Dengan senang hati. Berikut versi terjemahan yang lebih puitis dan penuh nuansa, tetap setia pada makna aslinya namun lebih menyentuh secara emosional dan ritmis:
The rain had been falling for nearly two hours, a soft whisper against the windowpane, like a lullaby meant only for us. Outside, the world blurred into shades of silver and ash, but here—within these walls—warmth bloomed quietly between breaths and glances.
We were tucked away in Gadis' little boarding room, a space so modest, yet always enough. It smelled of earth after rain and the remnants of a humble meal. Thunder murmured from afar, and with each rumble, it felt more certain that the world was telling us to stay—stay here, stay still, stay close.
"Pass me that one?" she asked, voice low, delicate—as though afraid to disturb the softness around us.
I handed her the soy sauce. She smiled, a slow curve that touched her eyes and crinkled the corners in that way I always adored. Her short hair was still damp, probably from her dash to buy rice and vegetables. She'd returned with small plastic bags filled with tofu and tempeh. I had insisted I'd cook today, but she laughed it off, gently nudging me aside. "I've got this," she'd said, always so sure, even when she claimed her cooking was nothing special.
But there was something in the way she cooked. The taste never changed—yet maybe that was the magic. Familiar, grounding. Like home.
"Here," she said now, lifting a spoon to my lips. I didn't hesitate. I let her feed me, the gesture tender, intimate in its ordinariness.
She sat cross-legged, hunched just slightly, eating slowly. I rested my cheek on my bent knee, watching her. There was a kind of serenity in her presence, the kind of silence that doesn't press or demand—it just is.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, not looking up, but smiling knowingly.
"No reason. You just look like you're really enjoying your food."
She laughed, soft and golden. "Of course. I made it, didn't I?"
"Confident, aren't we?"
"I should be."
And then she smiled again—that quiet, glowing smile that always made the world around her seem softer. I reached out, nudging her knee with mine, and she looked up. Our eyes met, and the silence deepened—not heavy, but full.
"I like being here," I said, almost in a whisper.
She tilted her head, gently. "Here, as in…?"
"Here. With you."
I wasn't searching for a reply. I only needed the truth to be heard. And in the silence that followed, I saw her breath hitch, her gaze soften like rain easing into soil. She reached for her glass and drank, unhurried.
Something shifted then. Something small, but real. A flicker, a ripple in still water. She continued eating, and everything looked the same—but the space between us now held something new. Or perhaps something unsaid, finally heard.