Heart Fragment

Aqiqah Hadziq

mmDering the device screech, making both my eyes instantly blink. A warning from the alarm I set. It was almost three in the afternoon.

Nayla is still asleep. Fatigue, maybe. I put the blanket up a little, covered her body. The hair covering part of his face, I gently brushed while whispering, "thank you, honey."

I'm shuffling down the bed. Go to the bathroom, wash your feet. My eyes caught a red stain on the bed sheet. I smiled amusedly, it was so nice. I told you no, God's answer is never wrong. She's a good girl.

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In the guest room, there are still many invited guests who arrive. Most of those who had been there this morning were unable to attend the reception.

I saw Mamah and Nayla sitting side by side. Welcoming the majority of the guests. From where I stood by the door, I could see my wife blushing in shame. My gown and veil were worn this afternoon. She, the more she looks so beautiful.

I threw a smile at him, occasionally giving a flirtatious blink one eye. I saw her cheeks meet red. Makes me back into a rage, wanting to, ah, you know!

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It seemed non-stop all day guests came. But that's okay, shouldn't the good news be celebrated with joy? I saw Nayla even though she looked tired, she was still trying to enjoy it. Smile at all the invitations that come.

"Assalamualaykum," the voice of greeting sounded from the doorway.

My heart suddenly shook. That voice, that familiar voice in my head. I turned to follow Mamah's gaze which began to be full of question marks.

"Dad?"

The man walked quickly towards me. Hugging tightly with the sound of sobs being held. I who was still surprised to see his presence, suddenly became blank did not answer his greetings.

"Sorry Dad, Van. Father ... Dad," the sentence is stamped. Her crying was more domineering. The man who betrayed me and Mamah is now coming to my wedding.

I should how? The heartache was still clearly felt, especially the bruise, he once made it on my face. But ...

"Thank you for coming" I said at last, patting Dad on the back. Whatever this hate is. Still, he's my own father.

"Father not long, you may live happily," he said. It was obvious that the voice was shaking, either sincere in heart or just pretending. But, I'm glad to hear that.

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One year later.

"Let's spit it out, haduh!" Mamah. Hit me on the shoulder many times. Makes me not at all concerned with driving.

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"Sick, Mas, O Allah, Sakiiitt, Allah ..." Nayla groans in pain. I hold her hand tightly. She will soon give birth. Our first baby.

Oh God, how painful it is. Repeatedly tilted to the left, to the right, supine, all he did to reduce opening pain.

I'm panicking. I really can't bear to see it at all. She was struggling on her own, giving birth to a baby. Kusap. I hope to give him a little relief. But he was an anarchist.

Biting my hand, squeezing my hair, tugging at my shirt. Oh, my God, he's in so much pain.

Want to be angry but not angry. Wanting to cry to see his condition, but he himself was crying without pause.

So it is true, why the Prophet obliges to put Mother first than anyone else. A Mother is even willing to risk her life, for the birth of her beloved baby.

I can only support. At the same time, pray. That Allah may facilitate their labor. He also gave us safety for our baby. His grip is getting stronger. I can feel that he is really struggling.

"Let's Mommy can, zest come on, push her grandpa out ..." The midwife who helped with the delivery encouraged Nayla.

"Aaaarrrrrggghhh!" Nayla screams. Following the baby's crying.

"Ooooweeeeeeeeeee..."

I immediately bowed in gratitude. Praying for the successful delivery of Nayla.

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All the relatives and the invitations have gathered. The KBM mothers are again involved in the cooking procession for our son's aqiqah. Muhammad Hadziq Al - Khawarizmi.

I saw some who were also looking at me. Their job is to cook in the kitchen. But, ah, you know. Devan mah ngartis! Hence fitting as soon as entering the kitchen, mothers on hysterical lines.

Holy hooch! You KBM mom! If not nguping, ngintip yahh jeerritan.

But I like it! Thanks, I've been following Devan's story all along.

Greetings dear always.

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