Episode 1

His name is Dimas Raharja. He works as a public servant assigned to a government office. Dimas has performed his duties admirably for the past three years.

For certain reasons, Dimas must be reassigned to a place he has never visited before.

He knows no one there.

But in the name of duty, Dimas is willing to be transferred by his supervisor.

Rumor has it that everyone who has worked in the city Dimas is about to enter never feels at home and only manages to endure for two to three months.

Dimas isn't sure why they all feel uncomfortable and choose to be transferred back.

"I'm off now, Dad, Mom. Please pray for me, I hope everything goes smoothly," says Dimas as he bids farewell and asks for his parents' blessings.

"Of course, Dim. Your mother has only one piece of advice, never abandon your five daily prayers. And after Maghrib, make time to read the Quran," advises Dimas's mother.

Dimas nods and smiles. He promises in his heart not to neglect his prayers and to read the Quran every day.

After bidding farewell to his parents, Dimas promptly boards the online motorcycle taxi he had ordered, which has been waiting for him.

His mother looks hesitant to let her son go this time.

It's unusual for her to feel this kind of unease. She has a premonition of misfortune.

Nevertheless, Dimas’s mother continually murmurs prayers for her son, who is striving to earn money to help their family's finances.

"I suddenly have a bad feeling, dear. Is it just me, or do you sense it too?" Dimas's father asks his wife.

"I feel the same. But I will always pray that Allah SWT keeps Dimas away from all harm," says Dimas's mother, sincerely praying for her son.

..........

Dimas finally arrives in a city in East Java province after a long overland journey.

Upon disembarking from the bus, Dimas is greeted by someone assigned to escort him to the official residence.

"Are you Dimas?" asks the middle-aged man, who Dimas guesses is around forty.

"Yes, that's me. Are you Mr. Wongso?" Dimas inquires to confirm.

"Exactly, Mas. Hop on my bike. I'll take you to the official residence," offers a hospitable Mr. Wongso.

Dimas complies. He gets on the empty back seat. Once Dimas is securely seated, Mr. Wongso kickstarts his weathered motorcycle toward the residence where Dimas will be staying.

Along the way, Dimas sees the busy highway clogged with vehicles.

Dimas resigns himself as Mr. Wongso recklessly overtakes other vehicles left and right.

He is impressed by Mr. Wongso's riding skills.

Nimble and skilled.

Before long, the motorcycle arrives at the courtyard of a large and spacious house, still with red brick walls and designed like a traditional old-time house.

If compared to his parents' house, this official residence is about three times as big.

"Here we are, Mas. Go on in, your colleagues are inside. If you need anything, just head over to my house over there," says Mr. Wongso, pointing to a house about a hundred meters away from the residence Dimas will be occupying.

"Thank you, sir. Then I'll head inside," Dimas replies and steps toward the residence's gated door.

However, he halts when Mr. Wongso calls out to him again.

"Something else, sir?" Dimas asks, curious.

"I just want to remind Mas Dimas not to sit on the front terrace after eleven at night," warns Mr. Wongso, glancing toward a banyan tree that has already claimed Dimas's attention.

Dimas follows Mr. Wongso's gaze to the banyan tree with an expression that's hard to read.

"Why is that, sir?" Dimas asks, his curiosity piqued.

"Just don't, Mas. I'll be off then," replies Mr. Wongso, who is still hesitant to share his reason.

Dimas nods, allowing Mr. Wongso to return to his home.

The day darkens into evening, and the clock shows seven o'clock.

Dimas takes steps toward the house where he will live while attending to his work.

Before entering, he takes another glance at the banyan tree, its leaves dense, with many hanging roots, not too tall.

It looks eerie in the night.

A shiver runs down Dimas's spine. Whether it's a reaction or something else, he doesn't know.

Better to enter and perform the Isha prayer.

Dimas knocks on the door before fully entering.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Shortly, someone inside opens the door for Dimas.

"Welcome,"

Dimas startles at a whisper from a woman — its source unknown.

He looks around; no one is to be found nearby.

He turns back to ensure that he indeed heard someone speak to him.

"Have you arrived?" calls out a voice from inside the house.

Again, Dimas flinches — this time at the sound of a voice, loud and baritone — completely different from the one he just heard.

"Oh, hi, Mas. I'm Dimas..."

"I already know, come on in, Dim,"

His greeting is cut off by the other person.

Dimas enters, closes the door, and is introduced by a man named Satrio who also resides there with another roommate named Riko. They would be living there as a trio.

"Yes, Mas Satrio. Nice to meet you," Dimas responds with a smile.

"Just call me Satrio, no need for formalities. We seem to be the same age," says Satrio kindly.

"All right, Satrio," Dimas concedes.

After escorting Dimas to his room, Satrio excuses himself, to which Dimas nods acceptingly and immediately looks for a prayer mat to perform the Isha prayer.

Fortunately, there's a bathroom in the room he is staying in, so he doesn't have to look for one outside.

After performing ablution, Dimas unrolls the prayer mat and begins his devotion to Allah SWT.

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