Of all the corners in the house, only one place always remained tightly shut: Papa's room.
The door was tall, its handle far out of reach.
It never opened. No sound ever came from inside. Only sometimes Papa slipped in and out so quickly that Nathan never had a chance to peek at anything.
"What's in there?
Could it be… a photo of Mama? Maybe… something that once belonged to her?"
Ever since he learned to crawl, Nathan began inching his way down the short hallway toward that door.
His steps were still unsteady. His knees often slid against the wooden floor. But he didn't care.
This was important.
The first time he reached the door, he tried to stand and knock, with hands that trembled more than they held steady.
Tok. Tok.
No answer.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
Still silence.
He sat down, panting. His small body was exhausted, but his eyes stayed fixed on the door handle with quiet hope.
Then suddenly, warm hands lifted his little body.
Grandma.
"Come here, my sweet boy… Don't wander too far from the living room, alright?" she whispered gently, kissing the top of his head.
Nathan didn't cry. He only leaned his head softly against her shoulder.
"I can't yet, Mama… But someday, I'll make it in there."
And in Grandma's embrace, Nathan fell asleep, still carrying in his tiny heart a fragile hope: to find the traces of the Mama he had lost.
---
Every night before sleep, Nathan whispered a small prayer in his heart:
"God, please help me walk. Just for a little while. I only want to see that room. I promise I won't touch anything…"
He began practicing in secret.
Clinging to the edge of the table.
Pushing dining chairs back and forth.
Falling down. Getting up again. Falling once more. Crying a little, then grinning at himself.
"Mama, I'm learning to walk. You must be so happy, right?"
Grandma and Papa thought it was just ordinary progress.
They didn't know their little boy was preparing for a "mission."
Nathan's determination was simple: to breach Papa's room.
Until now, whenever the door opened, whether Papa stepped out, or the maid went in to clean, Grandma always swooped in first, rescuing Nathan from "trespassing."
"Little ones can't go near there, you might bump your head on the door," was her excuse.
But Nathan knew… that wasn't the reason. Grandma was hiding something.
And then the day came.
His steps were still wobbly, but he could stand and walk three full steps without holding on.
That was enough.
Enough to slip through before Grandma noticed.
He waited for the right moment.
Morning. Grandma was in the kitchen. Papa hadn't returned from church.
The bedroom door was ajar. The maid was inside, mopping the floor.
Nathan took his first steps.
One… two… three…
His hand touched the edge of the door.
"At last!"
But just as one foot crossed the threshold, that familiar voice rang from behind:
"Nathan!"
Grandma appeared in the hallway, hurrying toward him.
Nathan knew he wouldn't have time to escape.
But still, he stubbornly turned his head into the room, if only for a second.
And in that fleeting glance…
he saw a wall of framed photos.
And a white dress hanging neatly behind the glass of a wardrobe.
Nathan smiled faintly.
"Mama… I saw something of yours…"
Then he lifted his arms, asking to be carried.
Grandma scooped him up, breathless. "Oh, you! You can walk now? Don't scare Grandma like that."
Nathan only chuckled softly.
Inside his heart, he whispered:
"I'll go in again, Mama. Next time, for longer. I promise."
With unsteady steps and tiny hands occasionally brushing the wall, Nathan roamed the house like a fearless little explorer. His legs were still frail, but his spirit burned bright. He had just learned to walk, and every corner of the house now felt like a new land waiting to be discovered.
Suddenly, something caught his eye.
Grandma's bedroom door was open.
Nathan glanced left and right, making sure no one was watching, then grinned mischievously. He tiptoed across the threshold as though about to uncover a great secret of the adult world.
The room was warm, carrying its own distinct scent: eucalyptus oil, talcum powder, and freshly ironed linen. But what drew Nathan's gaze the most was a tall wardrobe with a mirror stretching all the way to the floor.
He toddled closer, stood before the mirror, and… froze.
The tiny face in the reflection stared back at him.
Round cheeks. Uneven curls sprouting atop his head. Slanted eyes, plump lips.
He chuckled softly, marveling at how alive his own expressions looked.
"I really am Papa's baby version," he thought.
His curls and skin tone bore the unmistakable mark of his NTT heritage, that much was clear. But his complexion was a touch lighter. Not porcelain like the dolls on the toy shelf, but not as deep as Papa's either.
"Did I inherit Mama's skin tone?"
He leaned closer to the mirror. His narrow eyes made him look as though he were always squinting.
"My eyes… are they like Mama's?" he wondered, tilting his head, studying every line of his face.
"Did Mama once look into a mirror and think… 'My face will be passed on to my child'?"
The sound of footsteps shattered his daydream.
Grandma appeared at the doorway, startled yet amused to see her grandson frozen in front of the mirror like a baby model, utterly entranced by himself.
"Nathan… you came into Grandma's room?" she asked gently, though her eyes shimmered with tears. She walked in slowly, knelt behind him, and wrapped her wrinkled arms around his small shoulders.
Nathan turned, smiling wide, pointing at the mirror as he babbled happily. But inside, his heart was saying:
"Look, Oma. I'm a mix of all of you. But I want to know… which part is from Mama."
Grandma smiled, her voice soft, almost like a murmur not meant to be heard too clearly.
"Your eyes, child… from Mama. And those fine brows, too."
Nathan turned back to the mirror. This time more serious. More intent.
"So when I look at my face… I'm seeing a little bit of Mama, too."
And for a moment, however brief,
Nathan felt not so far from the woman named Maria Suyoto.
The woman he had never truly seen, yet who had quietly, warmly lived within him all along.