That night, the crisp evening air gradually gave way to the warmth of the home.
The night deepened, and one by one, they bid each other goodnight, retiring to their rooms.
Havi, too, excused himself. He turned to his father and Grandfather Har, offering them a polite nod before making his way towards his bedroom.
It was late, and the following morning he had school to attend.
Yet, long after the house had quietened, two voices still murmured in the sitting room.
Ridho and Grandfather Har remained where they were, their conversation flowing like an unbroken current, weaving between reminiscence and reflection.
Grandfather Har spoke at length about Sudirjo, Ridho's father, Havi's grandfather, unveiling stories that had never before reached Ridho's ears.
Sometimes they laughed, the warmth of nostalgia filling the space between them. At other moments, silence lingered, heavy with the weight of loss.
And then there were the moments when grief clutched at their chests, bringing with it the sting of unshed tears.
From within his room, Havi listened. Every word, every sigh, every chuckle, and every pause found its way to him through the thin walls.
Eventually, the conversation slowed. A final, weary sigh was exchanged before the last candle was extinguished, and silence settled over the house at last.
*****
Morning arrived, spilling golden light into the modest dining room where the family gathered once more.
Steam curled from their cups of tea, blending with the soft hum of conversation as they resumed where they had left off the night before.
Havi and his parents had come to a decision, they would not allow Grandfather Har to leave so soon.
"Stay with us a little longer, Grandfather," Havi said earnestly.
Grandfather Har hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in his chair, "I wouldn't want to impose."
"You wouldn't be," Ridho assured him. "Consider this home your own."
Saras smiled warmly, "Stay, please. At least for a little while."
There was a long pause. And then, at last, the old man relented, offering them a small nod.
"Very well," he murmured. "I suppose I could."
A grin spread across Havi's face. He had scarcely known this man, yet in the brief time he had spent with him, he had come to cherish his presence.
"Right," he said, straightening his uniform. "I should be off. I'll be late otherwise."
He turned to the table, bowing slightly to his parents and Grandfather Har.
"Grandfather, Father, Mother... I'm heading to school now."
"Oi, lad!" Grandfather Har called after him, his voice tinged with playful sternness.
"Make sure you study well! Your grandfather wouldn't want you bringing shame to his name!"
Havi grinned, "That's a promise, Grandfather! I won't let him down!"
"Good lad," the old man chuckled, nodding with approval.
"You truly are Sudirjo's grandson. Now go on, or you'll miss your first lesson!"
With a final glance at his family, Havi darted towards the door, his steps light with satisfaction.
"Take care, son!" Ridho and Saras called after him.
As the sound of his hurried footsteps faded into the morning air, Grandfather Har leaned back, exhaling a quiet sigh.
"That boy," he murmured, shaking his head. "He's got spirit."
"That he does," Ridho agreed, pride flickering in his eyes.
"He's been that way since he was a child."
"Speaking of which," Saras interjected, "Today is his birthday, isn't it?" She turned towards Ridho expectantly.
"Are we still going to the Telaga city centre?"
"Of course," Ridho replied without hesitation.
"We'll set off later in the afternoon."
Grandfather Har raised an eyebrow, "His birthday?"
"That's right," Ridho confirmed.
"We've planned a little surprise for him. He's been wanting a bicycle for quite some time now, and today, we'll finally get him one. It's fortunate, really. He doesn't seem to have remembered it's his birthday at all."
Grandfather Har chuckled, "You two are fine parents," he said softly, though something in his voice wavered.
For a fleeting moment, his thoughts strayed elsewhere to the family he had once had.
To the children who had turned away from him. To the faces he no longer saw.
He dropped his gaze to the table, as if searching for something within the whorls of the wood.
Ridho caught the change in his expression. Gently, he reached across the table, his voice quiet yet firm.
"Uncle Har," he said, "You still have us."
Saras nodded in agreement, "We're here. Always."
The old man lifted his eyes, searching theirs. A long silence passed before, finally, he exhaled.
"Sudirjo's blood runs strong," he murmured, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
And with that, the morning carried on, the conversation drifting from one topic to another, the weight of old wounds made lighter in the warmth of companionship.
Later, when the sun had climbed higher, Ridho and Saras prepared to leave for the city, entrusting the house to Grandfather Har's care.
He merely nodded, watching them go, content to remain in the quiet.
But what none of them knew, what none of them could have known was that, in the previous life, on this very day, on this very date, Havi's seventeenth birthday had not been one of celebration.
It had been the day the tragedy struck.
And now, as Havi walked beneath the broad morning sky, the thought of his own birthday did not even cross his mind.
Even upon reaching school, when his classmates greeted him with warm smiles and cheerful birthday wishes, Havi remained oblivious.
It was not forgetfulness, but rather a mind too engrossed in other matters, his thoughts tangled in the intricacies of the waterwheel's construction, each detail demanding his full attention.
Or perhaps it was the revelation about the marsh, the man-made expanse shaped by Grandfather Har and his own grandfather, Sudirjo.
The weight of that knowledge lingered, settling deep within him, eclipsing all else.