Novel & Cerita Puisi Penantian Dalam Diam

The surroundings seemed to fade into the periphery, leaving me suspended in a pocket of space where the rhythm of our interaction took center stage. As I waited, the passing seconds seemed to stretch, each tick of the clock a tangible reminder of the passage of time. The room, once a canvas of purposeful activity, now bore witness to a pregnant pause—an interval of expectation, where words remained unspoken and the unspoken potential of our conversation hung in the air.

She then went quiet for a while and then speak. Look...See how long nights are drawing in. Dreary birdsong gradually abates - Opaque dusk grows dim; And just outside the creaky little garden Gate, Stood opposite the empty wood Where the vacant threshold silently awaits, I pause, when, resonating quietly back... I now hear... Far distant echoes of my glorious childhood Tugging like a Siren upon my ear.

POV: Lila (primary), Kehra (unsaid), Maximus (record of presence), Elora (threadkeeper), Mirrorwall (no longer reflection) Lila The morning arrived in a different way. It didn’t crest or bloom. It waited. A lightless pause where the edge of sky met the edge of something else. Not absence more like mercy made physical. The birds stayed silent. But the wind… hummed. A low vibration beneath breath. I didn’t move.

Khamoshiyan bhi Jal uthengi Dil me aisi baat aayi Raatein dekhi humne kitni, tab sanam ye raat aayi, Chand mera ho gaya ab darr nahi sansaar se, Haq hai meri nazron ko ke chu lu tujhko pyaar se, Kitni haseen ye raat hai, tum bhi khoyi main bhi khoya Aaj main hi aasman hu ke goud me hai chand soya" (The silence will also burn A thought came in my mind How much I waited for this night, finally my love, this night came The moon is mine, now I don't fear anyone My eyes have right to see you with love

I am a candle burning for you, My heart is aflame with ardor for you, Yet you shall never come home, My gleaming pearl, my dearest heart, I waitI wait in the darkness, burning bright into the night, Hoping against hope you will find your way home. She had been too young to understand the look between her parents then, the softening gazes, the intimate secrets that lingered in the air unspoken between them.

But Olliver suddenly backed away, "Who told you to go away for fifteen days, huh? Couldn't you have handed it over to one of your minions?" "Couldn't you have spared me the heartache and just come with me?" "What did you expect me to do in the boring country of Mongolia?" "Hmm..well, if you want to spend hours here, so be it. I am jetlagged, I might as well get some much needed sleep," the stranger said but when he started to move away, Olliver grabbed his arm and whined, "Skaiii..wait ten minutes?"

Only remembered. Only loved. And in that love, I live forever. The rejected moon was never broken. It was only waiting to be seen. ---

Raisa wrote a poem entitled in the quiet, she then reread her work. In a lonely corner of the silent night, I hug your shadow in this loneliness. The longing that slices the heart, Flowed with tears that did not stop. In every beat of my heart, There is your name that echoes sadly. The hope that used to strengthen, Now only a painful memory. I walk in empty hallways, Without direction, without light. All the promises you once made, Are now just shadows that disappear slowly. Time passes slowly and cruelly, Leaving deep wounds.

I sat at my desk, my gaze drifting out the window as I waited for the teacher to arrive. Again. It was a ritual I'd grown accustomed to – the tardiness, the excuses, the awkward silences. My mind began to wander, and I found myself scribbling in my notebook, the words flowing effortlessly onto the page. "In shadows cast by fleeting light, Suffering wears a mask of night, A paradox of pain and peace, A silence that the soul can't cease."

They sat in the evening light. The territory breathing. The work continuing inside. All the lit windows. All the people. The record growing. The formation traveling. The roots deepening. The water still. Rising still. Always. Tal in the garden. Sitting in what had been built. The beginning of the next thing. Whatever he would plant. Whenever he was ready. The conditions right. The soil turned. The warmth here. The room waiting. Always waiting. With space. With tea. With the specific grace of a place that knew how to receive what came to it. Still. Rising. Always.