The house felt tighter than usual—not because its physical walls were shrinking, but due to the presence of Widya, who was now stepping into her adolescence. She was no longer the little girl who loved to scamper around in scuffed-up shoes. Now, she had begun to withdraw, spending longer hours locked inside her bedroom, often drifting into quiet spells with an unreadable gaze.

Wahyu noticed every bit of it. He watched how his daughter began lingering longer in front of the mirror, how she carefully fussed over straightening her hair, and how her moods shifted like a December sky. Wahyu knew this was a difficult phase—a time when a young girl desperately needed a mother’s guidance, while this house held only him: an aging, awkward man entirely out of his depth in a woman's world.

That night, the rain poured heavily. Wahyu was sitting in the living room, trying to fix the jammed zipper of Widya’s schoolbag, when he heard the sound of weeping coming from behind his daughter's bedroom door. Wahyu froze. He set down the screwdriver he was holding and drew a deep breath.

The sobs were muffled, yet clear enough to make Wahyu’s heart race with anxiety. He stood up, walked softly across the floor, and tapped his knuckles gently against the wood. "Widya?"

No answer. Only a slight softening of the weeping, followed by the rustle of fabric.

"Widya, it's Bapak. Are you alright, sweetheart?" Wahyu asked in the lowest, calmest voice he could muster, trying to sound soothing.

"I'm fine, Pak," Widya replied from inside. Her voice sounded hoarse and unsteady.

"Widya, Bapak knows you aren't doing well," Wahyu spoke again, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "You don't need to be afraid. If someone is bothering you, or if you're sad, you can talk to Bapak. I... I might not know how to be a mother, but I can be a listener."

A long pause stretched between them. Wahyu waited patiently. He felt as though he were standing at the edge of a sheer cliff, ready to throw himself down just to catch his daughter as she fell.

The door inched open.

Widya stood there, her face swollen with tears and her hair a tangled mess. She averted her gaze, looking utterly mortified. "I... I'm dirty, Pak. I'm... I'm scared."

Wahyu furrowed his brows, confused for a brief second, before his mind scrambled to dredge up memories of Aminah. He caught sight of a small stain on Widya's school skirt tossed over a chair. In an instant, everything clicked into place.

A gentle, relieved smile bloomed across Wahyu’s face. He felt no disgust, nor any excessive awkwardness. All he felt was a profound warmth, as though Aminah were whispering in his ear: Wahyu, our little girl is growing up.

"Oh, is that it?" Wahyu let out a small, incredibly soft chuckle. "Widya, that isn't being dirty. That just means you're growing. You're a young lady now."

Widya stared up at her father with tear-filled eyes. "But Bapak... I'm so embarrassed."

"Don't be," Wahyu stepped closer, gently stroking the crown of her head. "It's completely natural. Back then, Ibu experienced this too. She would be so proud to see you right now. You're growing up healthy and strong."

Wahyu then turned on his heel. "Wait here a minute. Bapak's just stepping out."

"Pak, where are you going?"

"To the corner shop. Bapak's going to get what you need. Don't be scared, Bapak knows what to buy."

Wahyu hurried out into the unyielding rain. He didn't care that his work shirt was about to get soaked through. He broke into a light jog toward the sundry store at the end of the street. Standing before the shopkeeper, he forced himself to stay calm despite his hammering heart, grabbed the necessary items without hesitation, and rushed back.

When he returned home, Widya was still waiting in her bedroom doorway. Wahyu handed over the small package politely, keeping it wrapped, simply offering it to his daughter.

"Here. Put this on. I've left it right here," Wahyu said gently. "If your stomach hurts, let Bapak know, I'll make you some warm water. Do you want some spiced ginger tea?"

Widya stood frozen. She stared at the package, then looked up at her father, who was dripping wet yet still managing a reassuring smile to calm her down. Widya’s defenses completely crumbled. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Pak. I'm always causing you trouble," Widya sobbed against Wahyu’s shoulder.

Wahyu rubbed his daughter’s back. "Trouble? Never. You are Bapak’s most precious treasure. Looking after you, making sure you grow up right—that is the most noble duty Bapak has ever been given. Never feel like you're a burden, Widya. You are the reason Bapak still wants to wake up every single morning."

Wahyu pulled back slightly, looking intently into Widya’s face. "From now on, if you feel things changing, if you're confused about your feelings, or if you're sad about something you can't tell your friends... talk to Bapak. I might not have a womb, but I have a heart ready to hold everything."

Widya nodded, a faint, emerging smile finally touching her lips. "Thank you, Pak."

"You're welcome. Now, go change your clothes. Bapak will go make that warm ginger tea, okay?"

Wahyu walked toward the kitchen. There, beneath the dim kitchen glow, he lit the stove. His hands, still trembling from the chill, slowly began slicing the fresh ginger. He stared out the frosted kitchen window, almost imagining Aminah’s phantom silhouette smiling back at him.

You see that, Aminah? Wahyu thought to himself. She's growing up well. She's becoming a beautiful, well-mannered girl. Forgive me if sometimes I don't know how to play the part of a good mother, but I promise, I will try with every ounce of strength I have.

Wahyu realized that Widya’s teenage years had only just begun. There would be plenty of turbulence, plenty of tears, and plenty of drama ahead. Yet that night, in that humble kitchen, Wahyu felt he had passed a vital minor exam as a parent. He didn't need to fully replace a mother's role, because he understood that a father's sincere love was powerful enough to fill any void left behind by cruel fate.

He placed a mug of warm ginger tea on the dining table. Widya emerged from her room looking far more at ease. They sat together, sipping the warming drink amidst the fading rain outside.

"Pak," Widya called out softly.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Don't go getting old too fast, okay?"

Wahyu gave a hearty laugh. "As if Bapak can control time! Time is like running water, Widya. It just keeps flowing."

"Then at least... don't leave before I can make you happy."

Wahyu fell silent. The sentence struck him straight in the chest. Make you happy.

Wahyu smiled—a deeply genuine smile. "Seeing you grow into such a devoted daughter like this, Widya... that is already more than enough. That is the greatest happiness Bapak could ever ask for."

That night, amidst the lingering rain and the warmth of ginger tea, the two of them shared a moment they would never forget. Wahyu no longer felt awkward. He understood that his role was far more than just a protector; he was a fellow traveler walking alongside his daughter through the labyrinth of life's endless changes. And he was ready for every single chapter to come, no matter how difficult it might prove to be.