TYBA 1

Rain falls, bringing water from the sky. But for me, rain also brings memories. A bundle of memories that, for some reason, instantly makes my chest feel tight. Now, my heart no longer has room to love the rain like I used to.

Home, 05:55 AM

This is my story; my name is Adina Candra Elsa. People often call me Adina. I am a child born into a simple family. My mother is just an ordinary employee at one of the small companies in my town. As for my father, I don't know. I've been abandoned by him since I was five years old.

"Adina, wash the dishes before you leave," my mother Yani scolds me, as she does almost every day. Right after breakfast, she asks me to clean the dishes.

"Yes, Mom, I've already cleaned them. Look for yourself." I reply, feeling satisfied.

"Okay, thanks, dear," my mother says from inside her room.

"Let's go, Mom..."

My invitation makes her slightly hurried. Every day, we leave together on a two-wheeled motorcycle, a 2015 model from the Land of Sakura. It's not too old for a scooter, and my mother intentionally bought it for me on my birthday. She said it was for me.

"Come on, hurry up and get in, or we'll be late." I always see that pretty middle-aged woman with a slightly annoyed expression when my mom is in a hurry.

"Yes, Mom, I'm going to class now."

I kiss my mother's hand every time I leave. I love her as much as I love myself. To me, she's the remedy when all my problems suddenly embrace me roughly.

School, 09:00 AM

"I'm going to study harder this year, just like last year. I'll get the scholarship again. This is all for you, Mom," I mutter.

Suddenly, a somewhat annoying handsome guy startles me from behind my chair, right behind where I'm sitting.

"Hey, why keep studying? You're already smart," he says.

His name is Devano Samuel Escapra, a student in 11th-grade science class (Grade 2 High School). He's my classmate, a handsome guy, a bad boy, a member of a motorcycle gang, and the only child of the owner of Escapra Gold Company, a small gold mining business. Unfortunately, he's also the most diligent student who always shows up in the counseling room. Not because of his achievements but because of the trouble he often causes.

"What's it to you? Let me do what I want." I speak in a slightly scolding tone.

"Geez, you're so boring."

"Whatever..." I retort.

I leave him alone in the classroom, with an annoyed expression, heading towards the outdoor area with many trees and flowers around it. There are five modern stalls with wooden tables and chairs that don't have umbrellas. It's aesthetically pleasing and romantic in my opinion. Here, I can see the sky without any barriers. The kids from here always liven up the trendiest spot in school.

It's still break time. Most students at Zidduya High School choose to enjoy some special dishes at this cafeteria. One of them is me, eating duck fried rice from Mbak Lastri. It's a favorite among the students.

"Just the usual, Mbak," I say to Mbak Lastri.

"Duck fried rice and orange juice, right, Din?"

"Yes, Mbak," I reply with a nod.

School, 01:30 PM

SMA Zidduya is a high school with a bunch of luxurious facilities in my town, Malang. One of the facilities I like and often visit is the Balairoom Theater.

It's a jumbo room twice the size of a basketball court, with light brown-patterned walls and some classic ornamental lights. Inside, there are beautiful iron chairs that can accommodate more than 1,500 people. It's not quite a room, but that's what it's called. This room has a very large main stage.

I love it, the art of theater and this room. Especially when it's raining, I love it even more. The atmosphere this time is enough to make me silent, calm, and soothing.

Rain is my muse. To me, it's the solace when I'm overwhelmed. When the world seems to have abandoned me. I love the rain, like I love myself. Thank you, God, the Owner of Rain. I love one of your possessions, called rain.

"Why are you lingering here?" The handsome guy with short hair, fair skin, tall, and popular in school named Devano says.

"It's none of your business. What do you care?" I reply a bit curtly.

"Do you like theater?" He asks with a curious expression.

"Yes, I do. Why?" I answer a little sharply.

"Never mind, just asking," Devano says.

"Why are you all wet like that?" I ask, looking at his rain-soaked clothes.

"I got caught in the rain a bit," he says, seemingly unconcerned about his wet clothes.

The soothing sound of rain on the roof. Accompanied by a cup of hot chocolate and of course, boiled noodles with an egg inside. It makes my mouth water, just to enjoy what's served. That's how I enjoy the rain, simply.

Home, 09:12 PM

The living room has a retro-themed interior, light brown walls, a white ceiling, and old-fashioned yellow-tiled floors. I sit with my mother on a wooden chair, and in front of me is chocolate and noodles with eggs cooked by my beloved mother, the star chef of this house.

This small house is a legacy from my maternal great-grandfather. It's been with me since I was born. It's also a silent witness to my mother's struggle to raise me alone, without a husband. Understandably, my father left us when I was five. He never came to visit us. I don't know; it's like he vanished forever.

Dad, I really miss you. Visit us, see me, even if it's just for a moment. According to Mom, Dad is trying his luck in Jakarta. He's trying to find a better future for me there. Days, weeks, and years have passed, and I'm now a teenager in high school. Dad never returned; it's like he disappeared off the face of the earth. I always sigh when I think about this.

Suddenly, my mother interrupts my reverie.

"How is it, Din? Is it good?"

"Mom's cooking is always delicious, and I love it," I reply. I adore everything she cooks for me, even though it looks very simple.

"Learn to cook, Din!" she tells me.

"Why, Mom?" I ask.

"You'll go to college soon, and after that, you'll get married, right? You won't be able to cook."

"Mom, seriously? I haven't even thought about marriage yet!"

"Yes, but you should start learning now, Din." My mother jokes, slightly annoyed that I'm so stubborn about this.

"All right, all right, maybe later, Mom," I say as I clean the dishes and glasses we used.

"Everything's clean now, Mom."

"Thank you, dear."

School, 06:37 AM

Eh, Din, do you have a tie?" Devano asks me in class. He must have forgotten his tie again. His face shows a bit of confusion, and for the umpteenth time, he hasn't brought that accessory.

"You forgot it again?"

"I forgot, Din."

"Ah, it's become a habit for you. What do you remember, anyway? Here's one, but make sure to return it!" I'm a bit annoyed because the tie I lent him last week seems to have disappeared.

"Okay, easy."

Every Monday, our school, SMA Zidduya, holds a ceremony on the field. The ceremony usually lasts for about 60 minutes. Students must wear the complete uniform and follow all the rules. Teachers check everything in detail, including the tie. If any of these rules are violated, students will face consequences.

I remember when we first met, in the first semester of 11th grade, in class 11 IPA 1 (Grade 2 High School). I discovered Devano was a transfer student from Jakarta.

A few months ago, precisely seven months ago, he moved to Malang with his driver and helper to live in his house, the one in Malang. His parents lived in a different house, in Jakarta. That's where the headquarters of the Escapra Gold Company, one of his father's branch businesses, was located.

I learned that his father rarely visited him due to his busy schedule as an entrepreneur with international grade. As a fellow only child, I understood the loneliness that a handsome guy like him must feel. Plus, he lived alone without his mother at home.

That's why we became close, and maybe that's when I started to love him. The feeling was there, but I couldn't pinpoint when it began.

***