Lutfi Gilang's

3. The True Muslim Reign

i

I got to the house of ba'da 'Isya.

At home, I immediately found my Mamah's face that remained unchanged: anxious.

"Where? Lutfi have you met?"

I shook my head in a doldrums. Then I lay my body on the couch.

"So I met Zaqi?" ask Mamah.

"Yes. Mama told me, huh?" I'm turning back.

"Yes. Who knows if you'll eat."

I muttered. "Kok, can you tell me again in the swamp?"

"Lutfi told Mamah once, he said besides Menganti, there is a special place for you" he explained arguing while putting a glass of warm tea on the table. "Drink first, you can't get sick. I'm gonna have to go back tomorrow, right?"

I nodded, obeying his orders.

"Who's asking for help?" Mama re-connects the previous topic.

"Temen who have taught at MTs Lumbir, Mah." I replied.

"Cut cement, is it?"

I'm shaking. "There's someone to call. Maybe change the number."

I heard Mamah breathing heavily. "You're patient, huh? God willing, there is still a way."

I'm nagging.

"There's fruit in the fridge, Mamah just bought it. Eaten up, change your energy that's already in the air."

"Thank you Mah" I said as I tried to smile.

"That friend knew Lutfi for a long time, as long as you knew him." Mom approached and stroked my head. "You're sure, Lutfi didn't leave because of anyone else."

I signaled in agreement.

"If Mamah were to become Lutfi," he said as he stepped towards his seat. "definitely give him another test."

"Deedies?" I'm nanya.

"Yes," he nodded as he sat down, "a test of how strong your love is to him."

"My love is strong, Mah."

"You're telling me again don't just ngeyel!" emphatically.

"Sorry Mah,"

"Lutfi's message is gone, you're hard to say about it."

I was getting more pensive with my head down.

"Liat Mama! Mama's the one talking, not the floor!"

"Yes Mah" I obeyed his commandment guiltily. Guilt over all the wrongs I ever made to Lutfi.

I know, I've changed enough lately. But I'm sure the wounds I've done to her will continue to scar even as hard as I try to erase them with a memory of happiness.

As with the paper that has been squeezed, as hard as you try to tidy it up as before will still look like the traces of the squeeze.

"Deliver" call Mamah.

I faced my Mom's face, staring hard at me. "You remember, you were wrong with Lutfi?"

I'm nagging.

"Say."

"But, Mah...."

"Say name! Mamah said," he snapped.

I swallowed spit. "Please online malem-malem.." I said stammering.

"Otherwise?!" yells.

"Chatan with another girl,"

"Oah... Your father's twin!"

"So, too, Mah?" I was trying to shift the topic at once. It feels so bad instead of exposing your own mistakes to parents?

"Do not bother! Especially?!" his snapping was adamant about taking away all my mistakes to Lutfi.

I catch my breath, obey his word. "Snap, rage, ngeyel, lash, lighten up."

I saw Mamah shaking her head with a heavy breath, then exhaling her slowly. "So, you remember all your faults, right?"

I'm nagging.

"You think, with you apologizing for getting better, that's enough?"

I was stuck hearing his words just now. I do consider it that way. The mistake will be paid off after it has changed completely and apologized.

"That's not enough! The woman likes to be fought, likes to be chased."

Once again, I felt my heart stirred to hear the words of Mamah.

"Well, so you should be able to fight your relationship with Lutfi. Pursue him until he gets. Search anywhere until I meet. Consider it, now it's your turn to make up for all your mistakes first."

I'm nodding.

"Yes, Mom, go home first. Poor you alone at home. Your father also seems to want to go home."

I nodded again, then drove Mamah to the front of the house and waited for him to leave using his personal vehicle: a motorcycle.

After that, I went into the room to search for files on things that women liked, like what Mamah had said. But I do feel the need for more information than just fighting, chasing, and searching. I also seem to have made such a book.

And about 5 minutes I scribbled on my personal bookshelvesthe rest were just my books—I found two books with the same title: "True Muslimah".

One is the first print, and the other is obviously the second print.

I kept the second printed book back, then took a seat at the side of the bed, and started reading the first printed True Muslim book I had ever made as a special gift for her. Him, Lutfi.

🌹🌹🌹

ii

In the classroom X-11 SMAN Purwokerto, 2010.

"Wake up!" lutfi exclaimed while hitting the table, forcing me to immediately move away from the wood.

I rise with lazy eyes. Rubbing my eyes, yawning, washing my face with both palms, justifying my school uniform, then facing her.

"The promise is broken!" ketus.

"Excuse me, it's a malem chasing deadline."

"Deadlines, deadlines. I told you, write the novel day or evening, don't be lazy."

"Well, yesterday was a job."

"Tasks? What errands?" He's nanya.

"Forgets?" I'm turning back.

"What, anyway? I didn't feel like yesterday you were doing an assignment. Well, yesterday there was no PR, anyway."

"There,"

"What?" ask Lutfi.

"What?" I followed nanya.

"Say!" snapped it.

"He," I laughed.

"By the way, uh...."

I grabbed the bag on the left side of the table, unzipped it and picked up a book with a hijab-wearing cartoon woman's face. Then hand it over to Lutfi.

"New book?" tanyakanya.

I don't agree.

"True Muslim," he said reading the title of the book. Then open the contents.

"So this is special for me?"

I'm nagging.

"Thank you" he said with a smile on his beautiful face.

"Together, may it fit and may it like."

He nodded, continuing to read the contents of the book even at a glance. Then back to staring at me. "I like, it contains tips about women. Some are based on the Qur'an and hadith, some are based on health, some are based on psychologists. I like it."

"Thank God,"

"Can I make this?"

"He, uh,"

"Where's the source from?"

I looked towards him inside and threw a smile.

Feeling understood I mean, he asked sure. "Me?"

I'm nagging.

"Times?"

"Yes,"

"I don't like you lying, anymore."

I grabbed the smart phone from inside my blackish blue backpack pocket. Pressing the button until it makes a sound. It was a recording of my conversation with Lutfi.

"Lt!" He took my smart phone. "Take a shot at recording?"

"Make a reminder,"

"What do you mean?!"

"Your support is important, it must be noted so that it is not redundant."

He muttered with a stifled expression.

I laughed when I saw his behavior that looked like that of a Kindergarten boy.

"But, I like it, he he he he...."

"Alhamdulillah, all the hard work paid off" I said.

He's nagging. Back to reading my book. "So, the Assassin novel isn't finished yet?" ask without facing me.

"Not yet, make that book first."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Two weeks,"

Lutfi looked at me surprised. "Much spades?"

"Yes, I didn't expect to make such a book so easy." I said confused myself.

"Yes that. That Assassin-like novel you said needs a lot of material. The language is also high, difficult to understand for the general public. I guess it's just for the big fans of the novel." he explained.

I don't agree. "Feed it over old deadlin. But still, I have to spend at least five chapters every month."

"Eagerness, huh?" lutfi finally said. "I love how you make Assassin novels, you will also reveal the history of Indonesian independence."

"Seriously?" I'm making sure.

He's nagging. "But forgot the title, he he he he."

I grunt. But say also: "Assassin's Creed - Resistance."

"Yes, the resistance, right?" He was nanya but his eyes were busy flipping through the books of True Muslimah.

"Yes" I replied.

About two minutes into silence, Lutfi suddenly asked me to read the passage he pointed at.

"Read," asked.

I grabbed the book, and read it. "....quarrels, not always be the destroyer of relationships. Sometimes, quarrels also provide new spices in romance, making your relationship with your partner more colorful. However, the common thing men do when fighting is to give up, even though it is something that women hate the most.—"

"Ga's horrors?" Lutfi nanya.

"Huh?" I'm turning back.

"'Relying is something women hate the most.' So, if there's any trouble later, you can't give up, okay?"

I chuckle at hearing it. "Yes,"

"Promise?" the door while sticking out the little finger.

I immediately wrapped my little finger around his little finger, the promise sign approved as he said: "I promise!"

Lutfi returned a smile, and asked me to continue reading.

"Fighting that occurs in a relationship, the woman will vent her anger for five minutes, and the rest is cramming.—"

"Well, well, well." said Lutfi again cut my sentence. "That's what you make, you know."

I grinned. I was confused by my own book. Indeed, I often do not believe in the books I have made if they are my own. I mean, it's really good. He.. praise yourself.

But, I'm sure, those of you who have read Danu Banu's work will agree with me. Anyway, if you don't agree, it means you're just jealous! He's....

"There is also written, if women like to be fought, like to be pursued, like to be spoiled, like to be given attention, and like to be given a surprise." added Lutfi. "And, whenever there's any problem, women aren't wrong. The wrong way, because it can not keep the situation so that it remains harmonious."

"Keep, if the woman's wrong?" I'm nanya.

"Yes, the wrong way, can't tell you the real thing first, anyway, so the woman is wrong." He explains.

"That, huh?"

"Yes, dong!" sengas excited.

I was just scratching my head.

"Now, you must bring this book. I'll buy my own book."

"Well, this is a surprise for you."

"More importantly you! You have to master all the contents, so you can be a dream husband."

I was surprised to hear his words just now. And seeing that I was shocked, Lutfi also did the same. As if she had just realized what she had said.

"He," I laughed.

"He he he," Lutfi too.

🌹🌹🌹

iii

Remembering the memory of that time, my heart ached, remembering that I could not do all the things I had written, which people from all walks of life could read.

I am ashamed of myself for not being able to be a dream husband, as stated in the book of True Muslimah I have written.

And, maybe, as Mamah said, that's what made Lutfi go away, that's what made Lutfi give me a test, that is what I must redeem as soon as possible by continuing to struggle to find where he is, by continuing to pursue the information where he is, by continuing to search for his existence.

I moaned, along with the book True Muslimah. Feel the ardent longing, heightened worry, and unsettled uneasiness.

Now, I'm moving to my desk. Prepare a sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen where on the side there remains a book of True Muslimah. I stared intently at the blue line in the paper, then began to dance a pen on it, to make a poem:

"*Go"

Passing, disappearing, gone

No more coming, no more coming back

Although waiting for so long

Life formula is like this

'If you meet, be prepared to part ways'

Are you so?

Even though you're my lover?

Your departure is painful

—Mail, 2018*