Havi set his pen to the paper with steady resolve, the ink flowing smoothly as he signed his name.
Around him, Grandpa Har, Mr Ridho, Diana, and Nuriana Salim observed in silence, their expressions reflecting a quiet sense of relief, as though a great threshold had just been crossed.
Opposite him, Haryo Wibowo took up his own pen.
With deliberate composure, he, too, signed the document, his movements unhurried yet assured.
And with that final stroke of ink, the long-anticipated partnership was sealed.
The tension that had once hung in the air began to dissipate, replaced by a sense of quiet satisfaction.
A collective breath was released, subtle, yet filled with an unspoken understanding.
This agreement, they all knew, would mark the beginning of something transformative.
Haryo rose gracefully from his seat, his expression one of quiet satisfaction as he extended a firm hand towards Havi.
For a brief moment, Havi merely regarded the outstretched hand, as though weighing the weight of the gesture.
Then, with measured resolve, he too rose, clasping it in a handshake that spoke of mutual respect and an unspoken understanding of the responsibility now resting upon them both.
"A pleasure to be working with you, young man," Haryo remarked, his tone carrying a touch of light-heartedness, yet underscored with genuine regard.
Havi allowed a small smile to surface, a soft chuckle escaping him before he responded with composed sincerity.
"The pleasure is mine, Mr Haryo. Let us hope this marks the beginning of something truly significant for us all."
A short while later, Mrs Saras emerged from the back, balancing a tray of six steaming cups of black coffee.
Its rich, earthy aroma unfurled through the room, weaving warmth into the air, as though binding them all in quiet companionship.
Moments later, she returned once more, this time carrying a wooden platter laden with simple yet inviting fare, freshly boiled cassava, still wreathed in delicate wisps of steam, accompanied by an assortment of rustic village delicacies, their golden hues glinting softly beneath the lantern's glow.
"My apologies, Mrs. We must be quite the inconvenience," Haryo said with a modest smile, a touch of embarrassment flickering in his eyes.
Mrs Saras met his gaze with a serene smile, her voice carrying the weight of quiet wisdom, "Think nothing of it, Mr Haryo. It is a rare pleasure to share the fruits of our land."
Haryo inclined his head in gratitude before lifting the cup to his lips.
He took a slow, deliberate sip, allowing the bold bitterness to settle on his tongue, its sharpness tempered by a faint, lingering sweetness.
Then, reaching for a piece of cassava, he broke off a bite.
Soft and yielding, its warmth carried a quiet comfort, its simple, unadorned flavour speaking of a time before abundance, before excess.
He chewed thoughtfully, savouring the humble delicacy.
"Oh… this is exquisite," Haryo murmured in admiration.
The rich, earthy flavour lingered on his tongue, compelling him to reach for another piece of the warm, tender cassava.
He had barely finished the first, yet the simple delight of it was too tempting to resist.
Grandfather Har let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes gleaming with amusement, "Mr Haryo, you really ought to eat food like this more often," he remarked, his voice tinged with pride.
He paused for a moment, as if recalling memories long past, then continued, "Before rice became the staple, this was the food that sustained us. Cassava was our lifeblood."
Haryo listened intently, his expression thoughtful.
Slowly, he nodded, "You're right, Uncle Har. My parents used to say the same," he admitted, his voice carrying a quiet reverence.
For a moment, he allowed himself to drift into reminiscence.
How many times had his mother spoken of the days when food was simpler, yet no less nourishing?
Now, in this small but welcoming home, he could taste the very history that had shaped his family's past.
Haryo's expression softened as he delved into his memories.
"In those days, our house had no electricity. I can still recall the quiet glow of white candles flickering in the darkness, their light casting long shadows against the walls. That was all we had to chase away the night."
He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice laced with a wistful fondness.
"Sometimes, we used oil lamps instead, their flames steady but fragile, burning with the scent of kerosene. Life was simpler then, though not without its hardships."
Grandfather Har listened intently, his lined face betraying a hint of understanding.
Then, with a measured nod, he replied, "You were fortunate, Mr Haryo. Here in our village, even now, the government has yet to bring us electricity."
Haryo fell into a pensive silence, his thoughts drifting to his factory, Nujaya Ltd, which had long drawn its electricity from the neighbouring village of Wlahar.
The stark reality that Loban Village still remained in darkness stirred a quiet unease within him, a guilt that settled heavily on his conscience.
He exhaled a slow, measured breath before murmuring, "I… I had forgotten that Loban Village still…" His words faltered, unable to find their conclusion.
Sensing his hesitation, Grandfather Har spoke up, his voice tinged with a quiet wisdom.
"Ah, but we have this young man, Mr Haryo," he said, his gaze warm as he gestured towards Havi.
Haryo followed his motion, his eyes now settling on the young man before him.
His brow furrowed in mild intrigue, "Havi? What do you mean, Uncle?"
A knowing chuckle escaped Grandfather Har's lips before he replied, "Havi has taken it upon himself to build a waterwheel. The central axis will be installed at Wira Falls. If all goes well, dozens of homes in this village will finally have light," he declared, his tone rich with both pride and anticipation.
Haryo was momentarily speechless. He had not expected Havi to harbour such a grand vision.
A flicker of admiration crossed his face, "Is that so, Havi?" he asked, as if needing to hear it once more to truly believe it.
Havi inclined his head in a firm nod, "Indeed, Mr Haryo," he affirmed.
"I have long wished to construct the waterwheel, but the greatest challenge has always been the cost," he admitted, his tone calm yet resolute.
"For a time, I found myself at a loss, uncertain of how to secure the necessary funds. Then, quite by chance, I stumbled upon hundreds of towering Percha trees standing proud around the marshland," he continued, a gleam of recollection in his eyes.
"What astonished me even more was learning that my late grandfather, together with Grandfather Har, was the very one who shaped that artificial marsh and planted those trees all those years ago," he added, his voice tinged with reverence.
Drawing a steady breath, he concluded, "Now that our partnership has been sealed, I shall use a portion of the funds to bring the waterwheel to life and to uplift the people of Loban Village."
His words carried weight, a solemn vow that echoed through the room, binding him to his promise.
Haryo's astonishment only deepened, his admiration for the young man before him growing with each passing moment.
He had never expected someone like Havi, a youth from this humble village, to possess such foresight, such determination.
On the other side of the room, Nuriana, who had remained mostly silent, finally found her voice. A glimmer of intrigue shone in her eyes.
"May I help you, Havi?" she asked, her tone soft yet laced with unmistakable sincerity.
There was something different in her gaze now, an admiration that had not been there before.
Havi turned to her, clearly taken aback by her sudden offer.
"Help me?" he echoed, as though needing to confirm that he had truly heard her correctly.
Nuriana gave a firm nod, "Do not concern yourself with the cost. Simply tell me what you require, and I shall see to it that it is provided," she said, her voice resolute, leaving no room for doubt.
Havi and Grandfather Har exchanged glances. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Could it be that she truly meant what she said?
"Oh, well… that's…" Havi hesitated, uncertain of how to respond.
Before he could finish, Diana interjected with a sharpness that brooked no argument.
"Don't you dare refuse!" she declared.
Nuriana nodded once more before turning back to Havi, her expression solemn.
"Consider this my way of making amends, for what I nearly did to your parents," she said, before lowering her head slightly in a gesture of respect towards Mr Ridho and Mrs Saras.
A heavy silence settled over the room.
Havi, too, found himself momentarily speechless, for he understood now, this was not mere generosity.
It was an unspoken apology, a reparation for the guilt she carried.
The others in the room seemed to realise it as well.
They knew the weight of her words, the unspoken remorse for the accident that had nearly cost his parents their lives.
"Very well, then! I shall take that as your agreement, Havi," Nuriana announced, her tone light, as if she had already made the decision for him.
Havi frowned, "Hey, I've not said anything yet," he protested.
A small, knowing smile curved at the corners of Nuriana's lips.
"Your silence is enough," she replied simply, her confidence unshaken.
Havi let out a deep sigh and shook his head. There was no winning against her.
In the end, he had no choice but to yield, to let fate guide his steps forward.