Assalamu'Alaikum Love

Gathering

Gibran

Exactly as I had thought that Faza must have been uncomfortable with our situation just a moment ago. Even until I drove my car out of the Tempo office parking lot and into the pen pal's base to meet Muhammad Fahri, Faza was still silent and turned his face away from me.

“Why are you, Za? Not feeling well?” really useless question because I know for sure the reason why the girl just kept quiet and chose to get busy with the tissue pack on her lap.

“No.”

“Then? Why do you look so upset since?”

“May I ask something to Mr Gibran?” This time the girl even bothered to twist her body to face me. “Why don't you feel the need to straighten out any misunderstandings Mr Reynaldi earlier?” without waiting for my approval.

“Which misunderstanding?”

Like deja vu, I suddenly seemed to find the figure of Aida Restanti who was sitting next to me and gave me a hostile look because I was annoyed with her. Only, in my second breath, I realized that the girl sitting next to me was not Aida but Faza.

“Yeah, do I have to explain to you about the misunderstanding? Obviously misunderstandings have occurred since we were still in the office lobby.”

“You mean about Mr Reynaldi who thought you were my wife?” again I had a chance to find Faza's surprised face when I glanced at him with my tail before this girl chose to turn her body back until I had trouble reaching her face with my gaze. “Or about me being too relaxed responding to a joke sir Reynaldi?”

“Forget it, sir. Doesn't matter either.”

“Why are you so bothered by something like that?”

“And I think there are no women who are not disturbed if trapped in a situation like that.”

I knew this conversation wasn't supposed to be the one I had with my students. Merely, my common sense was like working too wild this afternoon and demanding me to forget about my status as a lecturer and forget the fact that Faza was my own student.

“You're overreacting, Za. Obviously, what Rey said was just guyonan and nothing more.” well, although in my heart I always agree with what Mr. Reynaldi said about me and Faza.

“Alright if you think so.” Faza's tandas resembled a mutter to himself compared to the rebuttal for my sentence.

“I think our meeting four years ago could get us a little closer, Za.” And I did think that Faza and I could be a little closer than my relationship with my other students. “But in fact our meeting in Blora four years ago was just a last breeze for you.”

“Pak,”

“You even look so uncomfortable every time I teach in your class, or every time we cross paths by accident.” Really, I don't know why those silly sentences could so smoothly come out of my mouth as if I had planned a conversation like this with Faza before. “You look so disliked me.”

This time Faza even smiled faintly hearing my string of sentences that even my own ears sounded very unreasonable. Really, it's not a sentence that a grown man like me used to say.

“Only because I am not as expressive as my other female friends does not mean I hate you, sir.” Started Faza after putting the wad of tissue he just put into his bag. “And about our meeting four years ago, what should I respond to it like? Should I act like we're old friends back at the meeting?” I knew it was just a rhetorical question, only that I still wanted to answer it and make Faza understand if I wanted him to treat me in a slightly different way.

“At least you don't have to be that ugly every time we meet.”

“It will only make me look like a student who does not know manners, and make Mr. Gibran lose his authority in the eyes of my friends.” Just as I stepped on the brake pedal of my car and stopped in a two-story building with brightly-monitored paint, Faza turned his head towards me. Made our gazes meet for a while before the girl looked down again. “I only keep what I should have taken care of.” He said before opening the car door after smiling at me for a glance.

Keeping something he should be looking after. If it's like that, what can I do so that I can reach this girl? What can a common man like me do for a girl so awake like him? And, am I worthy to want him to be so awake while I'm still so hard to control?

* * * * *

“I only keep what I should have taken care of.”

He was looking after something he had to take care of. Actually it doesn't have to be a super genius to be able to translate the meaning of that simple sentence that Faza spoke to me yesterday afternoon. When me and the girl were involved in a conversation that didn't really need to happen between us, nor did the actual topic of conversation have to be directed at her. The topic of chatter that I regretted half-dead for making the awkward atmosphere again enveloped me and the previous Faza had slightly improved.

I didn't know that Faza would be so distracted by the jokes Reynaldi's man made, and the response I gave him. Faza even refused to take me home after we ended the meeting with Muhammad Fahri even though it was almost Maghrib. Said that her brother would pick me up and ask me to come home first.

I even thought that someone Faza called ‘male boy’ was the girl's boyfriend or close friend. And I, with all my folly, chose to pull over my car and observe Faza still standing in front of the building where we met Muhammad Fahri. Watching like a cheesy pentuntit until a black picanto stopped right in front of Faza and a man came out the steering door and approached the girl.

And again I had speculated that the man was Faza's girlfriend if only the girl's attitude didn't shout at me that it was the attitude that a daughter was pointing at her older brother. Really, no girl would be that cute to her boyfriend.

“Basic Gibran fool. How can a girl like Faza have a lover when she is even reluctant to come into contact with a man who is not her mahram?”

I just smiled wryly and mocked my silly thoughts just a moment ago. True too, no girl like Faza is willing to be made a girlfriend by a man without being married first.

“Dating after marriage?”

“Iya. Married just recently. Not dating just got married.”

And in fact I did ask Aida something like that before I ventured to propose to the girl. Being raised by a family with ordinary religious awareness does not necessarily make me blind to such things. I studied it though not so deeply and just knew that Islam is a religion that glorifies women. That was why I dared to ask Aida such a thing, and hope that the girl understood that I wanted to glorify her as my halal partner.

“Indeed can be like that?” again, I just shrugged my shoulders when Aida laughed at my words. Aida Restansi in fact is not like Faza who wears a wide headscarf and refuses to come into contact with men who are not halal for him. Aida is an ordinary girl who made me fall in love in an incredible way.

“Don't know, my brain is too shallow when asked to think of such a thing, mas.” But Aida answered him too even though many times he took a deep breath and exhaled back slowly. “I am still like this it feels inappropriate to ask for such a thing. Besides which men are willing to marry without dating a girl like me who is veiled just not.”

“I'm willing.” Right, I and Aida had only known each other for a few months and I had not expressed my feelings even though I was well aware that I liked Aida. “I'm willing to marry you without going out first. And we can date after marriage.”

If I think about it now, I feel ashamed of myself. I am ashamed of myself now, and ashamed of Aida. I, who at that time only knew five prayers that I rarely even left, acted as if I was the most virtuous man in the world by inviting a girl to marry without dating. I who teach alone still rarely dare to speak as if I am the most knowledgeable man in the world who can guide Aida into a woman of prayer.

“*Pun so with men who want to get a sholihah woman, he will also try to be sholih first.”

“Come to his father and ask for his blessing. God willing, there is no girl who does not melt if picked up in such a way, sir*.”

And all I can do is take a deep breath when suddenly Mr. Ridwan's sentence a few days ago again ringing in my head. Our chat about a soul mate made me smile wryly before opening my desk drawer and noticing a black box and opening the little box. Watching for a silver ring inside that I had never taken out nor touched since the last time I put it in this little box six years ago.

“Who is actually the most worthy to wear this ring?”

A silver ring with a small jewel on it. A part-time work ring I bought for Aida seven years ago. A silver ring that the girl had worn for a while before Aida's parents returned the ring to me a week after Aida's death. And this was the first time I touched and took the ring out of the box after six years had passed.

I forgot how many times I had thought about the girls I thought would replace Aida wearing this ring. It's just that none of the many girls who approached me managed to make me fall in love like I fell in love with Aida.

“Do I have to propose to her?”

To pick up in a noble way. And I have never known a better and nobler way of picking up a partner than by going to his guardian and begging for his blessing. But, would the girl accept a proposal from a common man like me whose religious knowledge is still so shallow?

“Or should I just give up?”

And if I give up because I'm too afraid of the rejection that I'm worried about, then where else should I look for someone like her and hope I can fall in love like I fell in love with her?

Isn't everything just two possibilities? Accepted or rejected. Everything is just struggling with that. And giving up is not something I want to take now. Let me think later that the girl's decision will either accept me or reject me. Right now I just want to try to pick her up to be my halal partner in the best way I can currently think of.

“Assalamu’alaikum, ma.”

This is the first time I have felt so confident about the decisions I have made in my life. That's why I took a deep breath when across there I heard the voice of my mother raising my call.

“Today Sunday tomorrow Gibran will return to Jakarta, ma. Not long, maybe only three or four days.” In my head I even started to have a conversation that I would have with my father and mother about my decision.

“There are a few things Gibran wants to talk about with mom and dad.”

* * * * *