"Can you give me your WhatsApp number? Please!" Bahadir said, trying to persuade Sri with a hopeful, sincere face. His amazing blue-grey eyes were looking at her through the cracked phone screen with so much hope, so much respect, and so much genuine kindness that Sri had never seen from any man before.
Due to Bahadir's gentle persuasion, and because for the first time in six months a man had spoken to her with such deep respect, Sri finally gave him her phone number. Her hands were shaking when she typed the numbers. She was scared, she was shy, but a small part of her broken heart felt alive again.
Since that night, since she gave her number, Sri and Bahadir began to communicate more frequently via WhatsApp. Every morning, before Sri even opened her small food stall under the mango tree, there was already a good morning message from Istanbul.
"Günaydın, nasılsın? (Good morning, how are you?)"
Every night, after Sri finished washing the dirty dishes from the food stall, after her parents Mr. Poniman and Mrs. Warsinah had already fallen asleep on their thin mattresses, Bahadir would video call her. Sometimes for one hour, sometimes for two hours, even though the time difference was four hours.
Their days, which had been so empty and grey before, were suddenly filled with laughter and joy. They felt so comfortable with each other. It was strange, because they were from two completely different worlds, but they had something in common: they both knew what it felt like to be lonely in a crowd.
Bahadir's presence, his kind messages, his respectful voice, made Sri forget a little about her sad past with Agus. For six months, her heart had been frozen like a block of ice from the refrigerator. Now, that ice was slowly, slowly melting. Vice versa, Bahadir also felt very comfortable talking to the 25-year-old Javanese girl. For two years, every woman in Istanbul only wanted him for his money, for his family's huge carpet company, for his penthouse apartment overlooking the Bosphorus Strait. But Sri never once asked him for money. She never once asked him to buy her anything.
Since that first midnight call, the blue-eyed man had been secretly learning Indonesian. Nobody knew. Not even his own mother.
For a whole month, Bahadir suddenly learned Indonesian intensively. Every evening after work, after managing his carpet showroom with hundreds of luxury carpets, he would go to a small language course in Istanbul. His client had a friend who was an Indonesian teacher who lived in Turkiye and taught Indonesian to Turkish students.
And unexpectedly, during that one month, because he was so motivated by love, he was already quite fluent in speaking Indonesian. He could already make full sentences. He had a thick, attractive Turkish accent, but his Indonesian was clear and understandable.
This was all done by Bahadir solely so that the opportunity to be close to Sri was wide open. Because secretly, without telling anyone, Bahadir had started to have a deep crush on that innocent, elegant, beautiful village girl.
They both admired each other deeply, but neither of them had the courage to say it yet.
****
It was a Sunday morning in Yogyakarta. The sky was so blue and clear. The green rice fields were swaying gently in the morning wind. It was a beautiful, peaceful morning.
The small food stall in front of Sri's house was closed. It was on holiday, because on Sundays, the farmers in Bantul did not go to work in the fields.
Meanwhile, Mr. Poniman, Sri's father, was also on holiday. He was sitting on a low wooden bench in front of their half-brick, half-woven bamboo house. He was having a warm, serious conversation with his wife, Mrs. Warsinah, while sipping a cup of hot, sweet black coffee.
"Mother, our child is old enough to be married," said Mr. Poniman while sipping his coffee. His voice was low and tired.
"Yes, Father, I think so too," Mrs. Warsinah answered, with a worried look on her kind, round face. "All of our youngest child's friends are also married. I'm so worried that our child will become a spinster. People in this village are already starting to gossip about her."
Mr. Poniman nodded slowly. He looked at the green rice fields that were not his own.
"Yesterday, I met the village head near the mosque after the evening prayer," Mr. Poniman said in a low voice. "He is looking for a good, polite, beautiful Javanese girl to marry his nephew from Jakarta. His nephew is a good man. His name is Anton Pratama. He works in a big office in Jakarta. He is looking for a wife from the village. Let's talk about this arranged marriage later with our daughter."
Mrs. Warsinah's eyes lit up with hope. For a poor family like them, being able to marry their daughter into the village head's family was like a dream come true.
"Yes, Father, I will talk about this to Sri later this afternoon," Mrs. Warsinah said.
"You must hope that Sri will accept the proposal from the village head's nephew," said Mr. Poniman.
Sri, who had just finished sweeping the cement floor inside their small house, suddenly came out to her parents. She had heard part of their conversation. Her beautiful face, which had started to look a little happier in the past month because of Bahadir's messages, now turned pale again.
"Sri doesn't want to get married yet, Father, Mother. Sri still wants to work again. Sri wants to try to find a job in the city again. Sri also doesn't want an arranged marriage. Sri doesn't even know who Anton is," Sri said, her voice shaking.
"Sri, your father and mother are old," Mr. Poniman said, his voice getting firmer. "We are already tired. Your father is already sixty years old. My back hurts every day. You just want to see your children live happily and prosperously before we die. Anton is the right man for you. He is from a good family, he has a good job in Jakarta, he can give you a good life in the city with air conditioning. Your life will be happy and secure if you marry Anton!"
"Your father is right, Sri," Mrs. Warsinah said while embracing Sri's shoulders. "We just want our children to live a decent and happy life. We don't want you to suffer like us."
"But Mother, Father, Sri doesn't want an arranged marriage," Sri said, tears starting to fill her beautiful brown eyes. "If I get married, Sri only wants to marry a man of my own choice. A man that Sri loves. Please, Father, Mother, try to understand Sri's feelings."
"You must accept Anton's proposal, Sri! This is final!" Mr. Poniman said in a high, loud tone that made Sri flinch. "Remember! The village head's family is a good and respected family in this village. You should be grateful and proud if later we can become part of their family. They will come here to propose to you this Sunday. In three days! Be ready!"
Hearing her father's final, hard words, Sri could not hold her tears anymore. She ran and entered her small room that was separated only by a thin plywood wall. She threw herself onto her thin mattress on the floor and cried silently.
At the same time, as if God was listening to her sadness, Sri's old Samsung phone with the cracked screen protector rang. It was a video call from Bahadir.
Sri quickly wiped her tears. She pressed the green answer button.
On the screen, Bahadir's handsome face appeared. He was in his luxury carpet showroom in Istanbul, with hundreds of beautiful carpets behind him. He was wearing his neat black suit and white shirt. But when he saw Sri's face, his smile disappeared.
"Sri! How are you? Why do you look so sad? Have you been crying? Your eyes are red. Are you okay? I'm so sorry, I just gave you news today, because I have a lot of important meetings with big clients from Dubai outside the city this month," said Bahadir, his blue-grey eyes full of deep concern.
"Wait a minute, there seems to be something strange about your words," Sri said, interrupting Bahadir. Because Sri was very surprised. Bahadir was speaking Indonesian!
"Apa kabar, Sri? Kamu kenapa menangis? Kamu sedih ya? (How are you, Sri? Why are you crying? Are you sad?)" Bahadir said in fluent Indonesian, with his thick, attractive Turkish accent. He smiled proudly.
"You're learning Indonesian? You can speak Indonesian now? Oh my God!" Sri said, her eyes wide open in shock.
"Hmm.. So, for this past month you disappeared, you didn't video call me much, because you were secretly studying Indonesian?" Sri asked, a small smile appearing on her tear-stained face.
"Yes, it's true, my beautiful girl, I'm studying Indonesian. My client has a friend who is a teacher from Indonesia. I study every night after work. I did all of this so that I could communicate with you smoothly. Actually, Sri... I like you. I mean... Seni seviyorum (I love you). Since we first met that midnight, I feel so comfortable talking to you. I feel as if I've known you for a long time. I've fallen in love with you, Sri Lestari from Yogyakarta!" Bahadir confessed his feelings. His face looked very happy, very nervous, and very sincere.
Sri's heart was beating so fast.
"No! We can't possibly be together, Bahadir," Sri said, shaking her head, tears falling again. "I've been betrothed by my parents. This week, my future husband's family will come to my house to propose to me. It's Anton, the nephew of the village head. My father and mother could not possibly approve of our relationship. You are so far away in another country. We are about 9,000 kilometers away. There are so many differences between us."
"I know you feel the same for me too, Sri. I can see it in your eyes. Your eyes cannot lie," Bahadir said, trying to convince Sri. "Don't worry about the distance. Distance is just a number for me. I will keep my promise. I will come to Indonesia to propose to you. I will fly 9,000 kilometers to Yogyakarta. And I will prove to your parents, to Mr. Poniman and Mrs. Warsinah, that I am serious and really love you. Before that Anton comes, I will come to your house first. I will be there this Sunday. Trust me! Sana söz veriyorum (I promise you)!"
"Are you sure? Are you really sure you will come? This Sunday? That's only three days from now!" Sri replied, slightly disbelieving.
"I am sure, my love. Insya Allah, God willing, we will get married and be together. I have already asked my assistant to book the fastest flight to Yogyakarta. Wait for me, Sri. Please wait for me and don't accept that Anton's proposal yet," Bahadir replied.
***
That afternoon in Istanbul, it was sunny. The Bosphorus Strait was glittering under the sun.
Bahadir intended to ask for his mother's blessing, because in Turkish culture, just like in Javanese culture, a mother's blessing is everything. He talked to his mother while drinking hot Turkish tea.
"Anne, seninle çok önemli bir şey konuşmam lazım (Mother, I need to talk to you about something very important)," Bahadir said.
His mother, a kind, elegant woman in her sixties with a beige headscarf and wise blue-grey eyes, looked at him with a motherly smile. "Söyle canım, ne oldu? (Tell me my dear, what happened?)"
Bahadir told his mother everything. He told her that he had met a beautiful, innocent, elegant girl from a small village in Indonesia. He told her that the girl's name was Sri Lestari, that she was 25 years old, that she helped her mother sell traditional Javanese food in a small food stall. He told her that he would fly to Indonesia this Sunday to propose to her.
Fortunately, Bahadir's family is not old-fashioned and tends to be very open-minded. They always free their children to choose their own life partners.
Bahadir's mother listened carefully, and then she smiled with tears in her eyes. She put her hand on Bahadir's cheek.
"Oğlum, kalbin onun doğru kişi olduğunu söylüyorsa, git. Git ve onu buraya getir. Tanışmak istiyorum bu Cava prensesiyle (My son, if your heart says she is the right one, then go. Go and bring her here. I want to meet this Javanese princess you talk about)," she said.
Bahadir also asked his mother to accompany him to buy jewelry to propose to Sri. He wanted to buy the most beautiful, most elegant ring.
They went to the most luxurious jewelry store in Istanbul, in the Grand Bazaar. The store was full of shining gold and diamonds.
Bahadir chose a beautiful, elegant diamond ring. Not too big and arrogant, but delicate and beautiful, just like Sri.
When his mother approved the ring, Bahadir said with so much love and respect, "Teşekkür ederim, Annem (Thank you, my mother)"
"Rica Ederim, canım (You are welcome, my dear)," his mother answered, hugging him. "Allah mesut etsin sizi (May God make you both happy)"
At the same time, far away, 9,000 kilometers away in Sri's small, poor house in Bantul, Yogyakarta, the family was very busy preparing for the proposal ceremony with Anton, the nephew of the village head.
Mrs. Warsinah was on the phone with her first child, Endang, who lived in the city of Solo.
Meanwhile, Ningsih, her second child, could only come home on Sunday, because her husband only had the weekend off. Endang would come home three days before the proposal ceremony to help her mother cook.
Only Sri was pensive and felt very confused in her small room. She was sitting on her thin mattress, hugging her knees, looking out the small window at the green rice fields.
Behind the thin plywood door, Mrs. Warsinah secretly saw her youngest child looking so sad. She approached her and sat beside her.
"Sri, my dear child," Mrs. Warsinah said with a voice full of motherly love. "Your father and mother are old. We are already tired of this poor life. Just do what your father says, my dear. I believe that your life can be more secure and happy if you later marry Anton, the nephew of the village head. If you marry Anton, you can elevate your family's status. You can live in a big house in Jakarta. Let this pain and suffering be enough for Father and Mother to experience it. You and your brothers and sisters don't have to be like us."
Sri could not answer. She just cried silently in her mother's arms, while outside, the green rice fields were swaying, and far away, 9,000 kilometers away, a blue-eyed billionaire was packing his suitcase, ready to fly to Yogyakarta to fight for his love.