"Because in the boarding school, love often begins with a debt at the co-op, and ends with a receipt that's never paid."
---
After Rahmania left, the world of the pesantren felt like a mushaf without diacritics.
Still readable, but often misunderstood.
I'm Nuel, the single teacher with the reputation of "once accused of cheating without evidence," tried to live my days as usual..
but nothing felt usual anymore.
Kang Sobri once said,
"Life in a pesantren is like drinking coffee without sugar..
bitter, but it keeps you awake from romantic illusions."
I laughed when he said that.
But that night, I added three spoons of sugar to my coffee.
And it was still bitter.
---
Until one afternoon, I met her....Novi,
the girl who ran the school co-op.
A woman who smelled like cheap powder, ballpoint ink, and freshly printed banknotes.
She wasn't the type to make your heart race at first glance.
But somehow, every time she said,
"Ustadz, taking something on credit again?"
her voice sounded like a soft dhikr, making the faith of my wallet tremble.
---
That day, I came to the co-op not to buy anything, but to escape the memory of Rahmania.
I pretended I wanted to buy soap, when all I needed was a slice of conversation.
"Ustadz, bar soap or liquid?"
"Do you have one that can wash away past sins, Vi?"
She giggled softly.
"If there was, I would have used it first, Ustadz."
That's when I knew..
Novi wasn't just the co-op keeper.
She was the keeper of my sanity in this absurd boarding school.
---
My days slowly changed.
I often hung around the co-op, pretending to help with the inventory list.
But what I wrote in my little notebook was something else entirely:
Absurd Teacher's Note – Day 76:
"Second love doesn't come to compete with the first,
but to prove the heart can still be watered,
even when the soil is cracked."
---
Novi was simple.
She didn't use much makeup, didn't try to act pretty, yet her words carried a calming melody.
Sometimes she wrote poems on the back of co-op receipts, "just for fun," she said.
One day, I sneaked a peek:
"Someone arrived without the sound of footsteps,
trading wounds for laughter.
But this pesantren is too small for two hearts that are both scared to speak."
I froze.
The poem felt like a shy love letter slipping through soap and snack receipts.
---
Every late afternoon, the co-op became my sanctuary.
Male students came to buy instant noodles, female students came for sanitary pads,
and I came to buy Novi's smile.
Cheap, but long-lasting.
"Ustadz, don't come too often.
People might think you have emotional debt."
"If feelings can be paid in installments, I've been paying since the first glance."
"Haha....are you really a teacher, or a salesman of emotions?"
"A failed salesman. My first customer asked for a refund."
We laughed, but behind the laughter, something was growing...
like a coffee bean that hadn't been brewed yet but already smelled warm.
---
One night, the pesantren welcomed important guests: a delegation from an overseas scholarship program.
They said a student would be sent to study in Turkey.
All the girls were excited.
Especially Novi.
"Imagine, Ustadz..studying in Turkey, seeing snow, reading classical texts while sipping hot chocolate."
I smiled.
"You can do that here too, Vi. Except the hot chocolate is replaced with sachet coffee, and the snow is just dust from the fan."
She laughed, but her eyes sparkled.
I knew Novi had big dreams..
and this pesantren was just a temporary stop.
---
Days turned into weeks.
One afternoon, Novi called me to the co-op, her face glowing.
"Ustadz, pray for me. I passed the interview for Turkey."
"Congratulations! But… if you go there, who will handle the students' debts?"
"Maybe you."
"Me? I can't even handle my own heart."
We laughed again, but this time the laughter tasted flat.
Something felt heavy—
like dusk that knows it will soon darken.
---
A few days later, Novi appeared less often at the co-op.
A new student replaced her; they said Novi was busy preparing documents.
I looked for reasons to see her...
borrowing toothpaste, buying instant noodles, pens, even hair clips
(even though I didn't have long hair).
But still, she never showed up.
Until one night, she came to my room with a cup of coffee and a brown envelope.
The night sky was dim, crickets chanting a heartbreaking qasidah.
"Ustadz, I came to say goodbye."
"Tonight...?"
"Yes. I'm leaving at dawn. Got the ticket this afternoon."
"So fast, Vi…"
She smiled.
"Life is like co-op stock, Ustadz...the things people want the most run out the fastest."
I said nothing.
The coffee in my hand turned cold, even though it was freshly brewed.
"I want to give you something," she said, handing me the envelope.
"Open it after I leave."
I stared at her for a long moment.
Her face was calm, but her eyes were wet.
She spoke softly, her voice trembling:
"Ustadz… thank you for making my co-op days less empty than the inventory list.
But we both know… love in a pesantren can only be a secret...not a plan."
I bowed my head, pretending to be busy with the cup.
"If this place had no walls, Vi… I would chase after you."
"If this place had no rules, Ustadz… I would wait."
And that night, we said nothing more.
Sometimes, silence is more honest than promises.
---
She really left the next morning.
Students waved goodbye, some cried, and I pretended to be busy arranging the rows.
But inside, something was missing..
more missing than losing a sandal after dawn prayer.
I opened the envelope that night.
Inside was no long letter, just an old co-op receipt with a poem on the back:
"If someday I miss you,
I'll brew a cup of coffee and write your name in the foam.
But don't come, Ustadz..
let longing stay as stock that doesn't need replenishing."
And below it:
Novi, the co-op keeper who once kept you quietly.
---
I stared at the note for a long time.
Tears fell....not just from sadness,
but from the beauty of someone who knows how to leave without demanding to be chased.
The next day, I went to the co-op, sat in the chair where she used to write the receipts.
I found her last inventory:
Coffee: empty
Sugar: running low
Heart: vacant
I chuckled softly.
Novi was right....
sometimes the sweetest things are the ones that can't be restocked.
---
Absurd Teacher's Note – Day 110:
"Second love isn't a replacement.
It comes only to show that the heart can smile again,
even when the wound hasn't healed."
---
Weeks after Novi left, the co-op felt different.
The smell of soap was the same,
but it lacked the comforting scent I used to wait for.
Every time I bought a sachet of coffee, I read the words printed on it:
"Enjoy the warmth."
And I whispered,
"Your warmth left for Turkey."
---
One afternoon, as I sat on the porch writing a new note,
little Rahma approached me.
"Pak Nuel, is it true your girlfriend went to Turkey?"
"She's not my girlfriend, Rahma. Just the co-op keeper."
"Then why are you sad..?"
"Because sometimes, the one who keeps the co-op…
also keeps your heart..
but can't keep the promise."
"Okay, then Rahma will keep your heart!"
"Hey...go keep your memorization first, little one."
We both laughed..
yet inside me, a cup of coffee remained unfinished.
---
Absurd Teacher's Note – Day 120:
"Novi is far away now.
But every time I smell coffee, I know...
among millions of robusta and arabica beans,
there is one memory that never burns:
her smile."