Even we were all amazed to see the spirit of Daffa.

“Don't look at me that way, I am indeed handsome.” At that time I commented on his skin that turned copper because it was long roasted by the sun.

He told me he had to pay back the initial cost of going to college. His parents mortgaged half the garden and sold a piece of land at the time.

The first season of Daffa was successful, planting its lush melons made the whole village amazed. I was proud when the melons started to bear fruit.

“I will be the first melon farmer in our village, Mhet.”

Anything can happen, right? The weather is unpredictable. A lot of rain, making the melon children rot. Almost everyone entertained him.

“I'm so sad..” that's all I could say at the time. For the rest, I accompanied Daffa who spent the rest of the day on the roosters, staring at the melons that had failed the harvest.

The next day, Daffa plucked all his melons. My heart is burning.

“Everyone has a failed ration, Mheta Ayuandira. I'm taking a tasting of my rations, sad will not make these melons improve.”

I clenched my hands. Agree with what he says and encourage him.

“Daff, tumben you give frills my real name?” I said smile.

“Ya let's not forget, if actually your name is Ayuandira.” He said while smiling at me.

“But, didn't you tell me that my call was changed to Mheta? You said that name was good for me. Until everyone in the village followed me by the name Mheta!” I said pout.

“Hey, after all, Ayuandira L. that remains your real name, Mheta. And Mheta's call is still just a call, which I accidentally gave you just as well as Bu Sri's guava. Remember not?” said

laughingly.

I also puffed my cheeks, considering the tragedy of the nyolong guava owned by Bu Sri.

A few days later, Daffa sowed vegetable seeds. Sawi, radish, lettuce, and it turns out he did it. Until now, the types of vegetables grown have varied. If he had gone to find a buyer. Now the middlemen are precisely the ones who come to bring to other areas.

Then now, he suddenly decided to go to Korea? Leaving the vegetable field he had been caring for?  And he didn't tell me?

Didn't tell me.

I gulped back down the mizone, swallowed it. I wish my chest pain would be swallowed.

The rain started to fall a little. Two people crossed the street laughing. Maybe they were lovers. The two ordered some chocolate and sat not far from me.

Daffa used to take me, too. When we were kids, and I was scared through the slippery newcomer. I was afraid of falling into the mud and drowning. To reassure me, if the fields were not deep, Daffa even willingly entered the mud, soiling almost half of his body.

Then I walked on my side while squatting, down the roosters. Daffa didn't laugh at me, he just said, “one day, you must have dared.” It's always what he says every time I'm in a position of fear.

I took the phone out of my pocket, and headed for Daffa's name. All right, I guess, he's free to go anywhere, like he's the one who's now set me free. But we shouldn't shut up, should we? At least, no

did I give up, say hello first.

“Daffa.”

I started typing his name as usual. My message came in, tick two but it still looks gray.

Up here, I was confused to continue as well. Do I have to ask why he didn't tell me? Wouldn't it be presumed that I would sue or interfere in his affairs? Or just pray for everything to be smooth? Hmm... So it would be more ordinary looking, wouldn't it?

“Hopefully smooth and well all yes, Daff.”

Finally, I sent that sentence and I included a smile emoticon. I left Whatsapp open. Hope Daffa is online soon. Hope realized. I saw Daffa typing.

“Aamiin, thanks.”

Just so? I shut my mouth. I knew Daffa didn't talk much while we were chatting. But, for a message that long and only answered two words? After a few weeks we kept quiet?

“Ya Lord... She's still mad at me?” I spent the rest of the mizone in a bottle, which suddenly turned bitter. For a diversion, I recorded the rain falling for a few seconds, then uploaded it to status

whatsapp. Without any caption.

I stood up, threw the used bottle of mizone into the trash and entered the minimarket. I looked at the grocery list on the cell phone note, went down the shelf and put things in the basket.

When I looked back at the phone screen, one message came in. From Traveller.

“It turns out we're a little bit alike. Love the rain.”

He was commenting on the rain video that I uploaded a while ago. But he didn't answer my question before. Do I have to charge for answers? Or do you think that's an unnecessary question to answer?

Let it be then.

So, I finally gave a one-word reply, “((((slightly.)))” deliberately flanked the word with a three-bracket sign and added a laughing emoticon.

“How should it be?” said.

I smile. I think he completely ignored my question yesterday afternoon.

“No how-how.”

I stared at the basket and checked the shopping list, all of it.

“Kwaci, M.”

This time I really laughed. He called me ‘M’ and sent me a picture.

“This is kwaci skin, mixed with cigarette ash anyway.” My reply.

“Cobain is the same coffee.”

“I prefer the flowers, sunflower means.”

I'm not lying. I love sunflowers, dahlias and roses. But I don't reply so to the traveler. I walked to the cashier, and as I passed the food rack, my eyes caught the ranks of the kwaci. I stopped for a moment too.

I haven't eaten kwaci in a long time. The last meal seemed to be three or four years ago, when there was a book surgery and my sitter offered me a quaci. There is no harm in taking a packet of kwaci.

The rain stopped as I came out of the minimarket. Although the streets were still wet and full of puddles, but I did not need to develop an umbrella anymore.

****

“Tumben buy kwaci?” Rini asked as she passed my room and I was peeling the kwaci while facing the laptop.

“Truly delicious, really. Cobain!”

Rini refused on the grounds that she had brushed her teeth, “I just asked, tumben you buy kwaci? Where do you get inspiration, Mheta? From mizone bottle?”

I laughed in a wink. I should have told Rini ‘iya’. But nevermind. I don't want to be her bully material anymore.

My hand went back to the keyboard, but my eyes were glued to one incoming message on the phone screen.

“Someone you don't want to mention in your short story, now where?”

Jeez Roamer? What kind of question is that? He went back over my short story and still didn't answer my question yesterday afternoon.

“It's just fiction,” reply.

“Long!”

This fellow? I bend my lips while typing reply, “it's just short story,” kilahku.

“Cerpen you wrote from my story and your own story,” reply.

I was stunned, not knowing what to say.

“Where is he now?”

“Who?”

“Someone you don't want to call his name?”

“Mmmm.”

“Ikhlas? Don't you want to tell?”

Then I remembered Daffa's short answer. His departure that did not not inform me, then remember the phone of the father earlier. Slowly I type a reply.

“She's gone.”

My God, this is the first time I've shared a personal matter with someone. I just wanted to delete my message. But late, on the Typing Traveler screen…