WAITING IN THE SILENT VALLEY

Nature doesn’t need reasons to embrace you. Humans do

This vast universe—so infinite, so intricate—is only a glimpse of the Creator’s greatness. What we see with our eyes is but a fraction of what exists. And when nature presents mysteries too deep for our minds to grasp, should we reject them? I don’t think so. Because no matter how intelligent we become, we remain human—limited, curious, and humbled by the unknown.

Nature is a gift. A sacred language. A living manuscript written by God, waiting to be read not just with logic, but with love.

And love—like nature—is a mystery of its own.

I remember a moment from senior high school, when the universe seemed to pause for me. I had a crush. Not just any crush—he was a senior, the kind who didn’t walk but glided, whose glasses framed a mind sharper than most, and whose smile could bend time. He was the one who gave us orientation as new students. And when his eyes met mine, my heart didn’t beat—it thundered.

I began waking up earlier, arriving at school before the bell, just to catch a glimpse of him. His presence turned dull hours into golden ones. He became my secret muse. I studied harder, climbed to the top of the class, hoping—just hoping—that he’d notice.

And he did.

One afternoon, as I stood in the corridor, someone tapped my shoulder. I turned—and froze. It was him. Adrian.

He stood inches from me, his skin pale and glowing like moonlight, his scent fresh like mountain rain. He extended his hand, congratulating me for being the top student in our year.

I took his hand, trembling. “Thank you,” I whispered, pulling away too quickly.

He smiled. Two dimples. A smile that could undo gravity.

“You don’t have to be shy,” he said gently. “Adrian,” he added, introducing himself.

“I already know,” I replied, barely able to breathe.

“Oh really?” he teased.

“And you’re Shantya,” he said, “the brilliant new student.”

“Just call me Shanty,” I murmured, eyes lowered.

“Shanty,” he repeated, “a name as beautiful as the girl who wears it.”

My heart nearly leaped from my chest. Dug-dug-dug. I prayed he couldn’t hear it.

From that day on, Adrian lived in my imagination. I saw us together in the valley beneath Mount Lawu, sitting in the meadow, the wind playing with my hair as he reached to tuck it behind my ear. His hand in mine. His laughter echoed like birdsong.

But something about that moment—his sudden appearance, the way the light bent around him, the way time seemed to slow—felt like more than a coincidence. It felt like the universe had whispered his name to me. Like nature had conspired to let our paths cross.

And I wonder now, years later, if love itself is a kind of mystery. A quiet miracle. A message from the stars.

Unfortunately, it was all wishful thinking—just a fragile dream blooming in my heart, interrupted by reality. My mother watched me with concern as I smiled to myself, lost in daydreams. She approached without hesitation, placing the back of her hand on my forehead to check my temperature.

“Ah, Mother always ruins my imagination,” I muttered quietly.

She’s a traditional woman, shaped by the teachings of her own mother, still living with her parents. She believes deeply in the mystical forces surrounding our mountains. So when she saw me smiling into the distance, she didn’t think I was in love—she thought I was possessed by one of the mountain’s unseen guardians.

I understand her fear. We’re not the only beings in this universe. There are others—unseen, untouchable, but felt. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. Couldn’t she see that her daughter was growing up? That I was no longer a child, but a young woman learning to feel?

Maybe it was the hardship of our lives—the constant struggle to survive—that made her forget how fast we were growing. In her eyes, we were still the small children she left behind each day to earn a living.

And so, the puppy love I carried had to be buried. The flower blooming in my heart withered before it could open.

Adrian, the boy who made my heart race, became the center of unwanted attention. Rina, one of my classmates, grew jealous. She was the daughter of a wealthy tobacco merchant, while Adrian was the son of a homeowner who owned vast plantations along the mountain slopes. Adrian was kind to everyone, but maybe I was the only one who secretly held feelings for him. I never told anyone. I kept my distance, even when he came to see me during breaks.

Sometimes, he looked at me with a tenderness that made my heart tremble. But I never dared to meet his gaze. I let my eyes fall to the floor, afraid that if I looked too long, I’d lose myself—and neglect my duties at home.

Then one morning, just minutes after arriving at school, Rina intercepted me. She stood with her two friends, Anita and Detty, both daughters of wealthy men in our village. I felt a chill. Something was coming.

I greeted them politely. “Good morning, Rina, Detty, Anita.”

They ignored me.

Rina reached for my hair, tugging it playfully but with malice. “No need to be friendly. We don’t need it,” she said coldly.

I stayed silent, hoping to avoid conflict. But my silence only provoked them. Anita and Detty began shouting near my ears, their voices sharp and cruel. Detty spun her knitted cloth bag like a weapon and hurled it into the schoolyard. My belongings were scattered—textbooks, pencil case, everything. Students gathered around, whispering. Then Rina shoved me, and I fell to the ground.

They didn’t stop there. The bullying continued, day after day. I was taller than them, but I didn’t fight back. I feared it would only escalate.

Eventually, I asked them directly what they wanted. I didn’t want my siblings—especially Rudy—to worry. He always noticed when I was restless.

Rina didn’t hesitate. “Stay away from Adrian,” she said.

I was stunned. But I understood. Without asking further, I agreed. There was no point in arguing. They claimed Rina was dating Adrian, though I’d never seen him speak to her. It was a lie, a game to humiliate me.

So I withdrew. I avoided Adrian. I stopped talking to him. And I saw the sadness in his eyes—his confusion, his quiet plea for answers. My heart ached, but I stayed silent.

Ah, Adrian… if only you knew how much I wanted to speak to you again. To see your dimples, your sweet smile. But I didn’t want trouble. I didn’t want chaos. I chose silence.

And in that silence, the flower of my heart faded.