Assalamu'Alaikum Love

Worriedly

Gibran

It was still raining when for the third time I glanced at the circular watch on my left wrist. Shifting my eyes to the coffee cup in front of me that was still full since I ordered it half an hour ago. I don't know what made me choose to spend Saturday afternoons at the coffee shop even though I actually had a deadline to deposit the Mid-Semester Exam into the academic section of the campus. I'm not a typical person who likes to put off work, but somehow it feels like today I really want to be lazy and spend my afternoon in the coffee shop like a fool.

I want to forget my duty as a teacher who has responsibility for my students and live the day as a Gibran Wibisana. A 28-year-old man with all the inner upheaval he was feeling. Well, sometimes I can be this childish and choose to run away and neglect my duties.

“So, you were made mad like a daughter by your own student, eh? Really, someone should give the girl an award.” I can even remember when I told Haris this morning about how I felt. Letting Haris laugh at me like a barbaric man and call me a weak man. “You? Gibran Wibisana who can be so easily broken hearted in girls in fact can also be made upset by his own students? Gosh, tell me how pretty she is to make you like this.”

“Not upset, Ris. How do I say it? It's like I was bothered so much by the boy's conversation with his friend yesterday afternoon.” It was my behavior that reminded me of a short conversation I had accidentally heard when I was about to open the door of the faculty room. A conversation between two girls sitting in a wooden chair not far from the faculty room of economics. The conversation between Faza Aulia and her friend.

“Then, do you want to call what such a feeling is if not a bad feeling?”

Also true. I don't even know what I'm supposed to say right now. Do I like a girl like a guy like a woman or am I just amazed that she looks so different? No, it's too early to conclude a feeling I'm not sure of myself. I don't know, after all, I don't know myself at all when I say that I like a girl like Faza who is so awake while I'm still so wild with all the swearing that often still comes out of my mouth.

“...after all, what if in fact Mr Gibran already has a partner or even a child? Does such a reality stop you from liking it?”

Again the sentence that I accidentally heard yesterday afternoon re-played inside my head without command.

“Entahlah. Maybe I still need time to think about all this.”

If only the one who said that sentence was my other student instead of Faza, I would definitely not be like this. Really, hearing a student who claimed that they ‘liked the handsome Mr. Gibran’ was not once twice I heard. Even Siska Ramadhani, one of my students, once slipped a letter on the sidelines of his fiqh muamalah paper.

But this time the girl who said that line was Faza Aulia. The student who stole my attention at the first meeting, and the young girl who lent me an umbrella four years ago. The incident that unconsciously made me put Faza in a different place from my other students even though I myself was not aware since when I started doing it. And by the time I realized it, that girl had placed a special corner in my heart.

If only that afternoon Faza had chosen to tell me his feelings when we unwittingly passed in front of the faculty office, perhaps I would have accepted the girl's feelings. It's just that I knew that such a possibility wouldn't happen because that girl was Faza Aulia. A girl who actually chose to duck once our views met.

‘What do you expect if the girl likes you, Gibran? Do you expect him to express his feelings to you?’

It does. In fact, I had been hoping that Faza would suddenly come to my desk in the faculty room and express his feelings for me. The thought that made me snort angrily and curse myself before grabbing my coffee cup and sipping it slowly.

“Mas Gibran?”

I had just glanced at the watch on my left wrist for the fourth time when someone greeted me and stood beside my desk. It made me squint and observe a man in a white polo shirt fittingly wrapped around his body that was not too full, but also not too thin. Mengulum smiled for the sake of courtesy as the man was also smiling at me. Two seconds I was horrified to be approached by a young man while sitting alone in a coffee shop, while I was also a man.

“Ya?”

“It turns out to be true this is Gibran Wibisana. I think I misidentified people.” And the man didn't need my permission to sit in an empty chair in front of me. If you look at it at a glance, I can confirm that this man is the same age as me. It's just, these glasses I'm wearing make me look more mature than this guy.

“I Arifin. We met in Malang five years ago. Mas who was then a partner of professor Himawan ‘kan?” obviously this man named Arifin who seemed to understand the intent of the gaze did not understand me.

I'm not a typical person who easily remembers the people I've met. That's why it took me so long to find information about a man named Arifin who claimed to have met me in Malang five years ago.

“Arifin Putra, his assistant professor Erik.” Guess with certainty.

Yeah, I remember now when I met this guy. At that time, Himawan and I were conducting research in Malang and conducting monitoring and evaluation of our research results at Brawijaya University.

Arifin Putra, a young man who three years ago looked so awkward as an assistant professor Erik and accompanied me and Himawan professor for a whole week. Even I remember when Arifin told me that he was half dead to me because he had become a research partner for a Himawan professor-class university professor.

“I thought Gibran did not recognize me anymore considering we met liima years ago.” timpal Arifin after mentioning his order to a waiter who approached us. Again the maid gave a look as if we were two men dating and spending Saturday afternoon together.

“How are you? It's really a coincidence we met here.”

“Good mas. I was even more surprised to meet with Gibran mas in Surabaya.” I don't know what's special about me until Arifin has to be this excited just for meeting me. But for some reason I like the typical person like Arifin.

“Visitation ‘kah? Or doing a new project with professor Himawan?”

“No, we're not on a new project. Well, now I work and make a living in Surabaya.”

Again Arifin looks like my sister who has not met for a long time just because I said that I currently work in Surabaya.

“Work in Surabaya? Which company is mas? Who knows I know the company where Gibran works.”

“No, I am currently teaching at one of the private universities in Surabaya. You yourself how?”

“Second generation Himawan Professor.” Tukas Arifin with a tone of amazement as if knowing that now I am a lecturer is a big thing. “I work in one of the insurance companies, mas. In fact, I am not as smart as Gibran to be a lecturer at my age of 27.”

This time I laughed at Arifin's words that made me feel like I found an old friend. Really, living overseas where I was away from my parents made me appreciate people who did me good. Yes, like Arifin who offers me friendship with all that openness.

“So, who does Gibran live with? Maybe we can visit each other sometime. I still live with my parents, anyway.” Arifin asked again after a while we fell silent to each other. Arifin was so busy with her cell phone and I was again busy observing the streets next to the coffee shop. The rain was no longer falling even though the drizzle could still be seen and I noticed from the puddles on the streets.

“What do you expect from a bachelor like me, Rif? I live alone. Maybe sometime you and your boyfriend or wife can visit my house and spend the weekend there. Accompanying me as if you were accompanying a lonely old man.” I answered while handing out a card I took from my wallet. Making Arifin laugh and grabbing the business card I offered.

“I don't have a wife, mas. Maybe in the near future.” And I raised my eyebrows next to Arifin saying that in the near future he will have a wife as if the man said that in the near future he will have a picnic abroad.

“In the near future? You're getting married soon?”

“If my application is accepted and the girl wants to do ta’aruf with me, then we will get married no later than a month after, mas.”

“Once,”

Ta’aruf's. I often hear it even though I don't even have the slightest idea of what the ta’aruf process looks like. I was not raised in a family environment that so upholds the value of religion, but a little bit I understand some things related to the rules of Islam. And hearing that Arifin was going to do ta’aruf with a girl suddenly made my heart slip. Not envious of Arifin, who was younger than me, had actually thought about it that far. But somehow I feel jealous because Arifin can get a girl like that who does not want to date and just want to do ta’aruf to get married.

“Your match depends on what you are like, le. If you are good, it will be good for your soul mate. Just look at the mirror, and you will be able to see what your soul mate is like.”

Geez, so melancholy, the advice I once got from the eyes of the kakung when I was early in the lecture was remembered and twisted in my head. The advice I used to only think of as the wind then but somehow now feels like a hard slap for me. My soul is a reflection of myself. So, is it appropriate for me like this to expect a girl who is so awake and nurtured like herself?

“Mas Gibran himself how?” for the umpteenth time Arifin's question dragged me from my brief daydreaming about her again. It made me take a deep breath before noticing Arifin who had just placed her coffee cup on the coaster. A small smile while touching the handle of my own coffee cup which I believe has become cold now.

“I?”

“Iya. I can't believe that Gibran said he's single and doesn't have a wife.”

And, what makes people distrust me every time I say that I'm single and not involved in a romantic relationship with any girl?

“But the truth is like that, Rif. There is no girl who would like to be my future wife.”

“Don't talk sarcastically like that, mas. Mas Gibran is not at all suitable.” Arifin even laughed at my answer until some visitors turned to us and made me grimace at the horrified gazes of the visitors for both of us. “I am even sure that mas Gibran only needs to choose one of the many beautiful and potential girls who have been queuing for Gibran mas make a future wife.”

Either I should call this a justification for my attitude since Aida's death, or I am still waiting for the right person to be my wife. I just thought that my heart still could not be fully opened to the girls who approached me. Choosing to be aloof like a heartbroken poor man and waiting for the right girl to heal my broken heart. I want to choose, it's just that the person I want to choose doesn't even make the choice I have.

How could my heart choose if that was so?

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