The clock on the dashboard showed 4:30 a.m. Western Indonesia Time. The sacred call to the dawn prayer was beginning to ring out from the loudspeakers of a mosque beside the road he would soon pass. So absorbed in the whirlpool of his own thoughts, Arya had barely realized how far he had driven—and that he was about to cross the boundary of his hometown, a city he might not be able to visit again for a long time, in accordance with Rama's absolute orders.
Reflexively, Arya slowed the public minibus. He turned the wheel and parked in the courtyard of the modest, shady-looking mosque. The muezzin's call to the dawn prayer embraced his fragile soul, making Arya's chest tremble violently.
He turned off the engine and lowered his head over the steering wheel. Word after word of istighfar escaped his trembling lips, accompanied by regretful tears he could no longer hold back. His feelings were a tangled mess of suffocating fear, confusion about the future, and profound guilt when his eyes turned once more to the tiny baby still sleeping peacefully in the wooden crate.
“No human being can help me right now except the One who Decides and the Greatest Helper. Only Allah knows what is best for the path of my life. If this truly is the fate I must bear, and if I truly am destined to care for and raise this baby, then I will do it with the utmost responsibility, no matter what happens in the future!” Arya murmured softly to himself, trying to steady the fragments of his heart that had briefly been shattered.
After managing to convince himself, Arya wiped the remaining tears from his face. He nodded slowly—a gesture affirming the biggest and riskiest decision he had made since asking Rania to become his wife. With steps that were somewhat heavy but certain, Arya got out of the public minibus and walked toward the ablution area. The cold water washing over his face and limbs seemed to sweep away some of the heavy burden weighing on his shoulders.
Inside the quiet mosque, Arya prostrated himself in surrender. He poured out all his anxiety, fear, anguish, and helplessness before the Creator, who held control over every breath of every human being.
“O Allah, my Lord, forgive all the failings, mistakes, and weaknesses of this servant of Yours. I promise You that I will care for this baby with all my heart, love her, and protect her from danger until the end of my life. May this decision be the best path, one that earns Your blessing. Grant me guidance, perseverance, and ease as I endure this most difficult trial....”
After pouring out his entire heart in sincere prayer and surrender, Arya's chest felt far lighter than before. A profound calm slowly crept through his soul. His steps felt much lighter as he crossed the mosque courtyard to return to his public minibus. And the thing that soothed and touched his heart most deeply when he opened the vehicle door was seeing the baby girl's peaceful face. Amazingly, the tiny baby was still sleeping soundly, looking so serene, untouched by the chaos of the world around her.
As he drove the public minibus back at a slower, more relaxed speed, a new scenario suddenly occurred to Arya. What if he went to the nearest police station and filed an official report? Arya even began arranging a series of seemingly plausible explanations in his mind: he could tell the officers that he had accidentally found this crate containing a baby abandoned by the roadside in a deserted area while driving his public minibus in the middle of the night.
The more he thought about it, the more that scenario felt like an ideal way out, free of moral guilt. Seeing the baby's innocent, guileless face, Arya's conscience was deeply moved. No matter how well he cared for and raised this child, wouldn't the presence and love of her biological parents still be something no one could ever replace?
Besides, Arya tried to imagine the situation reversed—if his own future biological child were forcibly separated from his arms, surely he would be utterly devastated and never be able to accept it. His instinct as a man who would soon become a father began to completely take over his common sense.
Yet the spark of hope and enthusiasm that had just burst brightly to life in his chest suddenly went out. The shrill ring of the cellphone in his pants pocket shattered the silence inside the public minibus. The screen lit up, displaying the name “Rama.”
With his heart suddenly pounding and his hand trembling again, Arya pressed the green button and held the phone to his ear.
“Don't ever even think about going to the police station or involving the ‘authorities.’ You still clearly remember your promise to keep this secret, don't you? Remember, Arya, I'll always be watching your every move and action, wherever you are!” Rama's voice threatened from the other end of the line, cold, emphatic, and commanding, before the call was abruptly ended, leaving Arya no chance to respond.
That brief, terrifying call seemed to confirm one undeniable fact: Rama knew—or at least could accurately guess—what was going through Arya's mind. There was no hidden escape route, no back door through which he could flee.
Arya realized that he truly had to raise this baby girl with his own hands, and his conscience could no longer bear handing the fate of this innocent baby over to strangers. The final decision had been made and locked into place. Now, only one great and urgent mystery remained for him to face as soon as his public minibus stopped in front of his house: Rania.
Would his wife be able to open her heart and embrace the presence of this unfamiliar baby amid their financial hardships? Or would this decision instead become the beginning of a new storm in their marriage?