Accompanying First Love To KUA
The Part 10

The Pov 3

Afternoon.

Hot burning earth, a girl steps towards a bus that routes to the Old Lingga. Every now and then his hand moved, something happened. Sweat or maybe tears.

His chest is injured. Finding the heart to be with others.

"Be careful, yes," said Fattah, his cousin. "It's money for Dad. Say, I can't go home yet." He handed over a few hundred thousand bills to Zira.

"Yes, Mum." 

Those lip-polished lipstick forced a smile. His eyes were then wasted in all directions, scanning for vehicles coming in and out of the terminal. So that the teary eyes are not caught by the interlocutor.

The bus driver took Zira's suitcase to the back seat.

Embedded in despair, extinct promises ever built.

"Love can end at any time, brother. Then make the promise as simple as possible, because the promise we made before halal was a mirage. There is no beautiful promise but a promise before Him." So said Fattah earlier while still at home, advising Zira. To be strong his heart accepts farewell with Ajmul.

When entering the prayer time Ashar bus stops at a restaurant, the passengers get off to perform prayers. 

Cold water washed my face.

.

"Yes Khaliq, no one comes and goes but under Your watch." Zira held up her hands, honoured her.

Then he folded the prayer mat and mukena. 

"Mas Khabab!" His mouth suddenly called out a name when he heard the chanting of holy verses. The person who was doing the same thing beside him looked at him in wonder.

Is that really the voice of Mas Khabab? Ah, where is it possible. He's, right, another village. Zira brushed off her prejudice.

Zira knows the voice of Khabab because the girl had heard the young man teach while teaching private children in the house of his uncle Zira. Zira taught English, while Khabab taught religion occasionally, if anyone asked. 

One day there was a child who asked Khabab to complete a piece of verse. Khabab reads while looking for it in the Qur'an.

Zira's inner strength says it's Khabab's voice, he tries to find the source of the voice.

"Sir, the bus is leaving." The middle-aged man, the manager of the mushalla commemorates Zira. 

"Oh yes, sir, thank you," he said with a smile.

It turns out that only Zira feels, there is only a man sitting near the pulpit there with a fat posture. Zira turned around, coming out of the mushalla. 

The atmosphere that was hot now began to dim, pale clouds hanging on the horizon. 

"Excuse me, Ma'am, my sandals."

Zira who was bending over tied her shoelaces slightly shifted.

Ting ....

Zira's phone rang. There was a message coming in from Fattah.

'Ra, you just go home by yourself, Khabab no one has been to the city yesterday said Mother.'

Zira quickly turned around, combing through the visitors of the mosque and RM beside him.

Is that really Mas Khabab? Back he is entrenched.

Want to try searching again. However, it's too late. The bus is leaving. He doesn't have time anymore.

.

Arrive at Lingga Lama at half-seven p.m. Zira stood there for a long time. The rickshawman had offered him a ride several times, but he refused.

"Sir, where are you going?"

"Keumala Village, Mas."

"It's so up here, let me take it between."

"No need, Mom."

"Not getting paid is okay. Instead of sitting there at night, it's not good virgin. Night should be at home." Zira was lectured by a pedicab boy. 

"Eh, that's not it, Mas, plan to take the bus again."

"But instead of just getting off, Keumala village can not be reached by bus, Ma'am."

"No, Mom, I want to go back to town." 

"Oh." It's bearded. "Well, that can be asked directly, it seems like it's about to leave again." Show it to the blue bus. Zira asked. It turned out to be true, he was going to go in the direction of Zira's destination.

The rickshawman left before Zira, "Mas, wait!" exciting Zira. 

The man looked astonished at Zira's call. "What, Ma'am?"

"Mas, please take this to this address." There was a suitcase and a piece of paper containing the address of his uncle's house. The money given by Fattah has been put in the suitcase, "later say the same that received this item, tell it to open directly because there is a fast rotten item in it," Zira said.

The pedicab attendant nodded in understanding.

Zira was like that, quickly trusting people. It could be that the rickshawman did not deliver the title. However, Zira did not think so.

"Sir, it's still a long time to go, isn't it?" He looked towards the driver.

"Yes, ma'am, about thirty minutes to go." The bus driver replied while glancing at the window.

"You see, I pray for prayer."

"Yes yes, please." A small towel is placed over the shoulder.

.

Zira's cell phone has been dead since this afternoon. Want to contact Fattah can not. His eyes scanned around, hoping that someone would lend him a cell phone.

The night air was very cold, he glued the body in a sweater. The window glass is tightly closed.  The lights on the side of the road are moving. There's laron-laron dancing in the dim light. Soon, a pair of neutrals belonging to the graceful girl who was tired of looking at him all day fell asleep.

For a moment, a whack of taste flew.

There's no straight story, all meandering. Be it a love story, a household, a friendship, or even a dream. 

God created these twists so that we know how to be careful. If life is too straight, then we will be spoiled. Even if it is too meandering, the heart will be hard, with loud chattering is common. Build it between straight and winding.

Do not be too happy when tasting the sweet, also do not be too sad when tasting the bitter only. There are times when God mixes them in a cup. And we'll smile and enjoy it. 

On the way the bus broke down, all passengers were forced to disembark. Surrounding the oil palm plantation, they sat by the road while waiting for an invitation from another bus.

There was only one house, but it went inside. Outside hanging petromax lamp.

"Mom!"

Zira was stunned as someone held onto her shoulder. Directly shifted. "Where are you going?" ask Zira again.

"You go to Jubang." Zira responded without looking. His heart is not calm.

"From?" 

"Cheumala, Old Lingga."

"Oh." A moment of silence, there was only the sound of night crickets and the snoring of other passengers sitting next to Zira. They sleep with their hands on their knees. 

"I am Azis, our goal is the same."

Zira did not answer, her hands continued to repel mosquitoes that tried to perch on her skin. Although wearing clothes that are quite thick, still the mosquito feels like it has a needle piercer that is so strong.

"What's the need, Ma'am, in town?"

"Find a soul mate," he said perfunctorily.

The man beside her laughed. "Find a soul mate why should it be in town, Ma'am? There are many in the village as well. I even went down to the village to find flowers."

This time Zira just turned her head, "Mas, have a cell phone?" he asked, "can I borrow it?"

Azis immediately reached into his pocket and pulled out the phone and handed it to Zira. Quickly the tapering hand typed in Fattah's contact. However, several times the calls were ignored. In the end, Zira decided to send a message.

'Maas ....' Zira had not had time to complete his sentence, the phone screen was already dark. Lowbet's.

Huft, annoying. If that was my phone I threw, the girl nodded.

The bus that picked them up came. Due to lack of caution when riding the bus, Zira almost tripped.

"Sir, sleepy, huh?" ask Azis. His hand spontaneously held Zira's arm. Zira was embarrassed too, and he quickly walked away. Towards the front seat. If it was noon, then it already appeared that his face was flushed with embarrassment.

The night was very late, the round object that was wrapped in Zira's hand had shown at two in the morning.

In the bus it turns out there are two teenagers just entering adulthood, if college may be just the first semester. After them, passengers can not sleep with his singing that occasionally tucked jokes.

"Sister, can you sit here, can't you?" One of them approached Zira. The young man named Azis continued to pay attention to Zira.

"Can, please."

The guitar strings are again plucked now singing Afgan song For You I Survive. I really don't know the condition of the teenager. Zira's broken heart the more it is destroyed.

   Calm down, my beloved

   I know your heart is crying

   Be brave and believe

   All this must have passed

   Although it won't be easy

   But you're not alone

   I was right here

....

Seriate