Sayur Sop (Soup)

Pagi itu aku berdiri di tengah pasar yang riuh, setelah menyusuri pasar tradisional ini cukup jauh. Akhirnya aku memilih sebuah lapak yang menjual sayuran segar. Entah apa yang membedakan penjual itu dengan penjual lainnya. Aku hanya memilihnya serampangan. Aku datang untuk berbelanja bahan sayur sop untuk adikku.

Ia baru pulang dari luar negeri setelah bertahun-tahun. Dan entah kenapa, dari semua hal yang bisa aku lakukan untuk menyambutnya, aku memilih membuatkannya sayur sop—menu yang Ibu buat setiap hari Minggu di rumah.

Tapi, terakhir kali aku memasak sendiri adalah saat cultural night kuliah dulu. Itu sekitar 15 tahun yang lalu. Saat itu, sop buatanku adalah makanan terbaik yang ludes lebih dulu dibandingkan menu lainnya. Aku seharusnya cukup percaya diri untuk membuatnya kembali.

“Wortel satu kilo, ya, Bu.”

“Kol satu kilo.”

“Kentang satu kilo juga.”

Aku menyebutkan satu per satu dengan ragu, sambil mencoba terlihat seolah aku tahu apa yang sedang kulakukan. Padahal di dalam kepala, aku mulai meragukan satuan yang seharusnya aku pakai. Seharusnya aku riset dulu sebelum datang ke pasar. Tapi aku tidak sempat melakukannya setelah menyetir semalaman karena tugas mendadak ke luar kota.

“Seledri, daun bawang… masing-masing satu kilo juga.”

Ibu penjual itu sempat menatapku agak lama, tapi aku pura-pura tidak menyadarinya. Segera aku menyibukkan diri menelusuri internet, mencari tahu jumlah yang tepat untuk membuat dua porsi sop.

“Dek, ini satu kilo banyak banget loh,” katanya akhirnya.

Aku hanya tersenyum kecil. “Nggak apa-apa, Bu.” Aku terlanjur malu dan tidak tahu harus apa.

Di belakangku, beberapa pelanggan lain mulai berdatangan. Seorang ibu dengan sigap mengambil keranjang dan mengisinya dengan berbagai macam sayuran, lalu meminta pemilik dagangan menghitungnya. Lalu tiba-tiba, seseorang menyela ke depan.

“Bu, saya Cuma beli serai dan daun salam, tiga ribu saja.”

Aku refleks menoleh. Seorang pria muda berdiri di sampingku. Ia juga ikut menoleh ke arahku, lalu tersenyum sopan.

Aku membalas senyumannya.

Ibu penjual langsung menyiapkan pesanannya dengan cepat.

“Maaf, saya cuma belanja sedikit.”

Aku mengangguk, lalu kembali menatap pesananku yang ditumpuk terpisah di hadapan penjual, mulai menggunung.

“Masak apa, Mbak?” tanyanya tiba-tiba.

Aku sedikit terkejut. “Sayur sop,” jawabku singkat.

Dia mengangguk pelan, lalu matanya melirik pesananku.

“Wah… ini mau bikin pesta, ya?”

Aku tertawa kecil, sedikit malu. “Nggak kok. Cuma… buat adik saya.”

“Adik?”

“Iya. Dia baru pulang dari luar negeri.”

“Oh…” ekspresinya berubah, sedikit bingung. “Tapi… kalau cuma buat satu orang, ini kebanyakan banget loh, Mbak.”

Aku terdiam.

Baru saat itu, kata-katanya benar-benar masuk ke kepalaku.

Aku menatap kresek-kresek itu lagi. Wortel, kentang, kol… masing-masing satu kilo.

Rasanya aku ingin tenggelam ke dalam aspal pasar yang becek itu.

“Oh…” Aku tersenyum kaku. “Saya… belum pernah belanja sebelumnya.”

Dia tertawa pelan. Bukan menertawakan, tapi seperti memahami.

“Masak pernah?”

“Pernah. Dulu sekali. Dan… enak.” Aku tak yakin dia akan percaya dengan ucapanku. “Tapi waktu itu bukan saya yang belanja.”

“Ah, pantas.”

Aku menunduk, kembali mencari-cari resep di internet. Satu batang wortel.

SATU BATANG WORTEL.

Mataku melototi sekilo wortel yang tadi aku pesan.

“Sh—”

Sementara itu, ibu penjual menyerahkan bungkusan kecil ke pria itu.

“Serai sama daun salamnya, Mas.”

“Terima kasih, Bu.”

Dia mengeluarkan uang, membayar, lalu menoleh lagi ke arahku—seolah masih ingin mengatakan sesuatu.

Belum sempat ia bicara, seorang wanita paruh baya mendekat dari belakangnya.

“Mas, daun yang Ibu minta ada?”

“Oh, ada, Bu.” Dia menyerahkan bungkusan itu. “Serai sama daun salam.”

Wanita itu mengangguk, lalu matanya sempat melirik ke arahku. Namun aku segera menyibukkan diri, mencari cara untuk membatalkan pesananku yang terlalu banyak itu.

Pria yang dipanggil Abi itu berbicara kepada ibunya, pelan tapi cukup jelas untuk kudengar.

“Bu, bisa bantu Mbak ini nggak?”

Aku langsung terkesiap.

“Bantu apa?” tanya ibunya.

“Dia mau bikin sayur sop, tapi…” Abi melirik ke arah gunungan pesananku yang disisihkan oleh penjual, lalu kembali ke ibunya dengan senyum tipis, “kayaknya dia butuh bantuan ahli.”

Aku membeku sesaat.

Wanita itu mendekat, wajahnya ramah.

“Mau masak sop, Mbak?” tanyanya lembut.

Aku mengangguk. “Iya, Bu. Tapi… sepertinya saya salah beli.”

Beliau tersenyum hangat. “Biar saya bantu.”

Abi berdiri sedikit ke samping, memberi ruang, tapi aku masih bisa merasakan kehadirannya di dekatku.

“Saya Anya,” kataku akhirnya.

Wanita itu mengangguk. “Saya Ibu Rani. Ini anak saya, Abi.”

Abi tersenyum. “Kita ketemu di momen yang tepat, ya.”

In English: 

That morning, I stood in the middle of a bustling market after walking through the traditional stalls for quite some time. Eventually, I chose a small stand selling fresh vegetables. I couldn’t really tell what made this vendor different from the others. I picked it at random. I came here to buy ingredients for vegetable soup—for my brother.

He had just returned from abroad after years away. And somehow, out of everything I could do to welcome him home, I chose to cook him vegetable soup—the same dish my mother used to make every Sunday.

But the last time I cooked on my own was during a college cultural night. That was about fifteen years ago. Back then, my soup was the first dish to run out, long before the others. I should have been confident enough to make it again.

“Carrots, one kilo, please.”

“Cabbage, one kilo.”

“Potatoes, one kilo as well.”

I listed them one by one, hesitantly, trying to look like I knew what I was doing. But in my head, I was already questioning the units I was using. I should have done my research before coming here. But I hadn’t had the time—after driving all night for a sudden out-of-town assignment.

“Celery, scallions… one kilo each as well.”

The vendor looked at me for a moment, a little too long, but I pretended not to notice. I quickly busied myself scrolling through my phone, trying to find the right quantities for two portions of soup.

“Miss, a kilo is a lot, you know,” she finally said.

I gave a small smile. “It’s okay.” I was already embarrassed and didn’t know what else to do.

Behind me, more customers began to gather. A woman swiftly grabbed a basket and filled it with various vegetables before asking the vendor to calculate the total. Then suddenly, someone stepped forward.

“Ma’am, I’m just buying lemongrass and bay leaves—three thousand rupiah.”

I turned reflexively. A young man stood beside me. He glanced at me too, then offered a polite smile.

I smiled back.

The vendor quickly prepared his order.

“Sorry, I’m only buying a few things.”

I nodded, then turned my attention back to my order, piled separately in front of the vendor, growing into a small mountain.

“What are you cooking?” he asked suddenly.

I was a little startled. “Vegetable soup,” I replied shortly.

He nodded, his eyes drifting to my groceries.

“Wow… are you throwing a party?”

I let out a small laugh, slightly embarrassed. “No… it’s just… for my brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Yes. He just came back from over seas.”

“Oh…” His expression softened, though there was a hint of confusion. “But… if it’s just for one person, this is way too much.”

I fell silent.

Only then did his words truly sink in.

I looked at the plastic bags again. Carrots, potatoes, cabbage… one kilo each.

I felt like I wanted to sink into the wet, muddy asphalt beneath my feet.

“Oh…” I forced a stiff smile. “I… I’ve never shopped for groceries before.”

He chuckled softly. Not mocking—more like he understood.

“Have you cooked before?”

“Yes. A long time ago. And… it was good.” I wasn’t sure he believed me. “But I didn’t do the shopping back then.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

I lowered my gaze, returning to my phone, searching for recipes again.

One carrot.

ONE CARROT.

My eyes widened as I stared at the kilo of carrots I had just ordered.

“Sh—”

Meanwhile, the vendor handed the young man his small bundle.

“Your lemongrass and bay leaves, Sir.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

He paid, then glanced back at me—as if he still wanted to say something.

Before he could, a middle-aged woman approached from behind him.

“Abi, did you get the leaves I asked for?”

“Oh, yes, Mom.” He handed them over. “Lemongrass and bay leaves.”

She nodded, her eyes briefly flicking toward me. But I quickly looked away, busying myself with figuring out how to undo my overly large order.

The young man—Abi—spoke to his mother in a low voice, but loud enough for me to hear.

“Mom, could you help her?”

I froze.

“Help with what?” his mother asked.

“She wants to make vegetable soup, but…” Abi glanced at the pile of groceries set aside by the vendor, then looked back at his mother with a faint smile, “I think she could use an expert.”

I stood there, completely still.

The woman stepped closer, her face kind.

“Are you making soup?” she asked gently.

I nodded. “Yes, Ma’am. But… I think I bought the wrong amounts.”

She smiled warmly. “Let me help you.”

Abi stepped slightly to the side, giving us space, but I could still feel his presence nearby.

“I’m Anya,” I said finally.

She nodded. “I’m Mrs. Rani. And this is my son, Abi.”

Abi smiled. “Looks like we met at just the right moment.”