USTADZ
83. Go home

Syahla still silences Ustadz Amar even though he is currently at the airport to return to Indonesia. Despite the silence of his wife, Ustadz Amar still prepared all the needs of his wife with full attention. Moreover, this time the eighteen-hour trip will be passed by his wife alone, clearly he felt he had to prepare everything as much as possible.

"Wife, are you sure you want to go home by yourself? America's trip to Indonesia is a long way off. Not to mention having to transit to several countries. Are you sure you can be alone?"

Shahla snatched her suitcase from her husband's hand, then she nodded lazily. She was still angry at her husband, even now to look at his face was not willing.

Shortly thereafter, an English announcement was made telling passengers to get on board. Syahla immediately dragged her suitcase and prepared to leave. But Ustadz Amar first held his hand.

"Be careful. Call me anytime. Don't think weird. I'll be there any minute."

Shahla listened to her husband speak without turning back. With a long sigh, the girl then released her hand from the grasp of the husband, then stepped forward without looking at him at all.

Ustadz Amar looked at his wife's departure with mixed feelings. He felt sad, but also angry at himself for making his wife angry.

"Wait for me there, Shahla." whispered Ustadz Amar lirih.

...----------------...

Shahla enjoyed her eighteen-hour journey with more silence. Although this was his first experience on a plane alone, he felt no excitement at all. Her mind was busy rewinding the painful memory when she caught the husband with Dasha.

Recalling that made his chest feel tight. As a result, along the way, Syahla quietly cried. He did it secretly because he did not want to disturb the passengers who were next to him. But, no matter how he held back, still his sobs were heard by the old woman sitting beside him.

"Son," the woman handed Syahla a handkerchief. "Are you okay?"

Syahla was surprised to hear the woman's words. First, he was surprised because his cry was heard. The second, he was surprised because the woman with a typical European face could speak Indonesian.

"Thank you, Grandma" Syahla received the woman's handkerchief. "I'm sorry I bothered grandma."

"Ah, no problem." The old woman shook her hands. "When you're your age, grandma cries a lot more. So, cry as much, grandma won't forbid."

Shahla smiled at the grandmother. His heart was warm from getting the attention of someone he didn't even know. "Sorry grandma. If you may know, what is a native Indonesian grandmother?"

"Why? grandma's face doesn't look like an Indonesian, does it?" the old woman chuckled while holding her own face. "These grandmothers are native to Indonesia. Ori! My grandmother was born in Yogyakarta. It's just that, the parents of the grandmother are not native people there. But, the citizenship of the grandmother remains Indonesia really,"

Shahla nodded her head. "fast. Grandma seems very fluent in Indonesian. So, now grandma lives in America or in Indonesia?"

"Five years ago, my grandmother moved to America because she wanted to take care of her parents who were sickly. But, one month ago they were dead. So, now the grandmother wants to quickly return to Indonesia because the grandchildren have been waiting there. You wanna see no?"

Shahla nodded her head enthusiastically. The old woman then took a photograph inside the bag and showed it to Shahla.

"Yes son. They're beautiful, right? They used to be five years old, but now, maybe they're fourth grade. I can't wait to see them in school uniforms."

Syahla smiles at the eyes of the grandmother who looks sparkling talking about her grandson. "If grandmother's husband? Still in Indonesia?"

The old woman was silent for a moment hearing Syahla's question. Taking a deep breath, the woman said softly. "Three years after our marriage, the grandmother's husband who worked as an Army soldier was sent to the battlefield. Then after that, grandma never heard from him again."

Shahla was stunned to hear the grandmother's answer that she did not expect. "Ah, forgive me Grandma. I don't know."

"It's okay, son. It was hard at the time, but now she chooses to cherish all the memories she has left with her husband. Although it was short, grandma was happy because it was happy. Therefore, now grandma wants to appreciate the time together with the people who grandmother loves. You also have to be so, son, cherish time with your loved ones, before it's too late."

Syahla. The woman's words pierced right in her heart. The phrase about loved ones made him instantly think of Ustadz Amar. Ah, he's so sorry now. He should first listen to the husband's explanation and not immediately make a hasty decision. But, it's too late. He only hoped that the distance between them could correct all these misunderstandings.

...----------------...

Ustadz Amar entered the classroom in a hurry. Then quickly, he immediately pulled Dasha firmly, forcing her out of the classroom.

"Mar! Release him! it hurts!" yelled Dasha who was not touched at all by Ustadz Amar. It was only when they were out of the classroom and in a quiet place, that Ustadz Amar released his grip.

"Mar, what the fuck? Why are you being rude to me?" Dasha held onto her flushed wrist.

"I should have asked. What the fuck? Why did you invite my wife that night and create a situation that made her misunderstand?" Ustadz Amar clenched his hands tightly.

"I don't understand what you mean Amar, I'm not—"

"Don't dodge!" Ustadz Amar punched the wall behind Dasha with his bare hands. His face was red and held in anger.

"Don't pretend. You think I didn't know that you had intended to disturb my wife from the beginning? What's your plan, huh?"

Dasha's breathing sounded up and down. To be honest, the girl was very frightened right now. All this time he had never seen the anger of Ustadz Amar so mounting, let alone this time to use his fists to bluff.

"I.. I did it out of envy for your wife, Amar.." Dasha stuttering. "I want to be in your wife's position. I want to be loved by you.."

Dasha then ventured up her head, looking directly at the cold male bead before her.

"Amar, can't you see my sincerity? Even if you can't make me the only one, I don't have a problem. I can be your second wife. Doesn't the religion you belong to allow that? I can convert to Islam if you want Amar. As long as you can be mine."