Destiny Behind Satir | Tebuireng Online

My name is Naila. I am the final santri in a simple boarding school located at the end of a small city in Jombang. I am known to have two personalities, sometimes extroverts, sometimes introverted. I am known as a santri who diligently recite the Koran and most often lead prayers after the Koran Mukhtarul AhmedAlthough sometimes I overslept when reciting the Koran.

However, no one knows, behind my craft SEPARATED On the stairs, there is a deep secret.

Honestly, I’ve fallen in love. Not to Ustaz, not to friends, but to someone who according to human logic may be impossible. He is the Kiai driver. His name is Mas Ilham. He rarely spoke and even always bowed his gaze when passing through anyone.

However, the way Mas Ilham treats kiai cars such as caring for a very large mandate, his gentle attitude to the children of the cottage, his hobby in congregation, and his willingness to be a priest when the kiai is medium actionMakes my heart slowly melt. Coupled with the memorization Mutqin And the sound is very beautiful.

That feeling just grows. Quietly, and in silence. Only me and God know.

However, I realized, I was nobody if I had to side by side with Mas Ilham. Even though he is “only” a driver, he is a good man whose kindness is often a topic of conversation in the cottage. Many crave it.

“How could I be married to him …” I muttered one night while staring at the sky from behind the window after the evening prayer.

Slowly, I began to stop hoping. Not because I don’t love, but because I realize: Love must be handed back to the owner of the heart, the Divine. So I decided, I had to improve myself.

I began to get used to getting up at night more often. Not just because I want to be an arranged marriage with him, but because I want to love God more than anyone. I learned to be sincere, refrained, and curious writing his name in the line of my prayers in one third of the night, not in a chat secret with a roommate.

But that’s life. We plan, God who wants to over everything. God always has His own way of knocking on the hearts of each servant.

****

One day, my body collapsed. My face is pale, my body temperature is high. Ustazah called Kiai and Mrs. Nyai to see my situation. A few minutes later, I was carried into the car. And behind the wheel … he. Mas Ilham. People I secretly like.

Along the way to the hospital, we didn’t say much. But I know, he glanced several times to the rear view mirror, watching my heavy breath.

Arriving at the hospital, Ustazah accompanied me to the administration. From a distance, I saw Mas Ilham sitting in a waiting chair, watching my weak steps. When I sat, suddenly he approached, opened a plastic bag, and put a box of bread, milk bear brand, and milo on the table next to me without a word.

A few minutes later he said softly, “Later when it’s better, the bread is eaten, with her favorite drink Ms. Naila.”

His voice was soft and careful. He did not dare look at me. But in my heart, there is warmth that I feel, far warmer than the blanket of this hospital.

I? Don’t ask. Only able to nod slowly, without sound.

Since that day, the old feeling I took in as if it appeared again. But this time, I’m calmer. I know, I don’t want it anymore. No longer hope for his love. I just want the love that the divine blessed.

****

A few weeks after I recovered, I was called Kiai after the Koran on Tuesday.

Kiai said, “Naila, you’re a santri who I already trust. After finishing school, I will marry you first, yes, then continue to study at the cottage. Later I will make a house here too, while helping me and my mother. Your parents have also been pleased and match my choice and mother.”

“I will marry you with santri here. A person who is both my mother and I believe will be a good and pious husband for you,” he continued.

I was silent. Then Kiai mentioned one name, the name that made my heart beat fast: Mas Ilham. The person I have been loved in silence.

My world seemed to stop. I almost cried. My eyes are hot, my heart is abysmally. This is … not a dream, right? I almost asked, “Why am I?” But I chose silence. In the heart, only one sentence crossed: “O Allah, you all -hear.”

His twist plot, it turns out that all this time Mas Ilham also kept the same feeling. But, like me, he chose silence and continued to improve himself.

We also married at the At-Tanwir Islamic Boarding School, Blitar. Cerdat and simple, without a big party. After a month of marriage, I am very grateful because many kiai are here to pray for our sacred day.

A year later, we decided to start a new cottage, after being sent by Kiai Najib. We built a cottage on the outskirts of small villages, far from the city. Initially only three santri, but for the blessings and blessings of knowledge that we practiced, the santri began to arrive.

Alhamdulillah, our cottage grew. Not because we were great, but because of the prayers of parents and teachers who bissed everything.

****

Now, I’m no longer a santri. I am a mother, wife, and caregiver of Pondok An-Nur. While Mas Ilham, my husband, a kiai driver who used to only see from behind the window of the cottage, is now a priest in every prostration of my prayer.

We are not perfect. But this is our struggle, staring at life on the path that we pray for together every night.

Because the real match is not about who is the highest dignity in the world,
But who is the most serious to improve itself, and gives everything to the Almighty.

Now I believe, God is the best writer of the love story of each of His servants.

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Writer: Wan Nurlaila Putri
Editor: Rara Zaryry