Lightly Longing

Probationary Period

"Yes, I know that, Ta. How about we get Siri married first."

"Isn't siri? You're crazy!" yell frustrations. Siri marriage is justified in religion, but women are harmed. What laws guarantee Siri's wife's life? Nothing, nil in the eyes of the law of his position.

How many women have been victims of Siri marriages. In fact, the artist alone demands his right to be recognized cannot. Moreover, I am a nobody. Obviously I strongly oppose Mr. Arbi's proposal.

"So, how's it, Ta? Getting married now you don't have the files, do you? After all, if you marry siri you still have time to think. Whether this marriage will continue or not. I'll never run away from responsibility, Ta. All decisions are in your hands, Ta."

"Who said I didn't bring the file? You know very well, in your bag is my divorce file. Only the status on the ID card that I haven't had time to change."

"So? Your decision?"

I glanced sharply at Mr. Arbi. I was also confused as to what decision I should make. Married legally and state or only religiously.

"Ta," he called again which made me take a deep breath.

"Em, for tonight we're doing a deal. Give me a week to think about everything. If you're worthy, then we'll continue this marriage."

"So, I'm still on probation?" asked Mr. Arbi who was curling a smile after struggling with me for a while.

"Hem," I replied lazily. The girl named Aisyah smiled. Then they walked away leaving me behind. They seemed to be whispering and then fighting tos. They look excited.

"You ain't no muhrim, are you?" I asked who felt excluded. Mr. Arbi actually embraced the girl who made my eyes wide open, with me he never was. Heh!

"He's my brother, Ta. We are muhrim and it is halal" he said, turning to look at me.

"Well, why didn't you know from the beginning. I thought she was a santriwati here."

"Hehe. I just want your expression, Ta. It turned out to be jealous, haha," he said with laughter. I grumbled and passed them both.

"Sister Ananta, wait!" call Aisyah who I returned just by looking over for a while and taking a quick step.

Mr. Arbi was still heard laughing out loud. I want to feel like I'm stuck in his head. Just be careful if he asks for rations tonight. Ustadz kid or kiyai or whatever it is.

How many times this lip it's sosor. Aisyah was by my side. He hugged my arm, as I stared at him who was struggling spoiled. This is the first time we met.

I'm trying to pull my arm, the real uncomfortable. But, Aisyah actually held it tightly. He stole to look at my face.

"Sister Ananta is beautiful, yes. It looks like Ariel Tatum" he said, which made my cheeks heat up for his praise. Who does not know Ariel Tatum, who photographed his ID card he was beautiful.

Compared to me .. Far, far away is actually the difference. My lips are thin, cheeks slightly rounded, eyes sharp. Indeed, when one glance, there is a slight resemblance. But I'm ashamed to call it that.

"Obviously different, Aisyah. I'm just a abuse-seeking woman, unlike Ariel Tatum whose path is already so expensive," I don't want to be complacent.

"But it really looks like you, sister."

"Therefore Brother chose Ananta's sister over the others."

We turned in unison towards Mr. Arbi who was walking with us. Next to her hand in her pants pocket, I grumbled at her.

"Hehe. I'm not following along" said Aisyah who raised her palms while grinning the horse.

Mr. Arbi chuckled for a moment. We were greeted by Kiyai Samad and a few people beside him.

"Where? Are you ready?" the question leads to me. I nodded slowly, though hesitating. Before everything happens, I don't want to cover up my widowed status.

"But, Kiyai. There's one thing you should, you know."

"What?" ask everyone compact, including Mr. Arbi. Everyone looked at me questioningly, I was like a suspect being interrogated in a stuffy room alone.

"I'm a widow, Kiyai."

"Oh, it's okay. What's there to worry about?"

"Isn't Islam teaching you to marry a virgin?"

"really. But in the letter of Al-baqarah verse 235 which reads, 'And there is no sin for you to ask those women,] with insinuation, or you hide (the desire to marry them) in your heart. Allah knows that you will mention them, in that you shall not keep the promise of marriage with them in secret, except to speak (to them) the words of ma'ruf. and do not judge (severe) to have a marriage, before the middle is finished, and know that Allah knows what is in your heart, so fear Him, and know that Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.”  

I was stunned to hear the words of Kiyai Samad who was not at all against his son to marry a widow like me. Is not the Prophet of Allah advocating to marry a girl who has never been involved in marriage?

"Marrying a widow is not forbidden in Islam. In fact, Prophet Muhammad himself had twelve wives, and most of them were widows. Where is it, his fault? Your idda time is over, right?"

I nodded slowly, my eyes still unable to escape from this old man. Usually, most parents will forbid their children to marry widows. However, in contrast to him who so openly welcomed my presence.

"No problem then. Indeed, the Prophet preferred his people to marry a girl or virgin. But when God has brought love, he will make love eternal."

Aisyah gently swept over my shoulder. He guided me to enter the house in the boarding school, although not far away. The building with the same paint, only a few meters away.

The mosque is in the corner of the pesantren. Kiyai and the people who followed him walked to the mosque, followed by Mr. Arbi. The clock shows the time of Ashar.

"Assalamualaikum," said Aisyah who was immediately greeted by middle-aged women with blue hijan. He smiled as he looked at me.

"Vaalaikumsalam. Come in, son," welcome him warm. No one asked about me. As if everything was arranged in such a way.

"It's tonight, isn't it, Shah?"

"God willing, so, ma'am," answered Aisha who walked into the kitchen.

"Alhamdulillah, finally I have a ghost too," he said again with a big smile and a little misbehavior because of joy.

"Sorry, yes if I like to stop by Gori like this. It's so sweet," he said again who was holding the back of my hand. "Until you forget, let's sit."

"Thank you, ma'am" said I, who was sitting on the sofa. Lots of photos on the wall. Mr. Arbi and Aisyah are quite far apart in age.

Seen there, when Mr. Arbi graduated from high school, his mother was pregnant. Mr. Arbi smiled broadly at the photo.