A World Without Technology

Morning in Kinahrejo Village felt strange, yet peaceful. There were no sounds of vehicles, no roar of engines, no phone notifications. The only things to be heard were the trickling of water from the village well, the giggles of children running around, and the creak of wooden doors being opened.

Hasan stood in front of the small house where he and Hasuna were staying. His eyes scanned the village, which was just beginning to stir. Women carried woven baskets filled with vegetables. A man was drawing water, while two teenagers ground something atop a flat stone.

Everything felt so... primitive. Yet, it was calming.

Hasuna came out shortly after, wearing the cloth clothes Karin had given her. Still too big for her small frame, but she didn’t mind. Her eyes sparkled with wonder as she looked around.

“Dad... we really are in another world, aren’t we?” she murmured.

Hasan turned and nodded slowly. “It seems so.”

They walked slowly along the dirt path. Villagers looked at them—some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled fear. Hasan understood. Their clothes were different, their faces unfamiliar, and rumors had likely spread.

Someone called out, “You there!”

Karin waved from a distance, standing in front of a building larger than the others. Above the door hung a wooden carving of a bird with wide-spread wings. This was where the village chief lived.

“Chief Nira wants to talk. You’ll need to explain everything.”

Hasan and Hasuna exchanged glances before nodding and following Karin inside.

Inside, the atmosphere was dim but warm. The air smelled of spices. An old man sat cross-legged on a straw mat, his hair completely white, eyes sharp but not unkind.

“Welcome,” said Chief Nira. “I’ve heard about you.”

Hasan bowed politely. “Thank you for taking us in.”

“I’m not sure if we’ve ‘taken you in’ or simply haven’t figured out how to send you away yet,” Nira replied, without a smile. “But I trust Karin’s judgment. And if you truly are from another world, we have much to talk about.”

The chief took out an old book, its cover worn with age. He opened it carefully, revealing strange symbols, then pointed at one illustration: three drops of rain falling from the sky into a circle of light.

“The legend of the Third Rain has been told in our village for generations. Rain falls three times in one season, and on the third rain, the sky opens a rift. It is said that only those whose hearts and minds remain tethered will cross the boundary between worlds.”

Hasan froze. That sentence felt like an explanation for everything he’d been through. His heart still clung to Karin. And on that day, he had spoken his wish...

“We don’t know how to get back,” Hasan said softly. “We don’t even know why we ended up here.”

Nira closed the book. “No one’s ever returned. So we don’t know if the legend is true—or just a bedtime tale.”

“But I want to find a way home,” Hasan added.

The chief stared at him for a long moment. “In that case, you must learn to live here first. This world is no place for weak outsiders.”

The days that followed were filled with confusion and adaptation.

Hasuna began learning with the village children. She helped carry water, chop vegetables, and sometimes eavesdropped on folktales told by old grannies in smoky kitchens. Though awkward at first, she quickly blended in. The other children began to like her. One of them even taught her to play a bamboo flute. She wasn’t very good, but her laughter returned. She even started calling an elderly woman “Nini” and helped pound grains with children her age.

Hasan had a harder time adjusting. He was used to the modern world—with phones, hot showers, the internet, and coffee machines. Here, everything had to be done by hand. Washing with ash soap. Lighting fires with stones. No electricity, no signal. His hands blistered, his feet ached, but he didn’t complain. At night, his body was tired, but his mind kept circling back to old memories.

But one thing kept him going: Karin’s presence.

Though she kept her distance, she often brought food or checked in on Hasuna. Every time they spoke, Hasan fought the emotional urge to say his late wife’s name. But Karin’s face was too identical. Even the way she laughed—though it was rare—stirred deep memories in his heart. Sometimes, when she nodded gently or raised an eyebrow at one of Hasuna’s jokes, Hasan felt like he was back before the tragedy.

One night, with the moon hanging high and oil lamps glowing across the village, Karin called him outside.

“I want to show you something.”

They walked past the fields and arrived at a small hill on the edge of the village. Up there, the wind blew stronger. From that spot, Kinahrejo looked like a scattering of stars glowing in the dark.

“I come here whenever my mind is in a mess,” Karin said.

Hasan simply nodded.

“You know... you keep looking at me like I’m someone else. It makes me... uncomfortable. But also curious.”

Hasan drew a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong. But you—your face, your voice—they’re the same. Karin was my wife. She... she died in an accident.”

Karin fell silent. Then after a while, she whispered, “What was she like?”

Hasan looked up at the sky.

“Bright. Strong. A little stubborn. But she always knew how to make us feel loved.”

The wind blew. Dry leaves swirled around their feet.

“I don’t know if you’re a reincarnation, or just a coincidence,” Hasan continued. “But when I look at you... it feels like I’ve been given a second chance. Even if it’s just to say ‘thank you.’”

Karin turned to him. Her face was hard to read. But her eyes... softened.

“Then don’t waste that chance.”

Days turned into weeks. Hasan began helping around the village. He learned to chop wood, lift stones, and repair walls. His body gradually adapted, though exhaustion remained. He was becoming part of the village life.

One day, a wild boar stormed through the villagers’ fields. Hasan, along with two young men and Karin, helped drive it off. It was the first time he held a spear. His hands shook, but Karin’s sharp gaze gave him courage.

“You don’t have to be a hero,” Karin said after they had driven the beast away. “But you do need to stand your ground.”

That line stuck with him. That night, Hasan dreamed. He saw Karin—his wife—smiling in the rain. But as he approached, her face changed to Karin from this world. He woke up with tears in his eyes.

In the morning, Hasuna showed him a wooden carving. “Me and Mom,” she said, smiling shyly. Hasan looked: a woman with long hair holding a child’s hand.

“Which one is your mom?” Hasan asked.

Hasuna fell quiet. Then answered softly, “Both of them.”

Hasan didn’t respond. He simply hugged his daughter tightly.

But one question continued to haunt him:

Could they ever return?

Each night, he looked up at the sky, hoping to see that strange light again. But the rain never came. The sky remained calm. As if this world was holding him here for some greater reason.

And deep inside his heart... he began to feel afraid. Afraid that maybe... he would never go home.

But with that fear came something even more confusing:

He wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to go home anymore.