Cerpen : Cintaku Tertinggal di Desa Wisata Kandri

Aku, Damar—flanel kotak-kotak biru yang selalu melekat di badan, tas punggung setia di punggung, dan langkah yang lebih sering akrab dengan tanah daripada lantai kota—menyusuri jalan batu di Desa Wisata Kandri sore itu. Angin membawa aroma sawah basah, suara sungai kecil berkejaran dengan tawa anak-anak. Kandri selalu punya cara membuat siapa pun ingin tinggal lebih lama.

Ayuk berjalan di sampingku. Jaket gunung pink-nya kontras dengan hijau desa. Rambut panjangnya diikat sederhana, kulit sawo matang itu memantulkan cahaya senja. Ia tampak tenang, keibuan, seperti biasa—tenang yang sering membuatku lupa bertanya lebih jauh.

“Tempat ini enak ya, Dam,” katanya sambil menatap rumah-rumah joglo. “Hangat. Manusiawi.”

Aku mengangguk. “Kayak kamu.”

Ia tersenyum kecil, lalu tertawa menutupinya. Kami duduk di tepi sungai, kaki menggantung, air mengalir pelan seolah tak ingin mengganggu. Aku bercerita tentang rencana pendakian berikutnya, tentang jalur yang ingin kutapaki. Ayuk mendengarkan—selalu mendengarkan.

“Yuk,” kataku akhirnya, suara sedikit bergetar. “Kalau suatu hari aku berhenti mendaki, kamu mau nemenin aku tinggal di tempat kayak gini?”

Ayuk terdiam. Lama. Angin seperti menahan napas.

“Damar,” ucapnya pelan, “kamu selalu bertanya soal masa depan dengan peta gunung. Aku… bertanya dengan kalender.”

Aku menoleh. “Maksudmu?”

Ia menatap aliran air. “Aku dapat penempatan PPL. Tetap. Di Kandri.”

Dadaku berdegup. “Itu… kabar baik.”

“Iya,” katanya tersenyum. “Tapi bukan kabar lengkap.”

Aku menunggu. Senja makin merunduk.

“Aku akan menikah,” katanya lirih. “Dengan pilihan keluarga. Aku menerimanya. Karena kadang mencintai berarti belajar merelakan.”

Kata-kata itu jatuh satu per satu, seperti batu ke sungai. Aku tertawa kecil—tawa yang salah tempat. “Terus aku ini apa, Yuk?”

Ia menoleh, mata berkaca. “Kamu adalah perjalanan yang mengajarkanku berani bermimpi. Tapi rumah… aku menemukannya di sini.”

Aku berdiri. Flanel biru terasa berat. Tas punggungku seakan memanggil jalan pulang. “Jadi… Kandri menyimpan cintaku?”

Ayuk berdiri juga. Ia mendekat, memelukku—lama, sunyi, jujur. “Bukan cintamu yang tertinggal,” bisiknya. “Keberanianmu.”

Kami berpisah tanpa janji. Aku melangkah pergi, melewati joglo, melewati senyum-senyum desa. Di tikungan terakhir, aku menoleh. Ayuk berdiri di sana, jaket pink-nya menyala di senja.

Aku paham sekarang: cintaku tak patah—ia tinggal. Di Desa Wisata Kandri, menjadi bagian dari aliran yang terus berjalan, mengajarkanku satu hal paling berat dari semua pendakian—turun dengan ikhlas.

My Love Was Left Behind in Kandri Tourism Village

I, Damar—my blue plaid flannel always clinging to my body, a faithful backpack on my shoulders, and steps more familiar with soil than city floors—walked along the stone path in Kandri Tourism Village that afternoon. The wind carried the scent of wet rice fields, while the sound of a small river raced alongside children’s laughter. Kandri always had a way of making anyone want to stay a little longer.

Ayuk walked beside me. Her pink mountain jacket contrasted with the village greenery. Her long hair was simply tied back, her warm brown skin reflecting the evening light. She looked calm, motherly, as always—a calmness that often made me forget to ask deeper questions.

“This place feels nice, Dam,” she said, gazing at the joglo houses. “Warm. Human.”

I nodded. “Like you.”

She gave a small smile, then laughed to cover it. We sat by the riverbank, our legs dangling, the water flowing gently as if it didn’t want to disturb us. I told her about my next climbing plans, about the trails I wanted to conquer. Ayuk listened—she always listened.

“Yuk,” I finally said, my voice trembling slightly, “if one day I stop climbing, would you stay with me in a place like this?”

Ayuk fell silent. For a long time. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

“Damar,” she said softly, “you always ask about the future with a mountain map. I… ask with a calendar.”

I turned to her. “What do you mean?”

She looked at the flowing water. “I’ve received a permanent teaching placement. Here. In Kandri.”

My heart pounded. “That’s… good news.”

“Yes,” she smiled. “But it’s not the whole story.”

I waited. The evening light sank lower.

“I’m going to get married,” she said quietly. “To someone chosen by my family. I’ve accepted it. Because sometimes loving means learning to let go.”

Her words fell one by one, like stones into the river. I let out a small laugh—a laugh that didn’t belong. “Then what am I to you, Yuk?”

She turned to me, her eyes glistening. “You are the journey that taught me to dare to dream. But home… I found it here.”

I stood up. My blue flannel felt heavy. My backpack seemed to call me back to the road. “So… Kandri keeps my love?”

Ayuk stood too. She stepped closer and embraced me—long, silent, honest. “It’s not your love that stays behind,” she whispered. “It’s your courage.”

We parted without promises. I walked away, passing the joglo houses, passing the villagers’ warm smiles. At the last bend, I turned around. Ayuk stood there, her pink jacket glowing in the dusk.

I understand now: my love did not break—it remained. In Kandri Tourism Village, becoming part of the ever-flowing current, teaching me the hardest lesson of all climbs—how to descend with sincerity.