The End of the Waiting

Comfortable Start

A cold chill mixed with the scent of dew invaded the sense of smell as Amara strolled out of the hut breathing fresh air.

Since her arrival, Amara has not been out.

At five o'clock in the morning the sky began to look bright, already many residents who passed by started their activities.

Amara followed the path and observed the surroundings. On the right and left stretches of rice fields overgrown with rice and other produce.

Although this is not the main road, but it is wide enough and becomes a connecting road to the village residents.

After being satisfied enough to enjoy the natural beauty that spoils the eye, Amara returned to the cottage and headed towards the pendopo.

“Where to, Mbak?” ask Aisha who passed by him.

“Streetings in front.”

“Mbak Mara must miss the atmosphere outside, huh? Later in the day I want to go to the market, want to come along? Maybe you want to drop something,” said Aisha with a radiant face.

“Whatever can?”

“Bby, Mbak. Origin already permission first.”

“Oke, I'm coming. But later Umi Rahma permission first,” said Amara agreed.

“Good, Ma'am. Excuse me first, yeah. Assalamu’alaikum.”

“Wa’alaikum salam.”

Amara continued her footsteps. Sometimes he teases children who are playing. He looked at all of them who were smiling and happy despite not having parents.

At least Amara should be grateful for still having complete parents and being endowed with a decent life without any shortcomings.

Have parents who love him and become a place to complain.

Look at!

In front of his eyes were many disadvantaged children.

Sometimes we always look up and compare life to people who seem happy. However, we never look down where there are still many others whose lives are not better.

Whatever the course of his life, always be grateful for what is given. Isn't pleasure not always about happiness? Still given a breath until this moment is also the pleasure of God.

That afternoon Amara had just returned from the market together with Aisha. A considerable distance, hot weather and riding a motorcycle made sweat splash on his forehead.

Aisha laughed at Amara who looked exhausted.

“Mbak Mara never ride a motor?” ask Aisha.

“Early, school time first. But it has not been a long time,” replied Amara while regulating her hunting breath.

Depending ability.

They split up in the yard. Amara returned home, but she frowned in surprise when she found no one at home.

The situation was so quiet, there was no sign of people making Amara choose to go straight into the room.

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Amara, who had just finished bathing and praying, immediately went down intending to the mosque. However, when he got below he heard that someone was chatting in the living room. He paused his footsteps in disdain, but was already summoned by Umi Rahma who happened to pass from the kitchen.

“There are guests, Umi?” ask Amara.

“Iya. There is a family of Mr Ahmad Arsalan. They are also from Surabaya.”

Amara just nodded. Surabaya is vast, although both in the same city not necessarily they know each other.

“I want to go to the mosque but I'm reluctant to go through. It's okay, Umi?”

Umi Rahma smiled, then seconds later shook her head slowly. “You can pass, it's okay. Come forward with umi,” he said.

I don't know why Amara felt such a strange sigh in her heart. Like there was a gust of fresh wind seeping through his body.

His footsteps hesitated a little, he walked slowly and reached the living room. His head was still lowered without looking at who his guests were.

“Oh God, what a beautiful creation of You.” The heavy voice of a man made Amara look up.

There were four people including Ustadz Yusuf who sat on a single sofa. Among them was one of the men who seemed to be young.

“Assalamu’alaikum.”

Amara smiled as she said her greetings. Her cheeks blushed for being the center of attention.

The deg!

The gaze of Amara and the young man fused for a few seconds before the man finally lowered his head.

There was a strange sigh that shook the hearts of the two. An ambushing foreign feeling in the recesses of the heart.

God, what is this?

To Be Continue ....