Born between goodbye

Chapter 13 — The Price of Gratitude

After Haji Karim left, nobody in the house slept well.

The rain continued through the night, heavy enough to flood parts of the paddy field behind the house. Wind slipped through the wooden walls while Alya lay awake staring at the ceiling above her thin mattress.

Padang changes people.

The sentence repeated inside her mind endlessly.

Not because of the words themselves.

But because beneath Haji Karim’s calm voice, she had heard something else clearly:

Disapproval.

A warning carefully disguised as concern.

The next morning, her grandfather left unusually early for the village center. By afternoon, he still had not returned.

Her grandmother seemed restless the entire day.

She burned the rice once while cooking.

Forgot where she placed simple things.

Twice, Alya caught her staring silently toward the road outside.

When her grandfather finally returned near sunset, exhaustion covered his face heavily.

“What happened?” her grandmother asked immediately.

The old man removed his sandals slowly before answering.

“Haji Karim helped settle Pak Rahman’s debt.”

The room fell silent.

Alya frowned slightly.

Pak Rahman was her grandfather’s younger cousin. His family had struggled financially for years after illness destroyed most of their crops.

“He paid all of it?” her grandmother whispered.

Her grandfather nodded.

Then after a pause:

“He told people he believes helping family and neighbors is important.”

A cold feeling spread through Alya instantly.

Because now she understood.

Haji Karim was not pressuring them openly.

He was making himself impossible to reject.

Over the following days, the pattern continued quietly.

A sack of rice delivered unexpectedly.

Medicine sent for an elderly villager.

Donations for the mosque.

Repair workers suddenly volunteering to fix damaged roads near the village.

Everywhere she went, people praised him.

“Haji Karim is generous.”

“A good man.”

“A responsible husband.”

The word husband followed her constantly now.

One afternoon while buying vegetables at the market, an older woman smiled warmly at her.

“You’re lucky,” she said.

“Girls from poor families rarely receive opportunities like this.”

Alya forced herself to smile politely.

But inside, anger twisted painfully through her chest.

Opportunity.

Why did everyone describe marriage like salvation?

That evening, she sat alone near the river after helping her grandmother prepare dinner.

The water moved slowly beneath fading orange sunlight while insects buzzed through tall grass nearby.

Footsteps approached quietly behind her.

Rizal.

He sat beside her this time without asking.

“They’re talking about engagement already,” he said bitterly.

Alya looked down immediately.

“I feel like I’m disappearing.”

The confession slipped out before she could stop it.

Rizal remained silent for several seconds.

Then finally:

“You know why Karim wants you?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Because men like him like owning beautiful things.”

The bluntness startled her.

“He doesn’t know me.”

“He doesn’t care.”

The words hurt because they felt true.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Rizal suddenly looked toward her directly.

“If things become worse…”

He hesitated.

“Would you really leave?”

Alya stared toward the river.

The current carried fallen leaves slowly downstream, disappearing beyond the trees.

Finally, very softly, she answered:

“Yes.”

And for the first time since imagining escape…

she heard the certainty in her own voice.