Being Married to My First Love
Announcement of New Works
Assalamualaikum Warahmatullahi Wabarakatu Hotel,
Bismilbornrahmanirrahim, arabic,
The author thanks for the support of all the friends who have followed this story from beginning to end, the author is grateful that Match With My First Love finally finished too. Thank God, the author is very happy to finish this story. May it be entertaining and useful for those who read it.
I as the author apologize if there is anything less pleasing to the storyline that drains the heart and tears or slow Updatenya. It is also because the author must divide time with real life which is also dense. Many shortcomings from me, sorry 🙏🙏 please to be informed because the author is only a regular human who does not escape error.
Make friends who deign to be able to stop by the author's latest work entitled I'm a Qualified Old Virgin. Support please. Thank you 🙏🙏💕💕
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Spoiler Chapter.1
"Syifa, please deliver the cake to Umi Syarifah's house, son!" pinta Rosalina with her daughter.
"Well, Ma," replied Asyifa obediently.
"One more Syifa, don't forget to close the front door? Mama's gonna wash the clothes in the back!" rosa exclaimed as she walked to the back with a basket of clothes containing her dirty clothes and also her daughter's clothes.
"Yes, Ma!" answer Asyifa.
Asyifa then took a large crackle bag containing several Ontbijtkoek boxes that must be delivered to customers. Ontbijtkoek is a typical Dutch spice bread, made from rye, then seasoned spices such as cloves, ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg, then sprinkled with slices of almonds on the top.
Ontbijtkoek used to be a breakfast cake, but with the development of the times it became a snack cake during the day and afternoon. Armed with a recipe taught by her mother, Rosalina sells Dutch cakes to survive.
In addition, Mama Asyifa also helped Fatimah's grandmother sell cloth in a cloth shopping center shop that was not far from where she lived. Fatimah's grandmother was an old widow of Arab descent who was considered like her own grandmother.
Asyifa did not really understand about her family background. However, as far as he was still in the womb of the mother, he had lived hitchhiking in the house of Fatimah's grandmother, a village that is often called the Arab village. Most of the inhabitants are of Arab descent.
The ancestors of these Arabs came from Yemen. At first they came to Indonesia to spread the religion of Islam while trading spices. The city government placed the Arab population in one area to make it easier to identify.
In addition, their residence is also bordering the palace environment. The house of the courtiers and the Arab village are separated by a large, towering wall built since the Dutch occupation.
However, as the development of the present-day population of Arab descent, the descendants of Chinese and natives mingle and respect each other.
Asyifa put the cake in the bicycle basket. Then he immediately went up and pedaled slowly. This customer order cake is quite a lot, because it is to be distributed for Friday prayers. Then he must be careful so that the cake can arrive in the hands of customers safely and nothing less.
The ten-year-old girl was humming while pedaling her bicycle through the narrow alleys in the Arab village housing. His long blonde hair seemed to be waving when blown by the wind. Plus her pure white skin, as well as her grayish-colored cornea made her look different from other girls living in the area.
Cring cring cring.
"Assalamu'alaikum, Umm Syarifah!"
Asyifa rang the bell on her bike and said hello to the owner of the house outside.
"Wa'alaikumussalam," said someone then opened the door.
Umi Syarifah from behind the door.
"Syifa yes, thank you, son!" he said, taking a large plastic bag from a bicycle basket, then putting it on the living room table.
"Here's the money, please give it to your mama, yes!" abugn.
"Yes, Ummi. Thank you!" assyifa said when receiving money from the ummi Sharifah, then put it in his pocket. "Nafisa, is there Ummi?"
"Ahead of school Fisa immediately played in the neighboring house. Just try looking in the back alley!"
"Okay, Ummi! Assalamualaikum!"
"Yes, Ummi!" he answered while returning to ride a bicycle to his house.
However, in the middle of the road he meets Nafisa who is playing with her neighbors.
"Shyifa!" call Nafisa.
Syifa stopped her bike and turned to Nafisa with a smile. However, suddenly Nafisa's friends whispered to each other and forcefully pulled Nafisa. Nafisa looked at Syifa with a heavy heart. Until they get away and go into one of the houses.
Asyifa looked sadly at that. Asyifa could feel if they did not want to play with him.
"They don't like you, so don't expect to play with them!" someone said.
Syifa looked back, looking at a girl who was the same age as her. An indigenous child who is also crossing the same path.
"Come, go home!" said again.
"Where do you know if they don't want to play with me?" ask Syifa.
"I passed them as they whispered to each other. They won't play with you because you're a bastard!" bluntly said.
Syifa gasped at the words of the girl who blatantly said that to her. Syifa immediately climbed back on her bike and pedaled her quickly leaving the place.
Ari Syifa's eyes unceasingly hatched while remembering the words of the native child just now.
Because you're a bastard! Because you're a bastard! Because you're a bastard! those words kept ringing in his mind.
While passing through the alley that became the border between the two walls that separate the palace area and the Arab village, at the other end saw a boy walking with a large backpack.
Syifa rubbed her cheeks in embarrassment to look like she was crying. However, tears just kept flowing from her beautiful face.
The boy looked at Syifa with astonishment as Syifa passed by. However, they did not greet each other because the first time they met. Syifa ignored him and continued paddling until she got home.
Syifa got off the bike and ran towards Fatimah's grandmother who was sitting in front of the house. Syifa hugged her grandmother tightly spilling her grief.
Fatimah stuck a needle on the shirt she was sewing by hand, then placed it on her left side.
"What's up, Syifa? why is this beautiful granddaughter crying?" ask grandma.
"God, is Syifa really an illegitimate child? they don't want to play with Syifa because Syifa's a bastard, Nek!" syifa said with a sigh and sobs that kept flowing on her cheeks.
"Who said it?" ask grandma.
"Kids of the neighbors of the Syarifah, Nek. Nafisa's friends," he said.
"All babies are born holy, and so is Syifa. Don't cry already. If they do not want to play with Syifa there are still many other children," said Fatimah's grandmother.
"Grandmother, where is Papa Syifa, Grandma?" ask Syifa who never got an answer every question it was to her mother.
"Syifa, when you grow up, you'll understand why your mom didn't tell you, son. Don't ask your mama that, will you? Syifa doesn't want to make mama sad, does she?"
"Yes, Grandma!" answer Syifa.
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