PART I : THE WOMAN BENEATH THE RAIN TREE
CHAPTER I : THE WOMAN BENEATH THE RAIN TREE
1.1 : The Woman Beneath the Rain Tree
The rain had started before sunset.
Not the violent kind that arrived with thunder and lightning, but a slow, endless drizzle that seemed determined to soak the entire town.
Azmie Rahman stood beneath the awning of a small convenience store, watching the road disappear behind a curtain of rain.
The old man behind the counter yawned.
“Still raining.”
Azmie glanced at his watch.
5:52 PM.
“Looks like it.”
“You’re not heading home yet?”
“In a while.”
The old man shrugged and returned to his newspaper.
Azmie stepped outside.
The smell of wet earth filled the evening air.
Normally, he would drive straight home after work.
Normally.
But for the past week, something had been pulling him toward the old road behind Kampung Seri Embun.
A strange feeling.
A curiosity he could not explain.
Perhaps it was the giant rain tree that stood alone beside the abandoned paddy field.
Or perhaps it was the dream.
The same dream.
Again and again.
A woman standing beneath the tree.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
He laughed softly.
Ridiculous.
Dreams were dreams.
Nothing more.
Yet his feet carried him toward the old road anyway.
The rain grew heavier.
By the time he reached the field, his shirt was damp.
The rain tree stood exactly where it always had.
Massive.
Ancient.
Its branches stretched across the darkening sky like giant arms.
The field around it was empty.
Silent.
Azmie shoved his hands into his pockets.
“See?” he muttered.
“No mysterious woman.”
No ghost.
No dream.
Nothing.
Then he froze.
Someone was standing beneath the tree.
A woman.
His breath caught.
She stood perfectly still.
Not moving.
Not even flinching beneath the rain.
She wore a dark red kebaya.
The fabric looked old-fashioned.
Strangely elegant.
A long batik sarong flowed to her ankles.
Her hair was arranged in a neat traditional bun.
Everything about her seemed out of place.
As though she had stepped out of a black-and-white photograph.
Azmie stared.
The woman slowly turned.
For a moment, the world seemed to stop.
She was beautiful.
Not in the modern sense.
Not glamorous.
Not fashionable.
Just...
Beautiful.
Soft eyes.
Gentle features.
The kind of face people wrote poems about.
The kind of face that lingered in memory.
She looked directly at him.
And smiled.
Azmie’s heart skipped.
Why?
He didn’t know.
Something about her felt familiar.
As though he had seen her before.
Yet he was certain he had never met her.
The woman tilted her head.
“You are late.”
Azmie blinked.
“What?”
“You are late.”
Her voice was calm.
Almost disappointed.
“I... sorry?”
The woman looked past him.
Toward the road.
Toward the horizon.
As if searching for someone.
Then she sighed.
A long, tired sigh.
“No.”
Her smile faded.
“You are not him.”
A strange chill ran through Azmie.
The rain suddenly felt colder.
“Excuse me?”
She looked back at him.
For the first time, sadness filled her eyes.
“Forgive me.”
There was something heartbreaking about the way she said it.
“As usual, I made a mistake.”
Azmie frowned.
“Mistake?”
The woman nodded.
“I thought someone had finally returned.”
Returned?
“What do you mean?”
But she did not answer.
Instead, she gazed toward the distant road again.
Waiting.
Watching.
As though expecting a traveller to appear from the rain.
Minutes passed.
Neither of them spoke.
The silence felt oddly comfortable.
Then Azmie remembered how strange this situation was.
A woman.
Alone.
Standing in the rain.
Near an abandoned field.
At dusk.
He cleared his throat.
“Are you okay?”
She smiled.
“Of course.”
“You’re standing in the rain.”
She looked upward.
Almost surprised.
As though she had forgotten.
“Oh.”
A pause.
“I suppose I am.”
Azmie laughed nervously.
“Do you need a ride home?”
The woman seemed confused.
“Home?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
Then she looked toward the rain tree.
For a moment, Azmie thought she might cry.
“This is home.”
A sudden gust of wind swept through the field.
The branches above them shivered.
The temperature dropped.
Azmie rubbed his arms.
Something wasn’t right.
Not dangerous.
Just...
Wrong.
Like hearing an old song from a forgotten childhood.
The woman stepped forward.
Rain passed through the fading light around her.
“What is your name?”
“Azmie.”
The woman repeated it softly.
“Azmie.”
As though testing the sound.
Then she smiled again.
“A beautiful name.”
Azmie felt strangely embarrassed.
“Thanks.”
“And yours?”
The question seemed to catch her off guard.
For several seconds she simply stared.
As if remembering.
As if reaching through a very long distance.
Finally she answered.
“My name...”
Her voice became almost a whisper.
“...is Azizah.”
The name settled into the air between them.
Azizah.
Simple.
Elegant.
Old-fashioned.
Perfectly suited to her.
The rain continued to fall.
Neither moved.
Neither left.
Somewhere in the distance, the evening call to prayer drifted through the mist.
Azizah turned toward the sound.
A faint smile touched her lips.
Then something unexpected happened.
The old mosque melody seemed to make her emotional.
Very emotional.
Her eyes shimmered.
As though she were hearing a forgotten memory.
Or mourning one.
Azmie opened his mouth.
But before he could speak—
A car horn echoed from the road.
He turned instinctively.
Only for a second.
Just a second.
When he looked back—
The woman was gone.
Azmie’s stomach dropped.
The space beneath the rain tree was empty.
Completely empty.
No footprints.
No movement.
No figure disappearing into the distance.
Nothing.
Only rain.
Only the ancient tree.
Only silence.
He stared.
Frozen.
His heart pounded.
“Azizah?”
No answer.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
The field remained empty.
A cold feeling crawled up his spine.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Azmie looked toward the road where he had first seen her.
Then toward the tree.
Then toward the empty field.
The same question echoed inside his mind.
Who was Azizah?
And why did she look at him as though she had been waiting for someone else?
Far above him, hidden among the branches of the rain tree, a single red flower loosened from its stem.
It drifted downward through the rain.
And landed silently at his feet.
Azmie bent down and picked it up.
The petals were cold.
Very cold.
Almost impossibly cold.
As though they had been waiting there for a very long time.
And somewhere in the darkness beneath the tree, unseen eyes continued to watch him.
Azmie slipped the red flower into his pocket before walking back toward his car.
The rain continued to fall.
Soft.
Relentless.
By the time he reached home, the sky had turned completely dark.
His mother was folding laundry in the living room when he entered.
She looked up briefly.
“You’re drenched.”
“Got caught in the rain.”
“Where were you?”
Azmie hesitated.
“Kampung Seri Embun.”
Something flickered across her face.
A brief expression he couldn’t quite understand.
Surprise.
Concern.
Perhaps both.
“The old field?”
He nodded.
His mother returned her attention to the laundry.
“You shouldn’t stay there after sunset.”
The remark caught him off guard.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
The answer came too quickly.
Almost rehearsed.
Azmie studied her face.
She refused to meet his eyes.
A strange uneasiness settled inside him.
The same feeling he had experienced beneath the rain tree.
As if there was something everyone knew except him.
Something nobody wanted to talk about.
That night, sleep refused to come.
Azmie lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her again.
The woman beneath the rain tree.
The red kebaya.
The sadness in her smile.
And those words.
You are not him.
Who was she waiting for?
Who had she mistaken him for?
The questions circled endlessly through his mind.
With a sigh, he reached toward the bedside table.
The flower was still there.
A single crimson blossom.
He picked it up.
The petals felt soft against his fingertips.
Then he frowned.
The flower was cold.
Not cool.
Cold.
As though it had been resting inside a refrigerator.
Azmie glanced at the clock.
11:47 PM.
That was impossible.
The flower had been in his room for hours.
Yet it still carried the chill of the rain.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the window.
He looked outside.
Dark clouds drifted across the night sky.
The rain had finally stopped.
The world seemed quiet again.
Too quiet.
Slowly, Azmie placed the flower back on the table and closed his eyes.
Eventually, sleep claimed him.
And then he dreamed.
He stood beneath the rain tree.
The field stretched endlessly into darkness.
The air smelled of wet earth and old memories.
Someone was standing beneath the branches.
A woman in a red kebaya.
Azizah.
She was facing away from him.
Watching the distant road.
Waiting.
Just as she had been that evening.
“Azizah,” he called.
She did not move.
“Azizah.”
This time she turned.
Her eyes were shining with tears.
Yet she smiled.
A heartbreaking smile.
The smile of someone who had been waiting for far too long.
“He’s coming,” she whispered.
The wind stirred the branches overhead.
“Who is?”
Her smile faded.
The sadness returned.
And suddenly she looked terrified.
As though she had just remembered something she desperately wanted to forget.
Then, in a voice barely louder than the wind, she spoke.
“No.”
Azmie took a step forward.
“What happened?”
Another step.
“What happened to you?”
For a brief moment, he thought she might answer.
Instead, her body began to fade into the darkness.
The rain started again.
Heavy.
Violent.
Endless.
And somewhere within the storm, he heard a woman scream.
Azmie jolted awake.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
The room was dark.
Silent.
His clock read 3:44 AM.
Breathing heavily, he sat upright.
Then his gaze drifted toward the bedside table.
The red flower was gone.
In its place lay a single drop of water.
As though someone had just been standing there.
***
1.2 : Every Evening At Six
The next day, Azmie spent the entire morning convincing himself that he was being ridiculous.
People had strange encounters all the time.
People met strangers.
People dreamed about them afterward.
That was normal.
Perfectly normal.
Yet as he sat in front of his computer at work, his thoughts kept drifting back to the woman beneath the rain tree.
Azizah.
The name lingered in his mind.
Soft.
Elegant.
Old-fashioned.
Several times, he caught himself staring at the clock.
11:12 AM.
1:37 PM.
3:45 PM.
Time seemed unusually slow.
By five o’clock, he had given up pretending.
The truth was simple.
He wanted to see her again.
The realization irritated him.
He knew nothing about her.
Not her age.
Not where she lived.
Not even whether she was real.
Yet he found himself leaving the office earlier than usual.
The sky was clear that evening.
The rain from yesterday had vanished.
Golden sunlight stretched across the fields surrounding Kampung Seri Embun.
Everything looked ordinary.
Peaceful.
Almost beautiful.
As Azmie drove toward the old road, he laughed at himself.
Maybe she wouldn’t be there.
Maybe yesterday had been a coincidence.
Maybe he had imagined the entire thing.
Still, his hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
He parked beside the abandoned field.
The rain tree stood proudly against the evening sky.
Ancient.
Silent.
Waiting.
Just like yesterday.
Azmie glanced at his watch.
5:48 PM.
The field was empty.
No red kebaya.
No mysterious woman.
Nothing.
A strange disappointment settled inside him.
See?
He had been foolish.
She was probably just a traveler passing through.
A stranger.
Nothing more.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and began walking toward the tree anyway.
The grass swayed gently in the breeze.
Birds chirped from somewhere beyond the fields.
Everything felt normal.
Azmie glanced at his watch.
6:00 PM.
A chill crawled down his spine.
Someone was standing beneath the rain tree.
His breath caught.
She had not been there a second ago.
He was certain of it.
Certain.
Yet now she stood exactly where she had stood yesterday.
The same red kebaya.
The same batik sarong.
The same graceful posture.
As though she had never left.
Azizah slowly turned toward him.
A gentle smile appeared on her lips.
“You’re late.”
Azmie stared.
“No.”
His voice sounded weaker than intended.
“I came early.”
The woman tilted her head.
Confused.
“Azlan always arrived before sunset.”
The words slipped from her mouth so naturally that she seemed unaware she had spoken them.
“Azlan?” Azmie asked.
For a brief moment, something flickered across her face.
Surprise.
Then uncertainty.
“Did I say that?”
“You just did.”
Azizah looked genuinely puzzled.
“I don’t remember.”
The answer unsettled him.
How could someone forget a name they had spoken only seconds ago?
“You don’t remember?”
She shook her head slowly.
“I suppose not.”
The breeze lifted a loose strand of hair near her temple.
For a moment, she looked fragile.
Like a memory trying desperately not to disappear.
Azmie took a careful step closer.
“Who are you waiting for?”
The question lingered between them.
Azizah turned toward the distant road.
The same road she had watched yesterday.
The same road she seemed unable to stop watching.
Her expression softened.
“I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for who?”
She opened her mouth.
Then stopped.
A strange sadness filled her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
The answer should have sounded absurd.
Yet somehow it didn’t.
Not when she said it.
Not when she looked so genuinely confused.
Azmie sat down on one of the exposed roots beneath the tree.
“You wait here every day?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
Azizah smiled.
“As I said, I’m waiting.”
The conversation felt like chasing smoke.
Every answer led nowhere.
Every question created another mystery.
Minutes passed.
The evening air grew cooler.
The sun slowly descended toward the horizon.
And still Azizah remained beneath the tree.
Watching.
Waiting.
Every few moments, her gaze drifted toward the road.
As though expecting someone to appear at any second.
Azmie found himself studying her.
Her clothes.
Her mannerisms.
The way she spoke.
Everything about her felt different.
Not wrong.
Just...
Different.
She carried herself with a quiet grace that seemed rare nowadays.
No phone.
No handbag.
No jewelry except a small antique brooch fastening her kebaya.
Even the way she stood felt old-fashioned.
Like a woman from another era.
Suddenly Azizah looked toward him.
“You stare a great deal.”
Azmie laughed.
“Sorry.”
“Am I amusing?”
“A little.”
The woman smiled.
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re strange.”
To his surprise, she laughed.
The sound was soft and musical.
The kind of laugh that made people smile without realizing it.
“I’ve never been called strange before.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“So do I.”
Again, that confusion appeared.
As though parts of herself existed behind a locked door she could not open.
The sun continued sinking.
Orange light spilled across the field.
Shadows stretched beneath the rain tree.
Azmie checked his watch.
6:42 PM.
Nearly an hour had passed.
It felt like ten minutes.
Strangely, he didn’t want to leave.
And even stranger...
He didn’t feel afraid.
He should have.
A mysterious woman appearing beneath an abandoned tree at exactly six o’clock every evening should have terrified him.
Instead, he felt calm.
Comfortable.
At peace.
As though he had known her for much longer than two days.
The realization disturbed him.
A little.
Then Azizah suddenly stood straighter.
Her eyes fixed upon the road.
Hope flashed across her face.
Raw.
Immediate.
Powerful.
Azmie followed her gaze.
The road was empty.
Completely empty.
Yet Azizah continued staring.
Her hands trembled slightly.
For one heartbreaking second, she looked happier than he had ever seen her.
Then the hope vanished.
Just like that.
Gone.
Her shoulders slumped.
The sadness returned.
“No,” she whispered.
“Not today.”
Azmie frowned.
“What happened?”
She did not answer.
Instead, she took a slow step backward.
Then another.
The shadows beneath the rain tree deepened.
The air grew colder.
Far colder than it should have been.
And suddenly Azmie knew something was about to happen.
Something strange.
Something impossible.
“Azizah.”
She looked at him.
A sad smile touched her lips.
“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The words startled him.
“Tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know I’ll come back?”
For the first time, her smile became genuine.
Warm.
Beautiful.
Certain.
“Because you already have.”
Before Azmie could ask what she meant, a gust of wind swept through the field.
Leaves swirled around him.
The branches above groaned softly.
He blinked.
Only once.
When he opened his eyes again—
The space beneath the rain tree was empty.
Azizah was gone.
The field stretched before him.
Silent.
Motionless.
As though she had never been there at all.
Azmie stood alone beneath the fading evening sky.
His heart pounded.
Slowly, he looked at his watch.
6:59 PM.
Almost seven.
And somehow, despite everything he had witnessed, one thought echoed through his mind.
Tomorrow.
At six o’clock.
He would come back.
***
1.3 : The Name She Remembered
By the fourth evening, Azmie stopped pretending he was merely curious.
Curious people did not rearrange their schedules.
Curious people did not leave work ten minutes early.
Curious people certainly did not spend an entire afternoon checking the time every fifteen minutes.
Yet there he was.
Driving toward Kampung Seri Embun once again.
The sun hung low in the sky, painting the clouds in shades of gold and amber.
For some reason, his chest tightened as he approached the old field.
He found himself wondering whether she would be there.
The thought was ridiculous.
Every evening she had appeared at exactly six.
Still, he worried.
What if she didn’t come?
What if he had imagined everything?
The moment evening reached its familiar hour, his worries vanished.
She was there.
Standing beneath the rain tree.
Waiting.
As though she had never left.
Azmie smiled despite himself.
“You’re becoming predictable.”
Azizah turned toward him.
A faint smile appeared on her lips.
“And you’re becoming punctual.”
“I didn’t want to be late.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
To his annoyance, Azizah laughed.
The sound was soft and warm.
For the first time, it felt less like speaking to a stranger.
And more like greeting an old friend.
“You seem pleased to see me,” she said.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
The smile remained on her face.
For some reason, that smile always carried a trace of sadness.
As though happiness had become unfamiliar to her.
Azmie sat beneath the tree.
The air smelled of grass and distant rain.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
Oddly enough, it felt natural.
Eventually, Azizah broke it.
“You came yesterday.”
“I know.”
“And the day before.”
“I know that too.”
She frowned thoughtfully.
“Then why did you return?”
Azmie opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
The truth sounded absurd.
Because I wanted to see you.
Because I spent half the night thinking about you.
Because I can’t stop wondering who you are.
Instead, he shrugged.
“I was bored.”
Azizah gave him a look that clearly said she didn’t believe him.
“Of course.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
He laughed.
The strange thing was that she was right.
The realization surprised him.
He barely knew this woman.
Yet she seemed able to read him with unsettling accuracy.
Azizah looked toward the road again.
The same road she watched every evening.
The same road that remained empty.
“What are you hoping to see?”
The question escaped before he could stop himself.
Her expression softened.
For a moment, she looked very far away.
“A face.”
“What face?”
“I don’t remember.”
The answer frustrated him.
Again.
Everything about her felt incomplete.
Like a book with half its pages missing.
“You don’t remember much, do you?”
A shadow crossed her features.
“No.”
“Not even who you’re waiting for?”
“No.”
“Your family?”
She shook her head.
“Your friends?”
Another shake.
“What about your surname?”
Nothing.
The sadness in her eyes deepened.
“I wish I knew.”
Azmie immediately regretted pushing her.
For the first time, he realized how frightening that must be.
To forget.
To lose pieces of yourself.
To wake up every day carrying questions nobody could answer.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Azizah smiled.
“You apologize often.”
“I suppose I do.”
“You have a kind heart.”
The compliment caught him off guard.
Heat rose to his cheeks.
Fortunately, the fading sunlight hid it.
Azizah continued watching him.
Almost studying him.
Then she said something unexpected.
“You remind me of someone.”
Azmie groaned.
“Not this again.”
A smile flickered across her lips.
“You sound disappointed.”
“Because every time you say that, it means I’m not him.”
For a second, Azizah stared.
Then she laughed.
A genuine laugh this time.
Bright.
Beautiful.
The kind that transformed her entire face.
The sight stunned him.
It made her look younger.
Lighter.
Alive.
The thought struck him strangely.
Alive.
Why that word?
Why had his mind chosen that particular word?
He quickly pushed the thought away.
The evening breeze swept through the branches overhead.
Leaves rustled softly.
The sound reminded Azmie of waves.
For a while, they simply listened.
Then Azizah spoke again.
“My name.”
Azmie looked up.
“What about it?”
She seemed hesitant.
Almost nervous.
“My name is one of the few things I remember.”
“Azizah.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
The name lingered between them.
Simple.
Elegant.
Timeless.
“Do you know what it means?” she asked.
“I think it means precious.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Does it?”
“I think so.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Then perhaps someone loved me once.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Azmie suddenly imagined a younger Azizah.
Laughing.
Dreaming.
Living a life she could no longer remember.
The image filled him with an unexpected sadness.
“I’m sure someone did.”
The certainty in his voice surprised even him.
Azizah lowered her gaze.
For several moments, she remained silent.
Then she whispered something.
So softly that he almost missed it.
“Someone did.”
A chill ran through him.
Not because of the words.
But because of the way she said them.
As though she had remembered something.
A fragment.
A piece of a forgotten life.
“What do you remember?” he asked.
Her eyes drifted toward the horizon.
“I remember waiting.”
The familiar answer.
Always waiting.
Always watching.
Always hoping.
“What else?”
A pause.
A very long pause.
Then—
“A river.”
Azmie leaned forward.
“A river?”
She nodded.
“A lantern.”
“What kind of lantern?”
“I don’t know.”
“What else?”
The confusion returned.
The memory vanished.
Like mist beneath sunlight.
“I can’t remember.”
The disappointment in her voice was heartbreaking.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The sun dipped lower.
Orange became crimson.
Crimson became purple.
Night approached.
Suddenly, Azizah stood.
The movement startled him.
Her gaze fixed upon the road.
Hope flashed across her face.
The same hope he had seen before.
The same painful hope.
As though every evening she expected someone to return.
And every evening that person failed to appear.
“No,” she whispered.
The hope faded.
Gone.
Once again.
The sight hurt more than it should have.
Azmie found himself standing too.
“It’s getting late.”
Azizah looked at him.
For several seconds, she simply watched him.
Then she smiled.
A small smile.
Gentle.
Grateful.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For listening.”
The answer felt oddly intimate.
As though listening itself had become a rare gift.
Before he could respond, the wind stirred.
The shadows beneath the rain tree deepened.
The familiar coldness returned.
Azmie knew what would happen next.
He could feel it.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.
Azizah’s smile widened slightly.
“If you come.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is to me.”
The breeze strengthened.
Leaves danced around them.
And then, just before the darkness swallowed her silhouette, she spoke one final sentence.
A sentence that lingered long after she disappeared.
“My name is Azizah.”
As though she were afraid she might forget it again.
As though it was the last piece of herself she still possessed.
Then she was gone.
Leaving Azmie alone beneath the ancient rain tree.
And for the first time since meeting her, he realized something.
He no longer came because he was curious.
He came because he wanted to see Azizah.
***
1.4 : A Girl Out of Time
The following evening arrived with a clear sky and a warm breeze.
By now, Azmie had stopped making excuses.
He no longer pretended that his visits to the rain tree were accidental.
They weren’t.
Every day, as six o’clock approached, he found himself thinking about Azizah.
Wondering if she would appear.
Wondering if she would remember anything new.
Wondering if she was real.
When he arrived at the field, it was only minutes before six.
The rain tree stood quietly against the fading sky.
The field was empty.
As always.
The evening breeze moved softly through the branches overhead.
Azmie glanced at his watch.
5:59 PM.
Then the minute changed.
6:00 PM.
And she was there.
Standing beneath the branches.
Waiting.
Azmie smiled.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”
Azizah turned.
Her eyes brightened slightly when she saw him.
“You returned.”
“You sound shocked.”
“A little.”
“Why?”
She considered the question.
“I thought perhaps you would forget.”
Azmie laughed.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
The answer escaped before he could stop himself.
For some reason, Azizah looked pleased.
The evening sunlight filtered through the branches above them.
For a while, they spoke about nothing important.
The weather.
The birds.
The distant hills.
Simple things.
Yet Azmie noticed something unusual.
Every time he mentioned something modern, Azizah appeared confused.
At first, he ignored it.
Then she pointed toward a passing motorcycle on the road.
“What sort of machine is that?”
Azmie blinked.
“A motorcycle.”
She frowned.
“It is much louder than I remember.”
The answer caught him off guard.
“You remember motorcycles?”
“A few.”
She tilted her head.
“They were uncommon.”
Azmie stared.
Uncommon?
Motorcycles had been everywhere for decades.
Perhaps she meant something else.
Before he could ask, another motorcycle sped past.
Azizah watched it disappear.
“They have become much faster.”
A strange feeling settled inside him.
The comment sounded less like an observation.
And more like someone comparing the present to a distant memory.
He decided to test something.
“Do you watch television?”
Azizah looked puzzled.
“What is that?”
Azmie laughed.
Then stopped.
She wasn’t joking.
The confusion on her face was genuine.
“You’ve never heard of television?”
She slowly shook her head.
“No.”
The answer should have been impossible.
Everyone knew what television was.
Even elderly villagers knew.
Yet Azizah looked completely sincere.
Azmie studied her carefully.
“Have you ever been to Kuala Lumpur?”
“Kuala Lumpur?”
She repeated the words softly.
As though trying to remember.
“Only once.”
“When?”
Another pause.
A long one.
“I don’t know.”
The uncertainty returned.
Always the uncertainty.
Always the missing pieces.
The breeze stirred the branches overhead.
Azmie leaned back against the tree trunk.
“Tell me something.”
“What?”
“What do you remember about your life?”
Azizah fell silent.
Her gaze drifted toward the horizon.
The fading sunlight painted her features gold.
For a moment, she looked almost dreamlike.
“I remember my mother.”
Azmie’s eyes widened.
It was the first concrete memory she had ever mentioned.
“What was she like?”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Kind.”
“What else?”
“She sang while cooking.”
The smile lingered.
“I liked listening to her.”
The answer felt real.
More real than anything she had said before.
“What songs?”
Azizah looked thoughtful.
Then she softly hummed a melody.
The tune was unfamiliar.
Old.
Very old.
Azmie had never heard it before.
When she finished, silence settled between them.
“That’s beautiful.”
“It was her favorite.”
For a brief moment, happiness filled her eyes.
Then it vanished.
The memory faded.
Like a candle extinguished by the wind.
Azmie hesitated.
“What year were you born?”
The question seemed harmless.
Yet the moment he asked it, Azizah looked confused.
“Year?”
“What year?”
She frowned.
“I don’t understand.”
“You know... The year nineteen forty-seven .... nineteen ninety-nine...Like right now, the year twenty ninety-nine..”
The confusion deepened.
The numbers meant nothing to her.
Nothing at all.
A chill crept down his spine.
“You don’t know what a year is?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then?”
Azizah lowered her gaze.
“We did not speak of time that way.”
The answer stunned him.
What did that even mean?
Nobody spoke like that.
Not anymore.
Suddenly, Azizah pointed toward his wrist.
“What is that?”
“My watch.”
She leaned slightly closer.
Curiosity replaced confusion.
“It is very small.”
“Most watches are.”
“Not the ones I remember.”
Azmie froze.
Not the ones I remember.
Again.
Another strange statement.
Another clue.
He looked at her carefully.
“What kind of watches do you remember?”
Her brow furrowed.
The effort of remembering seemed painful.
After several seconds, she whispered,
“Pocket watches.”
The words hung in the air.
Azmie’s heartbeat quickened.
Pocket watches?
Who under the age of ninety remembered pocket watches?
Before he could ask more, Azizah pointed toward the distant road.
A small delivery van was passing.
She watched it with fascination.
“What is that called?”
“A van.”
“It carries goods?”
“Yes.”
She nodded slowly.
“How convenient.”
Azmie couldn’t help laughing.
“You make it sound like you’ve never seen one.”
The smile vanished from her face.
For a brief second, genuine confusion appeared.
Then she looked away.
And quietly said,
“Perhaps I haven’t.”
The answer sent another chill through him.
The sun slipped lower.
Shadows lengthened across the field.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Azmie’s mind raced.
Motorcycles were uncommon.
Television was unfamiliar.
Pocket watches were normal.
Years meant little to her.
Nothing made sense.
Unless—
No.
That was impossible.
Completely impossible.
Yet the thought remained.
Persistent.
Unwelcome.
As though his mind refused to let it go.
Azizah was not behaving like a woman from 2029.
She was behaving like someone from another time.
A much older time.
Suddenly, Azizah spoke.
“The war ended, didn’t it?”
The question struck him like lightning.
“What?”
“The war.”
She looked at him.
Concern filled her eyes.
“It ended?”
Azmie stared.
“What war?”
For a moment, she looked surprised.
As though the answer should have been obvious.
“The Japanese.”
The world seemed to stop.
The breeze.
The birds.
The distant road.
Everything.
Azmie felt his stomach tighten.
“The Japanese occupation?”
Azizah nodded.
“Yes.”
Her expression became uncertain.
“Did it end?”
A cold sensation swept through him.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
The way she asked the question...
It wasn’t history to her.
It wasn’t something she had learned in school.
It sounded personal.
Immediate.
As though she expected the answer to concern her directly.
Azmie swallowed.
“It ended a very long time ago.”
Relief flooded her face.
Pure relief.
“Oh.”
She smiled softly.
“That is good.”
The simplicity of the response frightened him more than anything else she had said.
Because for the first time since meeting Azizah, a terrible possibility entered his mind.
And refused to leave.
What if Azizah wasn’t merely forgetting things?
What if Azizah remembered a world that no longer existed?
The last traces of daylight lingered across the fields.
Azizah turned toward the fading sky.
Her smile faded.
The familiar sadness returned.
“I must go.”
Azmie stood.
“Wait.”
She looked at him.
The question escaped before he could stop it.
“Azizah... what year do you think this is?”
For several seconds, she simply stared.
Then she answered.
And the answer froze the blood in his veins.
“Nineteen forty-four.”
The wind swept through the rain tree.
Leaves spiraled through the air.
Azmie blinked.
Just once.
When he opened his eyes again, Azizah was gone.
Leaving him alone beneath the ancient tree.
And for the first time since meeting her...
He was afraid.
***
1.5 : The Red Kebaya
The following day, Azmie could think of little else besides Azizah’s final words.
Nineteen forty-four.
The number haunted him.
It followed him through breakfast.
Through work.
Through the endless meetings he barely paid attention to.
Each time he tried to explain it rationally, another question appeared.
Perhaps she was joking.
Perhaps she enjoyed confusing him.
Perhaps she suffered from some strange form of memory loss.
Yet none of those explanations felt right.
Because when Azizah had spoken those words, there had been no hint of humor in her voice.
Only certainty.
Absolute certainty.
By five-thirty, Azmie had given up trying to make sense of it.
As usual, he found himself driving toward Kampung Seri Embun.
The evening sky glowed with streaks of orange and gold.
The rain tree stood quietly in the distance.
Waiting.
Just as it always had.
Azmie checked his watch.
5:59 PM.
The field remained quiet.
The rain tree stood motionless against the fading sky.
Then the minute changed.
6:00 PM.
And there she was.
Standing beneath the tree.
The woman in the red kebaya.
As though she had stepped out of another century.
Azizah smiled when she saw him.
“You returned.”
“You sound surprised every time.”
“Perhaps I am.”
Azmie laughed softly.
Then his gaze settled on her clothing.
For the first time, he truly studied it.
The red kebaya.
The intricate embroidery near the sleeves.
The delicate kerongsang fastening the front.
The batik sarong flowing gracefully around her ankles.
Everything about it looked elegant.
Timeless.
Unlike modern fashion.
It belonged to another era.
Azizah noticed him staring.
Again.
“You stare a great deal.”
“I know.”
A playful smile touched her lips.
“At least you’re honest.”
Azmie pointed toward her kebaya.
“Can I ask something?”
“You may ask.”
“You wear the same kebaya every day.”
She looked down at the crimson fabric.
A strange tenderness entered her expression.
Almost immediately.
As though the garment carried a memory.
A precious one.
“This one?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers lightly touched the sleeve.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she smiled.
“It was my favorite.”
The answer surprised him.
The certainty in her voice was unlike anything else she remembered.
“You remember that?”
“Oh yes.”
The smile widened.
“I remember this very well.”
Something in her eyes changed.
The familiar confusion faded.
For the first time, she seemed connected to a genuine memory.
Azmie leaned forward.
“Tell me.”
The evening breeze stirred the branches overhead.
Azizah gazed at the distant horizon.
And began speaking.
“I saved for months.”
“To buy it?”
She nodded.
“My mother thought I was foolish.”
A small laugh escaped her.
“She said red was too bold.”
Azmie smiled.
“I disagree.”
Azizah looked down at the kebaya again.
“I loved it from the moment I saw it.”
The affection in her voice felt almost childlike.
“It hung in a tailor’s shop window.”
She closed her eyes briefly.
As though she could still see it.
“There were blue ones.”
“Green ones.”
“Yellow ones.”
“But I wanted the red one.”
“Why?”
Azizah opened her eyes.
A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.
And for the first time since meeting her, she looked like an ordinary young woman.
Not a mystery.
Not a ghostly figure beneath a tree.
Just a girl.
A girl remembering something precious.
“Because someone told me red suited me.”
Azmie felt his heart skip.
“Someone?”
The smile returned.
Soft.
Shy.
Beautiful.
“Yes.”
He already knew the answer before she spoke.
A young man.
Of course.
Someone she loved.
Someone she waited for.
Someone who never returned.
“What was his name?”
The question escaped naturally.
Yet the moment it left his mouth, the smile vanished.
The memory fractured.
Like glass struck by a stone.
Azizah blinked.
Confusion returned.
“I...”
Her brows knitted together.
“I don’t know.”
The disappointment in her voice was painful.
For several moments she remained silent.
Struggling.
Trying to reach something hidden behind a wall of fog.
Then suddenly—
“Az...”
She stopped.
“What?”
“Az...”
The sound barely emerged above a whisper.
Azmie leaned closer.
“Az what?”
Her hand rose to her temple.
As though the effort hurt.
“Az...”
The memory slipped away.
Gone.
Just like that.
Azizah lowered her gaze.
Tears shimmered briefly in her eyes.
“I can’t remember.”
Azmie immediately regretted pushing.
“It’s okay.”
“No.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“It isn’t.”
The sadness in her expression made his chest ache.
“Every day I try.”
She stared at the distant road.
“I know someone stood there.”
The road.
Always the road.
Always the waiting.
“I know someone smiled at me.”
Her fingers tightened around the fabric of her kebaya.
“I know someone said red suited me.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“But I can’t remember his face.”
The confession struck him harder than expected.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The world seemed quieter.
The wind gentler.
The evening lonelier.
Azmie looked away.
Giving her time.
Giving her dignity.
Eventually, Azizah wiped her eyes.
Embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“I must seem foolish.”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
Too immediately.
Azizah looked at him.
Surprised.
“You don’t.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Thank you.”
The sun drifted lower.
Crimson light spilled across the field.
The same shade as her kebaya.
For a while they simply sat together beneath the rain tree.
Listening to the rustling leaves.
Watching shadows stretch across the grass.
Then Azizah spoke again.
“There was a dance.”
Azmie turned.
“A dance?”
She nodded slowly.
The memory seemed fragile.
Like a candle flickering in the wind.
“A celebration.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What happened?”
A faint smile appeared.
“I wore this kebaya.”
Her fingers brushed the sleeve.
“The red one.”
The smile deepened.
“And everyone stared.”
Azmie laughed.
“I imagine they did.”
“My mother said it was too bright.”
“I think your mother was wrong.”
The compliment escaped before he could stop it.
Azizah blinked.
Then laughed softly.
The sound warmed the evening air.
“You really like this kebaya.”
“I think it suits you.”
The moment the words left his mouth, silence fell.
Azizah froze.
Completely.
The smile disappeared.
Her eyes widened.
As though she had heard those words before.
Long ago.
Somewhere else.
The breeze suddenly grew cold.
Very cold.
Azmie felt it immediately.
So did she.
For several seconds, Azizah simply stared at him.
Then tears appeared once more.
Not tears of sadness.
Not entirely.
Recognition.
A memory struggling to return.
“He said that.”
The whisper was barely audible.
Azmie’s heartbeat quickened.
“Who?”
“The one who...”
She stopped.
The memory remained just beyond reach.
“The one who...”
Again.
Nothing.
Only silence.
The last traces of daylight faded across the field.
The moment shattered.
Azizah looked toward the road.
The familiar sadness returned.
Whatever memory had surfaced was already fading.
Like mist beneath sunlight.
“I must go.”
Azmie stood.
“Wait.”
She looked back.
The evening shadows gathered beneath the rain tree.
Dark.
Deep.
Ancient.
“Will you remember tomorrow?”
Azizah smiled sadly.
“I remember the kebaya.”
Her fingers touched the crimson fabric once more.
“And my name.”
The smile trembled.
“Some days, that feels like enough.”
The wind swept through the branches.
Leaves danced around them.
And slowly, her figure began to fade into the growing darkness.
Until only her voice remained.
Soft.
Distant.
Almost lost to the evening air.
“Red was always my favorite color.”
Then she was gone.
Leaving Azmie alone beneath the rain tree once again.
And as he stood there watching the empty space she had occupied, one thought echoed through his mind.
For the first time, Azizah had remembered something clearly.
Not a road.
Not a shadow.
Not a feeling.
A red kebaya.
And perhaps somewhere within that memory...
Lay the key to everything.
***
1.6 : The Things She Never Knew
The next evening arrived with heavy clouds gathering over Kampung Seri Embun.
For the first time since meeting Azizah, Azmie found himself nervous.
Not because of her.
Not anymore.
It was because of what she had said the previous evening.
Nineteen forty-four.
The words had lingered in his thoughts all day.
He had searched old photographs online during lunch.
He had looked up images of villages during the Japanese Occupation.
Old houses.
Old clothing.
Old roads.
And every image reminded him of Azizah.
By the time he reached the rain tree, only seconds remained before six.
The field stood empty.
The wind whispered through the branches overhead.
He glanced at his watch.
5:59 PM.
Then the numbers changed.
6:00 PM.
And just like every evening before—
She appeared.
Azizah stood beneath the rain tree wearing the same red kebaya.
The same batik sarong.
The same gentle smile.
“You returned.”
“I always do.”
The answer made her smile widen slightly.
For some reason, that pleased him.
“How was your day?” he asked.
Azizah blinked.
“My day?”
“Yes.”
She seemed genuinely puzzled.
“I waited.”
Azmie laughed.
“That’s not much of a day.”
“It is for me.”
The simplicity of the answer left him speechless.
For a moment they stood in silence.
Then Azmie reached into his pocket.
“I want to show you something.”
Azizah tilted her head curiously.
“What is it?”
He pulled out his smartphone.
Immediately, confusion appeared on her face.
The expression was so sincere that he almost laughed.
“What is that object?”
“A phone.”
She frowned.
“A telephone?”
“Something like that.”
Azizah stared at the device.
Then at him.
Then back at the device.
“It is very small.”
“Most phones are.”
“Where is the wire?”
Azmie burst out laughing.
The question caught him completely off guard.
“The wire?”
“Yes.”
She pointed.
“How does it connect?”
“It doesn’t.”
Her confusion deepened.
“Then how do people speak?”
“Through signals.”
The answer only made things worse.
“What sort of signals?”
Azmie rubbed his forehead.
Trying to explain modern technology suddenly felt impossible.
“Wireless signals.”
Azizah looked unconvinced.
“That sounds like magic.”
The seriousness in her voice made him laugh again.
To his surprise, Azizah smiled.
“I said something amusing.”
“You did.”
“I wasn’t trying to.”
“You rarely do.”
The breeze lifted a loose strand of hair near her temple.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Then Azizah pointed at the screen.
“It glows.”
“It’s a screen.”
“A screen?”
“You can watch videos on it.”
Her eyes widened.
“Moving pictures?”
“Yes.”
The astonishment on her face was almost childlike.
“Inside that little thing?”
Azmie nodded.
He opened a short video from his gallery and handed her the phone.
At first she hesitated.
As though afraid to touch it.
Eventually, she accepted it carefully.
Like someone holding a fragile treasure.
The moment the video began playing, she gasped.
Her eyes widened.
Her mouth fell slightly open.
For several seconds she simply stared.
Completely captivated.
When the clip ended, she looked up at him.
Then back at the phone.
Then at him again.
“How?”
The single word carried genuine wonder.
Azmie smiled.
“Technology.”
Azizah shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“Magic.”
The certainty in her voice made him laugh.
Again.
And somehow, seeing her so fascinated by something ordinary felt strangely endearing.
“What else can it do?” she asked.
“Many things.”
“Such as?”
“It can take photographs.”
Her expression brightened.
“Photographs?”
“Yes.”
“I know photographs.”
That didn’t surprise him.
Photography existed long before 1944.
Still, he was curious.
“What kind of photographs?”
“The black-and-white ones.”
Of course.
Azmie smiled.
“Well, phones can take photographs too.”
Azizah handed the device back.
“Show me.”
He switched to camera mode.
The screen immediately displayed her reflection.
Azizah gasped.
The sound was so soft he almost missed it.
She stepped closer.
Studying the image.
A strange look crossed her face.
Almost shock.
Almost disbelief.
“That’s me.”
“Yes.”
She stared.
Longer than expected.
As though seeing herself for the first time.
Then she touched the screen gently.
The image moved.
Her eyes widened further.
“It moves.”
“Because it’s live.”
The explanation meant nothing to her.
That much was obvious.
Azizah continued staring at her reflection.
Then her smile slowly faded.
The sadness returned.
The familiar sadness.
The one he hated seeing.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
She looked away.
“I don’t remember my face.”
The words hit him like a punch.
For a moment he couldn’t speak.
“You... don’t?”
She shook her head.
“Not before I met you.”
The sadness in her voice was heartbreaking.
“Sometimes I remember pieces.”
“A road.”
“A lantern.”
“My mother.”
“This kebaya.”
She lowered her gaze.
“But not my face.”
Azmie swallowed hard.
The evening suddenly felt colder.
He had never considered that.
Never imagined what it would be like to forget yourself so completely.
To lose even the memory of your own reflection.
For a while, neither spoke.
The wind rustled through the branches above.
The distant fields glowed beneath the setting sun.
Eventually Azizah looked at him again.
“There is another thing I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“The way people dress now.”
Azmie laughed softly.
“What’s wrong with how we dress?”
She considered the question.
“Everything.”
The answer was immediate.
“Everything?”
“The trousers.”
“The shoes.”
“The shirts.”
Azmie shook his head.
“You sound ninety years old.”
Azizah frowned.
“Ninety?”
The number seemed to confuse her.
Again.
Everything modern confused her.
Everything familiar to him felt unfamiliar to her.
And for the first time, he stopped seeing it as strange.
Instead, he found it sad.
Lonely.
Imagine waking up in a world you no longer understood.
A world that had moved on without you.
The thought lingered.
Uncomfortable.
Then Azizah suddenly pointed toward the sky.
An airplane crossed the clouds above them.
Its distant roar echoed softly through the evening.
She froze.
Completely.
Her eyes followed it.
Filled with amazement.
“They are larger now.”
Azmie’s heartbeat slowed.
“They?”
“The aeroplanes.”
She watched until it vanished from sight.
“In my time, they looked different.”
The words slipped out naturally.
Without hesitation.
Without thought.
And for the first time—
She realized what she had said.
Silence.
The wind.
The leaves.
The fading sunlight.
Everything seemed to stop.
Azizah looked at him.
He looked at her.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
Finally, she whispered,
“My time.”
The words trembled.
As though she feared them.
As though she finally understood what they meant.
Evening was ending.
The familiar end of another day.
Azizah lowered her eyes.
The sadness returned.
But now there was something else.
Fear.
“I think...” she whispered.
“What?”
She looked toward the road.
Toward the place she always watched.
The place where nobody ever came.
“I think I belong to a time that no longer exists.”
The confession hung in the air.
Heavy.
Painful.
Terrible.
Before Azmie could respond, the shadows beneath the rain tree deepened.
The cold returned.
The wind stirred.
And slowly, Azizah began to fade.
Just as she always did.
Yet this time her final words remained with him long after she disappeared.
Soft.
Fragile.
Almost broken.
“Tell me more about tomorrow.”
Then she was gone.
Leaving Azmie alone beneath the ancient rain tree.
And for the first time since meeting her, he realized something.
Azizah was no longer merely a mystery.
She was a girl stranded between two worlds.
And somehow...
He was beginning to care.
