Darulmaarif.net – Indramayu, 28 September 2025 | 08.00 WIB
The night crept slowly, leaving the dew trail in the women’s dormitory window. Princess Levia sat leaning on the wooden couch that had begun to squeeze, her eyes looked far outside the window. There is a half of the moon hanging in the sky, like half of his heart lost somewhere.
“Levia, why not sleep? Tomorrow is Halaqah Fajr,” whispered Ratih, his roommate.
Levia just smiled faintly. “I’m waiting for something that I don’t even know whether to come.”
Ratih sighed, not asking further. He was used to the full answer of the puzzle from his best friend.
Since the first time boarding at the pesantren, Princess Levia always looks different. He is good at reading the yellow book, fluent with the IELS standard English accent, his voice is also pretty melodious when chanting the Qur’an, but there is a kind of lonely curtain that surrounds him. Nobody knew that behind the curtain, there was a name that he kept guarding in his heart: someone who had promised to see him back at an unspecified day.
But promises, like falling leaves in the dry season, are often just a shadow that does not have time to return to his branches.
***
One night, when the study of the yellow book was over, Ustadzah Nurul ‘Atik told me about the essential patience. “Waiting for patience is like planting trees. It does not grow in a day, but when watered with prayer, it will bear fruit by itself.”
Those words pierced the recesses of Levia’s chest. He held his own fingers, whispered softly in his heart: Am I planting a tree, or just waiting for a shadow that never rooted?
The days at the pesantren run with regular routine. Get up in the morning, recite, study, write, listen to lectures. But among the pauses of prayer, Levia always slipped the name he knew. He never mentioned the name in the voice, just shaking his heart.
Ratih asked one time, “You always wrote a letter, but you never sent it. For whom really?”
Levia looked down, closing a letter of letter that was never located. “For someone who might no longer remember me.”
Ratih was silent. He knew, some wounds could only be stored, not discussed.
***
One afternoon, news suddenly came. Coaling instantly in his heart. Someone from the past Levia was married. The name he always guarded, which he always waited, now legitimate belongs to other women.
Levia heard the news from a short message that was read accidentally on an old friend’s cellphone. The world seemed to collapse for a moment, but his face remained shady. No tears fell, only a kind of fine crack that propagated on the walls of his soul.
That night, he sat back on the back of the wooden side of his room, staring at the full moon this time. Ratih saw him, whispered softly, “Are you fine, put?”
Putri smiled, even though her smile was like a withered leaf that was forced to remain green. “Miss sometimes there is no need to reciprocate, Ratih. He is quite enjoyed like a traveler who never knows when he comes home …”
The days passed, but the wound never really healed. Levia chose to close her longing in prayer, letting her be a secret between her and God. He realized, waiting does not mean you have to always have. Sometimes waiting is just a quiet way to learn sincerely, despite tightness.
However, secretly, he still wrote a letter. Letters without address, which each sentence is like a broken twig, but he still takes care of loyalty.
One night, ahead of the final pesantren exam, Levia found an envelope on her bookshelf. His own handwriting, but with a message he never wrote:
“Don’t wait too long. There is something more loyal than humans-that is, God is always waiting for you in every deposit of your own prayers.”
He was stunned. I don’t know who put the envelope, or whether he really wrote it and then forgot.
Levia smiled blurred, closed the envelope and hugged her tightly. Longing for so long long ago has changed for a long time: no longer for someone who did not return, but for himself who has been lost in a long wait.
Outside, the evening call to prayer immediately reverberated. The night wind blows carrying the scent of leaves from the front yard of the pesantren. Levia stood up, took the mukena, then immediately rushed to the mosque.
But in his heart, there is still one question throbbing softly:
If this longing has changed direction, do I really stop waiting, or is it just waiting for a new form?
His steps stopped for a moment at the door of the mosque. He took a deep breath, then stepped in, leaving the shadow hanging on the doorway.
And the night closes the curtain again, leaving Princess Levia in the porch of the pesantren with a handful of prayers who will either stop at whose hearts.
He sat staring at the star full of stars, as if looking for one of them who might secretly carry his name. The wind infiltrated the sidelines of his veil, carrying a whisper that he had never finished saying. Time goes on, beating clock, veins throbbing, but his heart still refused to surrender, refusing to stop waiting.
There is something he believes – that the wait, although it never ended in a meeting, it is still the most loyal form of love. And in every strand of the verse he was lifting before going to sleep, in every tears he washed with Wudlu water, there was a name that he left without ever daring to call his name. The night is getting deeper, the pesantren lights one by one extinguished, but in his chest there is a small fire that is reluctant to die: hope that it is possible, tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, or who knows when, the longing he saves will find his own way. Until then, he could only continue to wait, wait, and wait – with all the wounds and love that was never finished written.
End.
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