That night, silence blanketed their small house. Outside, the wedding tent stood tall, decorated with hanging lanterns that cast a dim, gentle glow against the wooden walls. Tomorrow, Widya’s life would change forever. She would pass from the protection of a father into the hands of a husband.

Widya, restless and unable to close her eyes, stepped out onto the porch. There, sitting alone in the old wooden chair with its paint peeling at the edges, was Wahyu. Bapak wore only a sarong and a thin, worn-out white undershirt, staring up at the night sky with an expression that was both vacant and profoundly serene.

"You're still awake, Bapak?" Widya’s voice broke the quiet.

Wahyu turned. A soft, genuine smile bloomed across his face, as though every heavy burden on his shoulders had finally dissolved. "I can't sleep, sweetheart. Perhaps because tonight's air is simply too beautiful to waste with closed eyes."

Widya sat down beside her father. She rested her head against Wahyu’s shoulder—a habit that had never changed since she was a little girl. That shoulder now felt leaner, yet it remained just as warm and strong as she remembered.

"Are you nervous, Bapak?" Widya asked.

Wahyu chuckled softly. "Not nervous. Just... relieved. Like someone who has completed a long climb and finally reached the summit. The view turns out to be far more beautiful than Bapak ever imagined."

"What summit, Pak?"

Wahyu drew a long breath, gazing up at the starlit sky. "The summit of Bapak’s duty. Back when Ibu passed away, Bapak had only one fear: Could I guide you all the way to the gates of happiness? Now, tomorrow, you are getting married. Bapak sees Aris as a fine young man. He can take over Bapak’s job of protecting you."

Widya sensed something unusual in her father's tone. "You're talking as though after I get married, you're going far away. You'll still be right here, in this house."

Wahyu didn't answer immediately. He stroked Widya’s hair with infinite gentleness, as though trying to imprint the texture of those locks into his memory for the very last time. "This house will always be your home, Widya. But everyone has their own appointed time. Bapak just wants you to know one thing."

"What is it, Pak?"

"Never feel guilty if, one day, Bapak is no longer by your side physically," Wahyu said softly. His voice was raspy yet calm. "Life is like breathing. There is a time to inhale, and a time to exhale. Bapak has drawn a long breath for years just to watch you grow into a woman. Now, Bapak feels it is enough."

Widya lifted her head, looking at her father with a furrowed brow. "Why are you talking like that? It sounds so strange. Where are you going? We still have to drink coffee together every morning."

Wahyu laughed—a light, effortless laugh. "Yes, of course. Bapak is merely rambling because he is much too happy seeing you like this." He then gently grasped Widya’s shoulders, looking deep into his daughter’s eyes. "Listen to me, Widya. Bapak has only one piece of advice. Live for yourself. Stop worrying so much about Bapak. Don't fret over him. Bapak will be just fine wherever he is. Ibu, too... she is certainly proud of you."

"Promise me you'll stay healthy tomorrow, Pak. You have to be the witness at my wedding," Widya pleaded urgently.

Wahyu nodded firmly. "Of course. Bapak wouldn't miss that moment for anything in this world. Bapak will sit right there, watch you look breathtaking in your wedding gown, and Bapak will smile. That will be the most beautiful gift Bapak has ever received."

Widya rested her head back down. She didn't realize she had just listened to a final testament. She simply assumed her father was being overly sentimental about letting go of his youngest daughter. As for Wahyu, he felt an extraordinary peace welling up in his chest. He wasn't saying goodbye; he was celebrating the triumph of his life.

"Bapak?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Thank you for everything. For the magical shoes, for the burnt food you made, for the letters that... well, I mean, for all of Bapak's love."

Wahyu froze for a fraction of a second. The letters? Did Widya already know? But Wahyu didn't press. He merely smiled. If his daughter already knew, perhaps that was for the best.

"Thank you, Widya. You are the reason Bapak has kept breathing down to this very day," Wahyu whispered. "Now, go inside. Tomorrow is a long day. You need your rest."

Widya stood up, pressed a kiss to the back of her father's hand, and slipped back inside the house. Wahyu watched his daughter's retreating back until she vanished behind the wooden door. He drew a deep breath, soaking in the chill of the night air.

"Aminah," he whispered into the dark. "She is ready. I have guided her all the way to this point. I have kept our promise."

Wahyu didn't budge from the chair. He closed his eyes, letting the night wind brush against his face. He felt no fatigue. He felt no loneliness. It felt as though his soul was already beginning to take flight, shedding the heavy burden of an aging body, awaiting tomorrow's dawn with a heart as light as a falling leaf.

Tomorrow, he would wear his finest clothes. Tomorrow, he would flash his widest smile. And tomorrow, once all the wedding fanfare had faded, he would welcome the " homecoming" he had yearned for over a dozen long years.

On that quiet porch, Wahyu sat waiting for the morning, a smile lingering permanently upon his face. He was no longer afraid of the night, because he knew tomorrow's dawn would finally lead him home.