Fall of Dream Pesantren (Move WRITE)

The woman was named Icha

The man woke up, when he looked to the right where the source of the sound appeared. It turned out to be the voice of the woman who was originally sitting next to him. Now, the woman is no longer in her seat and is in the hands of a pickpocket who hides her face behind a black slayer. The pickpocket only showed a few eyes.

The man looked around him. Some passengers were reluctant to help the woman, either because there was no social value in them, whether they were afraid of a knife used by the pickpocket to threaten the woman with a red hood. Highlight the pickpocket's eyes as if to signal danger to someone who will derail the action.

The sturdy-bodied man stared at the pickpocket with a look of anger. He clenched his jaws, his blood had gone up, his emotions had reached the maximum limit of seeing the holy woman treated like there was no price.

“Bukk..” His kick was right about the pickpocket's right waist which made him fall.

The woman immediately ran and took refuge at the end of the carriage.

The pickpocket was already standing with a knife ready to be used to stab someone who was fighting him. He immediately threw his knife at the sturdy man. Many times he could avoid it until at the end . . .

“Crat..” Blood came out of the man's left shoulder.

The man groaned in pain and immediately replied to the pickpocket knife with a crushing blow to the heart. He quickly snatched the pickpocket. He showered her with a punch with one hand. The pickpocket had briefly risen but the speed of the man's blow left him with a nosebleed and immediately blurred before the train door closed again.

The man returned to his seat. He saw the pickpocket being beaten up by the passengers without mercy. His pain could not defeat his courage to help the woman who needed help. The knife he pulled out of his hand.

“Mas okay?” The woman was sitting next to him as before.

“Nothing.” He said while closing his eyes withstanding the pain caused by a knife stuck in his left shoulder

“Let me treat first.”

The woman took out the P3K equipment from her backpack. At first he cleaned the blood attached to the left shoulder of the man which resulted in a discoloration of his originally white cocktail shirt to red. The left shoulder of the man is wrapped in a bandage and tightly binds him in hope that the blood does not return. He anesthetized Ammar with anesthesia so that no pain felt Ammar when he sewed later. After the anesthetic reacted, he stitched Ammar's wound slowly.

The man was astonished. It turns out he knew his name.

“Lho?”

“Sorry before. Last time your card fell while kicking the copet earlier, keep me taking.”

“Nothing really, just call Ammar.”

He is usually called Ammar when he is in the scope of the village of Cemandi, his village where he lives.

 “My name is Icha, greetings know.” He cupped his hands to his chest.

Ammar was a little embarrassed. He rarely talks to women like him. Once also when he was discussing political problems with a woman who also has a level like Icha, he was so groggy that he made him laughed at by opponents of his discussion. But that was then, maybe now he had forgotten about the incident.

“Greetings.”

“By the way, thanks ya.”

“It is the duty of every Muslim to help others, Ma'am.”

The two sat quietly until Ammar fell asleep. He was so exhausted after blood flowed profusely out of his body plus completed a college assignment that forced him to stay up all night. He didn't feel like sleeping a day last night. The sound of the train could not disturb his sleep. He slept

“Tut..tut..tut.” The train keeps on going.