The Soulmate Must Meet

Episode 16 - Like Rain Water on Banana Leaves

I knew Subhan in a market, while buying daily necessities. Usually Khodijah and Aisyah come to the market, but not today. They are being pursued the task of memorizing the first juz of the Quran. Unable to accompany me, I hurriedly went to the market.

At first I did not pay much attention to him, but from earlier he was beside me was sorting carrots. Funny also a man shopping in the market, without any shame or prestige. I mean to take a carrot that emanates a very fresh color, uh, it turns out he also took the carrot that I was after, my hand accidentally came into contact with it. There is a strange vibration in the chest, perhaps this is why a Muslim should not come into contact with another type if not a muhrim, because these stresses may occur.

“Make you nih!”

He held out the carrot to me. I smiled, trying not to scratch and scratch the carrot.

“Nothing, just take it.. There are still many other options,” he said again.

Indeed in this basket many fresh carrots, Cirebon city close to the beach and mountains, vegetables, fish and also spices never lack, cheap.

“Create Aang only,” I replied.

Subhan put the carrot in my shopping cart. I call him Aang, if in Jakarta it means Brother. The atmosphere of the market here is shady, although a lot of people shop, however, it is clearly seen the hospitality of traders and buyers. How I enjoy shopping in a traditional market like this.

“Call only Subhan.”

“My name is Graceful.”

“Anggun?”

Subhan looked at my face, I looked down, it was not good that a woman was not a muhrim for too long looking at men.

“It looks like you are not a native of Cirebon.”

“I'm from here...,” I lied.

“No way, your speech is not the speech log of Cirebon.”

I realized that the people of Cirebon do have their own dialect and language, it would be easy to detect if not the original Cirebon.

“Sorry... I..”.

“It's okay, if you want to hide your identity also for me it doesn't matter.”

“Oh not so... I..”.

“Because we don't know each other yet, right?”

Subhan's question was my answer. Yes, I don't know him yet, although he wears a skullcap, a cocoa shirt and a sarong, but not necessarily a good person. Suspicion still lingers in me, for I am used to living in the city, where people are always suspicious of new people.

I'm down again.

“I from the boarding school cottage Jambu.”

Suddenly my face lifted, I was surprised by what he said. This is the first time I have known that Subhan from the boarding school of Kut Jambu.

“Yang right? Then we're one cottage, I'm also from there.”.

“Oh yes? How did I just see it here, huh? Mmm... usually santri-santri women do often shop here.”

“I've only studied there a month.”

“Oh..”

For a moment we were silent, I tried to divert the atmosphere by paying for the weighed carrots, then stepped in looking for tempeh, tofu and a few pieces of chicken. Subhan followed me, even though we were still quiet.

Usually we cook in the cottage, I, Khodijah, and Aisyah alternately cook in the kitchen provided at the back of the room, in addition to more economical, healthy food, as well as we learn to cook, as well as we learn to cook, because women must be able to cook, they will be a housewife, feed the children and husband, although being a career woman, still the husband will miss the cuisine of a wife.

That's what Masriyah said. Being a woman is amazing. She can work outside like a job that is also done by men, but living her nature as a woman is the most expensive value that can not be replaced with anything.

These eyes were incessantly watching Subhan, spending too much, I had no idea who it was for.

“Ran yes? It's for dinner,” he said.

“What's Aang Cook?”

“Of course, do not suppose men can not cook..”

“Ya... usually it is.”

“If santri is different, it should be versatile.”

This time I felt comfortable chatting with Subhan, he was open so that it made me not feel stiff. Maybe this is what Khodijah meant, that a woman should not look stiff in front of men, should be able to build an atmosphere in chatting, not easily restless, let alone suspicious.

“Originally where did ya?”

“I'm from Jakarta.”

“Wah... child city dong! I'm a village person, never been to Jakarta.”

“I swear, I've never been to another city. Graduated from Aliyah, straight to the guava cottage. Most viewed Jakarta from TV. Said flood, jammed and many disco.” places

“Ya so..”.

“Means you often dong to disco place?”

Questions that made me choke. Whatdoes thatmean? Is it because I live in a glittering environment, that I follow the rhythm of his freedom? Ah, there was just this word he said. Or, may he deliberately provoke my patience, or want to investigate my identity?

“I've never even known a place like that.”

I'm down.

“Hehe, not everyone should know the place soan.”

As it turns out, Subhan is an open, outspoken man. He is a santri, but his association is broad, his knowledge is broad, he seems to read a lot and pay attention to the circumstances around.

“I also don't mean to accuse you of frequent discos. In Cirebon alone many places so, and not everyone is happy so. We are lucky to be a santri in the village, not a student in a big city.”

“I'm also lucky to get here.”

Unknowingly, we were already walking out of the market. The weather is cloudy, some street vendors are improving. And it rained straight down, Subhan pulled my hand, took shelter on the edge of the shop, not in Jakarta or in Cirebon, the shops were built to add to the economic increase of the surrounding population.

The rain falls to the ground, the splash hitting the end of Subhan's holster and the end of my robe. For a moment we said nothing, just enjoying the coolness of the rain, the cold wind of the mountains piercing the bones, the beauty of the rain in a city surrounded by hills and mountains.

Never had I felt this way before, my eyes did not see the traffic jam here, instead I just saw school children running around looking for shelter, most of them wearing headscarves, the situation is reversed in the city. When I was there, I was the only one wearing a hijab in class. While in Cirebon, young women have been wearing hijabs, as if hijab is an obligation in association. And it would be strange when women don't wear hijabs. Here, the hijab is not a trend, but has changed into clothing days that are considered mediocre.

“Remember SMA time?” ask Subhan.

I'm shaking. “No... only..”

“Want back to SMA time?”

Subhan cut my words, already repeatedly he cut my words. He was obviously excited to know what was going on in my mind. Or indeed this is a way for men to attract women. Being a pretentious person in the mind of his interlocutor.

“Sometimes we do have a sense of wanting to go back to the safe period. For example, when Junior High School, we want to be children again, when High School we want to go back to Junior High again, when we graduate school, we want to go to school again. Maybe even, if we are married instead want to go back to work and be free to do whatever we like. Maybe because the burden of life is getting heavier, so we want to go back to the times that never thought of the burden of life.”

“To his side, huh? Do you often think so?”

“Of course, everyone must be so.”

The rain is getting heavier, if things like this, maybe until the rainy night will never stop. I was restless, Khodijah and Aisyah must be waiting for me at the cottage, they would be anxious if I came home before the magrib. They must have thought that I was lost, after this one month I just came out of the cottage alone, usually I go with them. I don't know why I want to feel alone outside the cottage.

“Tickness kok?”

“Have started maghrib.”

“Oh... You rest easy, soon there is public transportation!”

That's what makes anxiety, public transportation in this area is limited, usually until five in the afternoon is no longer there, while the clock in my hand has shown at five past ten minutes. However, Subhan is very confident there will be public transportation, maybe it's good that I also believe in him.

“That's it!” Subhan pointed to an angkot.

Then he stopped the public transport, and we got on, sat in the back seat. There were only four passengers, a grandmother and a small child, possibly her granddaughter. To be sure they were also new to shopping from the market, the little boy was holding food.

There are no words that come out of Subhan, his mouth is locked, is it possible because there are other people here, so keep the speech so that there is no slander? Or, is he embarrassed to talk to women in front of people?

The sound of rain falling onto the roof of the car, the sound of noise, making me feel more anxious, now my anxiety is the gateway to the princess santri area, whether it has been locked or not? Hopefully Khodijah tells the picket officer not to close the gate just yet. I'm sure he understands this kind of situation.

While Subhan did not look agitated, it seemed like he was used to going home late, usually people who like to break, never cared. It would be very worrying if I was seen with a male santri by Ms. Masriyah. There is a strict prohibition on the boarding school of Jambu not to be alone with male students for a long time.

Public transport is slow, crashing into the rain. Like a storm, the wind also blows hard, the streets are flooded. This angkot driver relaxed by listening to dangdut songs, as if the rainstorm was his friend. A friend who accompanies him at all times at work. This angkot driver is old, his car is also butut, maybe he has been a driver for decades, but there is no anxiety or fear. The people here are very strong, they resigned to what they get and live, as if everything was God's will.

“In front, left yes Bah..,” said Subhan.

“Here, Ang...?” ask the driver to make sure.

“Iya..”

The car stopped at a closed bamboo shop. Sebrang the gate of the Pesantren hut Jambu is still open. Gratitude in my heart echoed, I will not be questioned by the Bamboo cottage. We immediately went down, and took shelter in front of the closed bamboo stall.

“This can be soaked!” Subhan.

I was just silent, indeed to cross to the front of the cottage gate quite far, while the rain was still very heavy. Subhan stepped to the side of the stall, he cut the largest and widest banana leaf.

“Come!” bring him.

At first I hesitated to take shelter under the leaves of the banana tree, and ran across the road. But there is no choice, it will soon be dark. Slowly I shifted, jerking with Subhan, then we stepped together across the street in a banana leaf.

This heart is pounding erratically, there is pleasure mixed with fear. Astarghfirullah…