Assalamu'Alaikum Love

Let Me

Gibran

It rained again in February. I don't know when exactly the geographical climate in this country became so ambiguous. As far as I can remember, when I was in elementary school, the rainy season division was October to March, and that means February has no rain anymore? But in fact, this morning the rain has still come down hard since dawn. Makes me piss for the umpteenth time once my outlander sport has been parked in the parking lot of building one. Not annoyed by the rain that fell in the morning, but upset to realize again I forgot to put an umbrella in my car.

“Padahan already remembered to bring the umbrella.” I muttered as I opened the car door and ran from the parking lot to the terrace of building one.

“Do not bring an umbrella, sir?” asked a woman who had been standing next to me for some time and watched me remove the remnants of the water that had soaked my hair. Namira's mother, a lecturer in risk management courses who looks so well mannered with a wide headscarf and yet I see this woman teaching in trousers. The fact that again reminds me of that pale yellow girl.

Rain and the girl named Faza, I don't know when those two things always make me melancholy like a girl. Since the first meeting at the entrance of the campus hall a week ago? Or long before that?

“Lupa, bu.”

“Means it's time to find the person who always reminds to bring an umbrella, sir.” Seloroh Namira's mother who made me lose my words and ended up giving him a strange laugh. Just last night Rudi made me cringe because of his ridiculous proposal about matchmaking for me, and now Namira's mom is also talking about the same thing. Geez, now I really feel like a pathetic bachelor who hasn't found a potential woman to make a wife at my age of 28.

“Still not able to move on from mbak Aida, mas?” even suddenly the question of Renata, my younger sister whom I had heard before I left for Surabaya a month ago was like being twisted in my head. The conversation that was originally just about my sister's relationship with her boyfriend ended up with Renata who kept looking for me with questions about my romantic life.

“You asked unnecessary things, Nat.”

It is true, in fact Renata Wibisana knows very well for how his older brother who is like being trapped in the compartment of the past with his late future wife. That's why I just took a deep breath without answering Renata's question with a yes or no answer. Renata even knew how desperate I was a month after Aida's death until I even resigned from the job I just got. I realized very well how my sister was worried about her brother so often Renata cried because she saw my condition.

“It's been almost six years, mas. I'm also sure that Aida doesn't like Gibran's mas continuously like this.”

Again Renata was right, I shouldn't have been moping around for years after Aida's death. But again I did it instead of moving on and looking for a replacement job. I need to do it because that's how I'm enduring the pain I felt from Aida's departure.

“Mas knows, Nat.”

“Lantas what makes Gibran hesitate?”

What makes me doubt? Of course because for six years since Aida's death, I haven't met a girl like my late wife. Not once have I met a girl who made me unable to turn away like I was unable to turn away from Aida Restanti. I was still waiting, until the moment I met a girl who was able to make me unable to turn away when I looked at her.

Not infrequently I smiled bitterly to laugh at myself every time I looked in the mirror and looked at the shadow of a cowardly man who failed to move on who hid behind the figure of an adult man who looked so calm. Not once did I curse myself so weak that I was unable to rise from the pit of grief after Aida's death six years ago.

Six years, and six years I never stopped looking for justification for all my cowardice. I always say ‘not ready’ whenever there is a girl who blatantly expresses her feelings to me. Again, I was just looking for excuses and justifications in the hope that I would not hurt the feelings of all of them. Even though by rejecting their feelings I actually hurt the girl's feelings. I just keep making ‘pain’ and ‘heartbroken’ an alibi for all the rejections I gave the girls.

Heartbreaker

In fact, I did feel a great heartbreak when I learned that Aida could not survive the accident she had six years ago, and died just two months before our marriage.

Not only was my heart broken, but it was broken so that I myself could no longer recognize its shape. Although my parents, Renata, repeatedly told me that everything that happened between me and Aida was destiny, but still a broken heart cannot take such advice.

And I know that all is God's destiny and plan. My meeting with Aida at Sekre Hima seven years ago, our meetings after that, even until I confidently proposed to Aida, was all God's destiny. Even so with the accident that Aida experienced to take his life. It was a fate that God wrote for me and Aida Restanti. Merely, I am still too difficult to accept that fate.

“Good day,”

It was as if the memories of Aida, the words Renata, as well as the unrelenting rain were not enough to make me so melancholy on my second Monday teaching at this campus. Even at this moment, just a moment after I entered and said my greetings in front of the class, my mind was again confused by someone within that class. Well, I'm exaggerating it sounds because that person just kept quiet and answered my greetings before returning to focus on the book in front of him.

Aulia Faza

I don't understand why, but it feels like the girl's existence really bothers me. It's not disturbing in the literal sense, it's just that I have a hard time myself if I have to give a description of my feelings every time I teach in his class or whenever I see them accidentally.

Like there's something I should be able to explain, but my brain is too reluctant to do it.

* * * * *

I've heard people say that something that has stuck in the past can be very disturbing and even frustrating on its own. And I think I should justify the words of those people even though I'm actually reluctant to admit it. Indeed, sometimes there was a time when I became a Gibran Wibisana that was so melancholic when unknowingly something from my past suddenly appeared without command.

But this time, even since yesterday, since my teaching hours in class A3 semester six of the Islamic management study program ended, my feelings have not been out of whack. Not bothered because the students made a tantrum and ended up pissing me off half to death. Not because of that. They are obedient students and sometimes adorable with their behavior and behavior.

But I'm upset about something I don't even know what to call. It felt like something big was bothering me, but I couldn't even see the big thing myself. Well, I admit that the existence of Faza Aulia in that class has a big contribution to the feeling I feel right now. Ah, again I feel defeated by my own students.

“I think all the cardboard has been unpacked.” I muttered half annoyed when I found a large size cardboard that could somehow lie just inside the warehouse in a condition still tightly closed. Well, instead of going for a walk or just killing time at a coffee shop to distract myself, I'm tidying up my modest home because I don't have a teaching schedule today.

“What the hell is it?” ask myself like a stupid man while opening a cardboard box after taking it out of the warehouse.

I remember when I moved from Jakarta to Surabaya last month, there was a lot of cardboard that the courier dropped from the truck that I rented. It's just that I didn't know that there was one of those boxes that had been lying dormant for a month. Well, maybe that's why I feel like I've lost some of the stuff I believe I brought from Jakarta.

“F.A.Z.A.”

I was just about to pull out a stereo speaker when my attention was distracted by a red folding umbrella whose color had faded. Not on the actual umbrella, but on a wooden handle of light brown color where there are rows of letters from black markers. A row of four letters that made me undo the intention of reaching for the speaker and instead observe the folding umbrella.

“Faza? Actually how many people named Faza in this world?” and after I messed up yesterday because of a girl named Faza, now I actually found a folding umbrella with the name FAZA in the cardboard stored in my own home warehouse.

“Wait, who does this umbrella have?” obviously if this umbrella is mine then I will name it by my own name instead of naming it by someone else's name.

And I was just about to ignore that worn umbrella when something inside my head just suddenly twisted. I remember that this umbrella was not mine.

“Red umbrella.” Kuraih returned the umbrella I had placed in the cardboard and observed the row of names once again. “Why can I forget something as important as this?” I was frustrated when I realized why the umbrella was named F.A.Z.A and how it could be in the cardboard stored in my warehouse. Of course because this umbrella belongs to the girl named Faza whom she lent me four years ago.

Well, I remember now. I had just arrived at Cepu station after travelling from Jakarta to arrive at Blora. It was December and professor Himawan asked me to be his research partner at Blora. December, the month where the rain in Blora looks more scary than the rain in Jakarta.

“In a hurry huh, sir? Please use my umbrella, it looks like the rain will still fall until afternoon.”

A young girl I guessed was still in high school who confidently called me ‘pak’ and offered me an umbrella. A young girl with a red-brick headscarf who looks cute while smiling and assures me that her invitation is coming soon and I can wear her red umbrella.

And I, either because I was in such a hurry because Professor Himawan was waiting in the campus auditorium where we were going to be presenting for our research, or because I was too surprised to be called ‘pak’ at my age of 24. I confidently received the umbrella that the girl offered without bothering to ask where I should return this red umbrella. Feeling the girl in the red brick veil keep watching me who broke through the rain and ran towards the terminal. I only realized my stupidity after sitting in the back seat of the bus that would take me to a college where Professor Himawan was waiting for me.

“Very good. Where should I return this umbrella?” I asked myself at that moment. Realizing that a Gibran Wibisana can also do this kind of stupidity. At that time I just thought about how to get to the campus immediately and not to be late, without bothering to think about where I should return the red umbrella. No way ‘might I wait for that brick-red veiled girl at the station like a fool?

But in fact such a feeling only lasted a little while because afterwards I was so busy thinking about my research with professor Himawan and the revisions and monev that we often do.

I quickly forgot the red umbrella and also the red-brick veiled girl. Forgetting the thought of where and where I should return the umbrella. Even until I returned to Jakarta the next two weeks, I no longer thought about the red umbrella. I did bring the red umbrella back to Jakarta, it's just that I went back to ignoring that thing as if the red umbrella that saved me from Professor Himawan's rampage was an invisible object lying on a bookshelf inside my private room.

“Sorry because I forgot your kindness, Za.”

My mind while taking a deep breath once again.

And strangely, it felt like something was lifted from my heart that had been so disfiguring ever since. So, the reason why I was so bothered by the girl's existence was because of this umbrella?

“It is fitting that I feel familiar when I first met you.”

Of course, because in the past me and the girl had met even though I only had a few seconds to look at her face.

Four years ago, in December at Cepu station upon my arrival at Blora. A young girl in a red-brick headscarf who was only for a few seconds, but had managed to steal my attention. The young girl who stole my attention for a few seconds but I forgot about it for years.

And we were reunited four years later at a college where this red-brick girl and the girl with the red umbrella was my student.

I knew it was too early to conclude that my second encounter with Faza, as well as the strange feeling I felt every time I met the girl was part of our destiny. But is not all that happens the way that God has prepared for His servant? And so was my meeting with Faza Aulia four years before this, and our second meeting two weeks ago.

* * * * *