The strong aroma of robusta coffee filled the air at Cafe Teras Kayu, mingling with the scent of freshly served fried noodles. Ikhwan Permana, a sixty-eight-year-old man with neatly combed-back white hair, calmly sipped his coffee. Across from him, Naufal, his grandson, looked anxious, his face pale. Akhzam, Naufal’s little brother, sat at the corner of the table, absorbed in Naufal’s cell phone, occasionally glancing over at the two of them. The usually bustling café felt silent to the three of them.
“Grandpa’s been watching for the past three days, ever since I got a report from Roni,” Ikhwan said, his voice gentle but firm, breaking the silence. His sharp gaze studied Naufal as if reading his grandson’s thoughts. Affection shone beneath the firmness in his eyes.
Naufal stirred his iced milk coffee, his fingers moving restlessly. The clinking of the little spoon against the glass only heightened the tension. “Watching what, Grandpa?” he asked, his voice barely audible, soft and halting.
Ikhwan slowly set down his cup. The scrape of porcelain against the wooden table sounded loud. “For the past three days, I’ve seen you working part-time after school,” Ikhwan said, his voice flat and meaningful. His gaze held a mixture of concern and firmness.
Naufal fell silent. He knew his grandfather was observant. He drew a long breath, trying to calm himself, but his chest felt tight.
“I don’t know what you and your mother have been hiding from me,” Ikhwan said, his voice rising slightly, though he remained in control. “But Roni has already told me that you’re no longer living in that house. I’ve also seen the cramped rental house you’re staying in. A house far removed from the comfort you used to have.”
Naufal lowered his face.
“I’m still waiting to hear what happened—what you don’t want to tell me or your mother’s two brothers.” Ikhwan’s gaze remained sharp, but deep concern showed in his eyes. His voice softened, full of understanding.
Naufal lowered his head further as he remembered what had happened to his family. Three weeks earlier, Adelia had moved her two sons out of the house Fatar had sold to Amril. The house held so many beautiful memories. Now they could only live in a cramped rental with a single bedroom. Adelia had been forced to sell all the furniture that couldn’t possibly fit in the rental. She replaced it all with furnishings suited to the condition of the house they lived in now. Naufal could see the exhaustion and stress weighing on his mother. To provide for her children, Adelia even had to get up before sunrise to finish preparing the snacks and traditional cakes she delivered to the school cafeteria. She often had to come home late to earn extra money for their needs. On top of that, she had to deal with Akhzam’s constant fussing because there was no longer an air conditioner in his room. He didn’t understand why they had to live in such a cramped house or why he couldn’t ask for the food he liked anymore. He didn’t understand why they no longer went to the mall every weekend. He also had no idea why Dad never came home anymore. Unable to bear watching his mother work so hard, Naufal decided to work as a rideshare driver after school to save money for school expenses and ease his mother’s burden.
“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” Naufal whispered, his voice nearly lost amid the café’s growing bustle.
Ikhwan drew a long breath. He understood the burden Adelia, his daughter, was carrying. Roni, his driver of more than fifteen years, had told him everything. He knew how strong Adelia had been, raising her children alone after being abandoned by a husband who had betrayed her trust. Ikhwan felt both heartbroken and furious.
“Tell me everything, son,” Ikhwan said more gently. “I want to hear it all from your own lips, son.”
Naufal raised his face, his expression tense, though he continued trying to stay calm. At last, the story poured from his mouth. He began with his father’s sudden departure, then the betrayal, and finally the financial hardship they were facing.
Akhzam, who had been quietly watching, set down the phone. He moved closer to his older brother and patted Naufal on the shoulder. Who knew where he had learned such a simple yet supportive gesture?
Ikhwan listened patiently, nodding from time to time. Heartbreak, sadness, and anger churned inside him, but he stayed focused on his grandson.
Ikhwan fell silent for a moment. He took a sip of coffee, then set down his cup and looked at Naufal and Akhzam with deep affection.
“I once asked Mom why she didn’t come home to Grandpa’s house. Why didn’t she tell Uncle Kevin and Uncle Revan?”
Ikhwan smiled faintly.
“Your mother isn’t a weak woman. She may be the only daughter in the family. She may have grown up in great luxury. But she was raised to solve her own problems.”
His face showed pride as he spoke about his daughter’s character.
“I heard Mom married Dad without Grandpa and her brothers’ approval,” Naufal said.
“Yes. But your mother was bold enough to follow your father. I have to admit, I was happy to see what they accomplished in building their household. Through their hard work, they were able to have everything. They gave you and Azam anything you wanted.”
Their conversation came to a halt. Akhzam tugged at Ikhwan’s arm.
“What is it?” Ikhwan asked, looking at Akhzam.
“Can I go play outside?” The little boy’s question sounded more like a request.
Ikhwan laughed. He could see the boredom on the face of his newly two-year-old grandson.
“Can I?” Akhzam repeated.
Ikhwan shifted his gaze to Roni, who was sitting at the next table.
“Take Azam outside to play,” Ikhwan said.
“Yes, sir.”
Roni took Akhzam’s hand and led him away from the table.
Naufal waited until Akhzam, escorted by Roni, disappeared from view. Then he continued his story.
“Dad was tempted by Aunt Chintya,” Naufal said.
“Chintya? Your mother’s friend Chintya?” Ikhwan asked.
“Yes.”
Ikhwan clenched his fists, seething. Looking back, those memories played through his mind like a long video. Chintya had been left with nothing after her husband kicked her out for choosing another woman. She had been able to return to her parents’ house with Adelia’s help.
“I’ll help you,” Ikhwan promised, his voice firm but gentle. “You don’t have to carry this burden alone. You still have Grandpa. You still have Uncle Kevin and Uncle Revan.”
Naufal nodded, relief beginning to show on his face.
Ikhwan called Kevin Samudra, Adelia’s oldest brother.
“Hello, Dad,” came Kevin’s distinctive voice, deep and authoritative.
“Where are you?” Ikhwan asked.
“I’m on my way home. Why, Dad?”
“There’s something important you need to know. I’ll be waiting for you at Cafe Teras Kayu.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
“Okay.” Ikhwan ended the call and turned to Naufal. “We’ll wait for Uncle Kevin here.” A plan had already taken shape in Ikhwan’s mind. He would make sure his grandson got a better life. He would make sure Naufal and Akhzam had a safe and secure future. He would help his daughter, Adelia, rise from the depths of hardship. And he wanted to bring Fatar and Chintya back—the two people who had torn his daughter’s life apart.