After that rainy day, the small bridge between us felt sturdier. Corridor greetings evolved into brief conversations, and canteen meetings became a much-anticipated routine. We never discussed it, but we both knew something had shifted. Her offer to drive me home had dismantled an invisible wall, a barrier built from pride and an acute awareness of social status.
However, our interactions were still confined within the school gates. A safe bubble where we were merely Yasa and Keyla, two twelfth-grade students. I wanted more. I wanted to see her outside her white and gray uniform, beyond the context of school and Plato. I wanted to see the real Keyla.
So, on a bright Friday afternoon, as we sat in our quiet corner of the canteen, I took the plunge.
"Have you ever tried walking between the two banyan trees at Alun-Alun Kidul?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as possible, as if it were an everyday question.
Keyla looked up from her book, her eyebrows slightly raised in surprise. "You mean, blindfolded? That myth?"
"People call it masangin," I said. "They say if your wish is sincere, you'll manage to walk straight through them."
She smiled, a smile I was beginning to know well. "I've heard of it, but never tried it. My father would probably say it's irrational."
"Sometimes, the irrational things are the most fun," I countered. "How about we try it tomorrow afternoon? Consider it a sociological experiment. To see if myth can conquer logic."
I held my breath after the words came out. This was the first time I had asked her out. Not just a chance encounter, but a plan. A date, even if I'd wrapped it in the guise of a "sociological experiment."
Keyla looked at me for a few seconds, her eyes weighing the proposition. Then, she closed her book. "A sociological experiment, huh?" she repeated, a playful glint in her eyes. "Alright, Yesaya. I accept your experimental challenge."
That Saturday afternoon, I arrived at Alun-Alun Kidul early. My heart was beating faster than usual. I saw her from a distance, walking alone towards the center of the square. Today, she didn't look like Keyla Luvena, the conglomerate heiress. She wore a simple white blouse and ordinary jeans. Her hair was left down, dancing in the afternoon breeze. She looked like an ordinary girl, and somehow, that made her shine even brighter.
"Ready to prove or disprove a myth?" she greeted as she approached.
"Ready," I replied. "But before that, can I ask you something?"
We walked slowly towards one of the majestic twin banyan trees towering in the middle of the square, their sturdy roots seemingly gripping the earth. We sat on the grass beneath its shady canopy, letting the bustle of the square—the sound of children's laughter, the ringing bells of decorated bicycles—become our background music.
"Ask away," she said, hugging her knees.
"Are you happy, Keyla?" I asked directly.
The question silenced her. She didn't look offended, just... thoughtful. "That's a heavy question," she replied after a moment. "I... I have everything anyone could want. I'm grateful for that. But, happy? I'm not sure."
"Why?"
"Because it feels like everything is already set," she continued, her voice soft. "School, college in the Netherlands, then perhaps returning to help with my father's business. It's all the most logical, most correct path. But I never truly chose it. I just followed it."
"What would you choose, if you could choose anything?"
She looked straight ahead, at the crowd, but I knew her gaze pierced deeper. "I don't know," she whispered. "Maybe that's the problem. I've never allowed myself to think of other options. It's too scary."
Then, she turned to look at me. "What about you, Yasa? Are you happy?"
"I..." I paused. I couldn't possibly answer honestly. That my current happiness was a borrowed happiness, a happiness with an expiration date. "...I find happiness in small things. Like this. Sitting here with you. Or when I manage to finish a sketch well."
"Your sketches," she said, her eyes sparkling. "You've never shown them to me."
"They're... too personal."
"I'd like to see them sometime," she said softly. "I want to see the world as you see it through the tip of your pencil."
We sat in silence again. But this time, the silence felt so full. Full of unspoken confessions, full of the vulnerability we had just shared. Beneath this majestic banyan tree, we were no longer the rich and the simple. We were just two souls trying to understand our place in the world.
"So," I said, trying to break the atmosphere that was starting to feel too heavy. "What about our experiment?"
We stood up and walked to the starting point for the masangin ritual. I lent her the blindfold I usually used for sleeping.
"You first," I said.
She tied the blindfold. For a moment, she seemed hesitant. "I'm not sure I can do it."
"Just focus on your goal," I whispered. "And walk straight."
She began to walk, her steps slow and uncertain. I watched her in silence. She walked straight for the first few meters, but then her direction began to veer slightly to the left, moving further from the gap between the two banyan trees. She finally stopped, dozens of meters from her target.
She took off her blindfold and laughed when she saw her position. "It seems my wish wasn't sincere enough."
"Now it's my turn," I said, taking the blindfold from her.
As darkness enveloped me, all the sounds around me felt sharper. I took a deep breath. What was my wish? The answer was so clear, so strong it felt painful. I wanted more time with her.
I began to walk. I didn't try to use logic or remember positions. I just walked, with that one wish as my only compass. I could feel Keyla's gaze, I could hear the laughter of people in the distance. I kept walking straight, step by step.
Suddenly, my steps halted. I felt my hand touch something rough and solid. Tree bark. I opened my blindfold. I stood precisely in the gap between the two banyan trees. I had succeeded.
Keyla looked at me with wide eyes, an expression of genuine awe etched on her face. "You did it," she whispered, as if disbelieving. "Your wish... it must have been very sincere."
I just smiled, unable to say anything. How could I explain to her that my success wasn't a good sign? That such a strong and pure wish was born from the deepest despair?
That afternoon, as we walked away from the square, something new had woven itself between us. We had shared questions we dared not ask ourselves, and witnessed a myth become reality. Our small bridge had now become a clear pathway. A path that, somehow, felt both right and terrifying. I knew this path wouldn't lead me to the future, but for now, walking on it with Keyla was more than enough.