Hot Couple: Inspiration From God (I Love You, Ustadz!)
My Heart Port

"When...why is this so, anyway?"

"Sorry, Mas.But I'm sorry."

"Please, Bill, think again."

I'm shaking. Only able to hold his sight.

"We eloped, huh?"

Whahuh?

My head was straight at hearing that sentence spew out of his mouth.

Insults. He tried to strip my pride with those words. Degrading me as a woman.

"You want to, right? There is no other way. Maybe that way our love will be blessed. Some of our parents...."

I shook my head, I did not accept that she would degrade me as a woman by asking me to elope. He never even came to my parents. He could have backed off without actually facing my parents first. I'm standing. "Sorry, Mas. But I don't like cowardice like that. You don't respect my dignity as a woman."

"Bil, it's not that." It also stands. "How else? We both know that...."

My bike was almost done, I went to him. "Sorry, Mas. But I'm not ready. Excuse me."

"Hey, hey, don't be, when...."

"Mas... enough...."

"Please, Bill. Yea? We're talking about this-"

"Forget me, Mom. Okay well? I'm sorry."

But, beyond my expectations, Mas Imam suddenly pulled me into his arms. I who was shocked immediately tried to avoid. And, in the turbulence at the same time, I pushed him with all my might. But...

Tum!

"Bila...."

My inability to keep my body balanced made myself bounced and thrown onto the shoulder of the road. At the same time, a speeding biker hit me from behind.

Be ill. My head hit hard. The world seems to be circling great. Blood came out of my head and seeped into the light green veil I was wearing, and, my right arm was sore, covered in blisters from the street cement that tore off the arm of my uniform.

"Zahra."

"Mas Inspiration?"

"Calm down, calm down" he said, calling around to call an ambulance.

Seconds later, people were swarming around us. Ustadz Ilham examined my hands and my head, and I saw a lot of blood on his palms. Gently, he turned my face to the right and left to check for any other injuries. Despite trying to be so calm, but worry was not erased from his face. I could even see there was a deep fear he felt.

"Hold, Zahra. Hang in. Help will be here soon. I believe you're a strong girl. I'm here, Zahra."

In the chaos, the voice of Mas Imam was also heard, maybe from earlier he was near me, but I did not pay attention. I know, he was worried about me too. Maybe also feel guilty. And I know, also fully aware that he didn't mean to hurt me. This happened because I avoided her embrace.

In the distance I could hear sirens. Sounds weird. Loud and thunderous on one side, quiet and almost muffled on the other. The words of Ustadz Ilham began to appear-sink with the voices of those in the background.

My head's dizzy. My chest was tight, and it felt like I was starting to lose consciousness.

Umi's... Abi....

My eyes were closed - - with the faces of my parents last reflected in memory.

Somehow long, the next time, when consciousness pulled me back to real life, the pain in my head came back.

"Zahra."

"Zahra, can you hear me?"

I opened my eyes slowly. Face visible. He approached closer and stood next to me, looking at me with a warm and joyful smile.

"You're sober? How you feeling? Shall I call a doctor?"

Those words triggered my awareness of where I was at the moment. And, the infusion tube, the breathing apparatus, then the machines that rung next to me, as well as my condition lying weak in the patient's bed confirmed that I was being treated in the hospital.

I'm shaking. "Well," I said. My throat was very sore, painful, and I also felt uncomfortable because of the oxygen that entered my breathing apparatus.

"Sorry, yes" he said as he lowered my oxygen-draining mouthpiece and nose, then apologized once more before touching my head, helping me hold my head up as he gave me a drink.

Relieved. My throat is like embers of fire doused in water. While laying my head on the pillow, I tried to remember what happened while Ustadz Ilham sat down next to my bed and corrected the position of the breathing apparatus on my face. And I realized, my head that was fitted with bandages was not covered with hijab.

"My veil?"

"Your head is hurt. Bandaged."

"But...."

"It's okay. I'm...."

"I believe you."

"Em, I'm your future husband, right?"

Geez, I had to hold back my laughter. They do not see the conditions and are not on time. But, yeah, that sentence isn't a joke either. "Inshaallah," I said.

"Aamiin, be kind, can slip a little into your heart."

I smiled, although I was joking, but I admired his persistence. "I think you've occupied that place completely."

"Emm?" Ustadz Ilham stunned himself. "That's, Zahra? Sori, I mean.. Did I not hear wrong? You're serious, right?"

I nodded my head slowly, and held my smile again. "So soon meet Abi and Umi, yes. Halt me."

Blissfully. A sirat full of love and a grateful smile emanated on his face. "definitely. Thank you, Zahra," her voice was slow, and hoarse, and she whispered to me, "I will soon be preaching to you."

I'm nodding.

"I'll tell Abi, yeah. He still has business, he was here. And Umi comes home first, she says she wants to get a change of clothes."

Again. I'm nodding. It must be his destiny. She was the last one I saw before I fainted. And now, when I woke up, Ustadz Ilham was also the first one I saw by my side. Accompany me here.

It is impossible to regard everything as a hint from the Almighty. But I want to try to believe: if God wills, then everything will happen according to what He says.

He was a near perfect young man. Even from the first day I knew her, I could not see the slightest reproach that made me have to reject this matchmaking. She was too perfect.

"Mass?"

"Emm? What's up?"

"Saranghaea. I love you."

Oh my God, he smiled, and his eyes glazed over. Is that how sweet this love is?

A special love. In a simple way, but it has all the flavors. Like I said before: more than that, he has my full respect.

"Saranghae, Salsabila Azzahra," his voice grew hoarse. "I love you. And soon I'll have you with Bismillah. I love you. I love you so much."

And at that moment I realized my mistake all along, that the Imam was just a name. He is not necessarily capable of being a real priest. And vice versa in my view, Inspiration is not just a name. He is an inspiration capable of believing, and a priest capable of inspiring. Inshaallah, I believe, he - Inspiration from God.

I love you. Thank you, one love in three languages. And to you, I will heal my heart completely.