ONCE upon a time, in a quiet village tucked between the rugged hills and dry savanna of East Nusa Tenggara, where lontar palms stood tall and the wind carried the scent of salt from the distant sea, there lived a boy named Skolong. His home was a modest wooden ume kebubu—a traditional round house with a thatched roof—nestled among tamarind trees and maize fields, with goats and pigs wandering freely nearby. Skolong lived a simple yet joyful life with his parents, waking each day to the rhythm of nature and the distant sounds of traditional sasando music drifting from neighboring homes. He was known throughout the village as a good son—kind-hearted, ever helpful, and deeply respectful to his elders. His warm smile, paired with his gentle spirit, made him beloved by all. With his sun-kissed skin and bright, curious eyes that mirrored the sky above Pulau Timor, many believed Skolong was destined for something greater. He carried himself with quiet dignity, like the island youth taught to honor both land and custom.
One sunny morning, as birds chirped from the treetops and the scent of blooming flowers filled the air, Skolong’s father called him aside.
“My son,” he began in a thoughtful tone, “your aunt is expecting a child. Soon, she will give birth. If the baby is a girl, it is our wish—and the tradition of our people—that you marry her when she comes of age.”
Skolong listened quietly. In their community, it was a longstanding custom for cousins to be wed, a practice rooted in the belief of keeping family ties strong. Marriages were not romantic choices made in youth, but thoughtful arrangements guided by parents and elders, ensuring harmony and continuity within the family.
Though still young, Skolong understood the weight of his father’s words. He nodded respectfully, accepting the request not as a burden, but as part of the path laid out for him. For Skolong, honoring tradition was a way of honoring those who came before him—and he trusted that in time, his heart would grow to understand this promise even more deeply.
Skolong finally arrived at his uncle's house after a long journey through narrow forest paths and across small streams. His uncle greeted him with open arms and a joyful smile, grateful for his presence during such an important time for the family. The house buzzed with anticipation as the birth of the child drew near. While helping with the daily chores and chatting with his aunt, Skolong quietly carried a hope in his heart—that his cousin, the one he was meant to marry someday, would be beautiful. He imagined a graceful girl with a gentle voice and kind eyes, someone he could grow fond of with time.
But fate had different plans.
When the baby girl was born, a heavy silence fell over the room. Skolong stood frozen as he gazed upon the newborn. She was unlike any child he had ever seen. Her body was completely round, without hands or feet, and she had no neck. Her features were soft but unusual, and it was clear that she was not like other babies. The parents were stunned, their joy turning into confusion and sorrow. After some time, they decided to name her Cue, a word meaning wild sweet potatoes, which could only be found deep in the forest. Her rounded form reminded them of the cue roots—earthy, hidden, and mysterious. Despite their initial shock, they accepted her with quiet love, wrapping her in warm cloth and whispering lullabies under the dim light of an oil lamp.
As the years passed, Cue grew into an extraordinary girl. Though her body remained unchanged, her mind blossomed with intelligence and grace. She could speak with clarity and charm, her words often surprising the adults with their depth. Even more astonishing was her voice when she sang—melodic, soulful, and pure. Her songs drifted like the wind through the trees, catching the ears of villagers who passed by and making them pause in wonder.
Skolong, however, remained restless. The longer he stayed, the heavier his heart became. Although Cue was bright and kind, he could not shake the feeling that he could not marry her—not because of who she was on the inside, but because he could not overcome what he saw on the outside. One evening, as the sun dipped behind the hills and painted the sky with orange and purple, Skolong approached his uncle and aunt.
“I thank you for your kindness and care,” he said quietly, avoiding their eyes. “But I must return home.”
His uncle and aunt exchanged a knowing glance. They understood. Though it pained them, they did not try to stop him. Deep down, they had sensed the growing distance in Skolong’s heart. With a heavy silence, they nodded, and the next morning, Skolong left—his thoughts tangled like vines, unsure whether he was running away from tradition or simply from his own fear.
Skolong returned home, unaware that someone was following him from a distance. It was Cue.
Though she had no legs to walk, her determination was unshakable. She rolled her round body through forest trails and across uneven paths, pushing herself forward with quiet courage. The journey was long and difficult, and her body would often tire. Whenever she needed to rest, she nestled under the shade of large trees, her breath steadying. During these moments, she would sing softly to the wind—songs filled with longing and love, her voice carrying her feelings for Skolong. Her melodies were tender and haunting, telling of a heart that followed not with footsteps, but with faith.
After days of effort, Cue finally arrived at the edge of Skolong’s village. The sky was glowing with lanterns and the air was filled with laughter and music. A celebration was underway—Skolong’s parents were hosting a party to welcome their beloved son home. People gathered in colorful clothes, tables were filled with food, and children played under the shimmering lights. Cue watched from a distance, her heart aching with a desire to join, to be seen not as a strange creature, but simply as a girl—perhaps even as a girl Skolong could love.
She lowered her gaze and whispered a prayer into the night sky.
“Dear God, I have never asked for beauty or praise. But tonight, please… let me join them. Let me be part of the world they live in. Give me a miracle.”
With tears drying on her cheeks, Cue curled up under a tree and drifted into sleep.
In her dream, an old woman appeared before her. Her face was wise and kind, with eyes that sparkled like moonlight. The woman spoke in a gentle voice, yet her words carried power.
"Child of the forest, your spirit is pure and your voice true. Shed what no longer belongs to you. Burn your old skin, and you shall be reborn."
Cue woke with the dream echoing in her mind. She didn’t fully understand the meaning, but something deep inside urged her to follow the message. Gathering twigs and dry leaves, she built a small fire beneath the starlit sky. With a trembling heart, she began to burn the rough, outer layer of her skin—something she had never dared to do before.
Then, something extraordinary happened.
As the smoke rose into the night air, Cue’s body began to change. From the ashes of her former self emerged new limbs—arms and legs, slender and strong. A graceful neck stretched upward. Her form reshaped into that of a beautiful young woman, radiant and unlike any other. Her eyes sparkled like dew in the morning sun, her hair flowed like midnight silk, and her smile held the same sweetness that had always lived in her songs.
Cue had become not only human—but breathtakingly beautiful.
Cue’s heart danced with joy. She looked at her hands, her feet—her new form—and whispered a prayer of gratitude to the sky, her voice soft and full of awe. “Thank you,” she breathed, tears glistening in her eyes. The miracle she had once only dreamed of had come true. Now, with hope in her heart and the wind in her hair, she walked—truly walked—for the very first time, toward Skolong’s house, where music and laughter still filled the air.
As she stepped into the warm glow of oil lamps swaying gently in the tropical breeze, the party fell silent. The scent of roasted corn and grilled ikan bakar lingered in the air, mingling with the sweet fragrance of kemangi leaves and burning sandalwood. All eyes turned to her—this radiant girl wrapped in a handwoven ikat cloth that shimmered under the lantern light, her silhouette outlined by intricate patterns unique to her island. She moved with quiet grace, her footsteps echoing like a soft gong waning played in the distance. Her smile was gentle yet mysterious, like the secret rhythm of the sasando that only those born of the land truly understood.
Skolong, standing near the center of the celebration, noticed her instantly. He was stunned. Her beauty was unlike anything he had ever imagined. Intrigued, he made his way through the crowd and stood before her.
“Welcome to my house,” he said warmly, trying to steady his breath. “My name is Skolong.”
Cue smiled, her eyes shining with emotion. “I know who you are,” she replied, her voice filled with warmth and laughter.
Surprised, Skolong blinked. “You do? But… how? We’ve never met before.”
Cue gently placed her hand over her heart. “I am Cue.”
His smile faltered. “That’s impossible…” he said, stepping back, confused.
Cue then reached into the pouch she carried and revealed a small, charred piece of skin—the old shell she had left behind. Her voice turned soft, almost like a lullaby. “I had a dream,” she explained. “An old woman came to me. She told me to burn my dead skin… and I did. This is what remains of who I once was.”
Skolong stared at her, then at the skin, then back at her face. Slowly, the truth began to sink in. He saw her—not just her new form, but the spirit that had always been there. The same spirit who had followed him through forests, who had sung songs under the stars, and who had loved him even when unrecognized.
His eyes filled with tears. “Cue… it really is you.”
With a heart full of love and wonder, Skolong gently reached for Cue’s hands—softly, with deep respect—and held them above a piece of old woven cloth, a heirloom from his mother. The flickering lamplight danced across the threads, where ancestral patterns told stories of nature and lineage.
“Will you walk with me,” he whispered, “in one woven life… before our people, beneath the stars?”
Cue’s answer came with a joyful laugh and a tearful nod. “Yes,” she said, her heart overflowing. “I’ve loved you all along.”
And so, under the the soft glow of flickering oil lamps and the blessings of those who once doubted, Skolong and Cue were joined in a celebration woven with song and tradition. Their love, born from the land, tested by difference, and transformed by faith and magic, blossomed into a life of harmony. They built a home filled with music and kindness, where Cue’s voice carried lullabies to children, and Skolong’s strength sheltered their dreams.
And yes, they lived happily ever after. 🌙✨
🌺 Moral Message:
True love sees beyond appearances. With patience, faith, and a pure heart, miracles can unfold—even in the most unexpected ways.
Beauty is not only in form, but in spirit. Like the lands of East Nusa Tenggara—dry on the surface, rich at heart—so is Cue’s journey.
✒️ Author’s Note
This story reflects the realities many face—where love and acceptance are challenged by appearances and traditions. Skolong’s hesitation is not meant to judge but to show how societal expectations and personal fears can shape our hearts.
Cue’s journey reminds us that true beauty and worth lie beyond what we see, and sometimes it takes patience, faith, and a little miracle to reveal that.
Inspired by the resilient spirit of East Nusa Tenggara, where the land may seem harsh but holds deep richness beneath the surface, this tale honors both the challenges and the hope within us all.
