Mayra glanced at the wall clock, which showed half past two in the afternoon. She quickly got ready to head to Ustadzah Hana's house, where she would also teach the children in the neighborhood how to recite the Quran.
Mayra looked over her reflection in the mirror. She wore a blue abaya with a pink hijab draped over her chest.
Mayra couldn't help teach Quran lessons every day because of her hectic campus schedule lately. But whenever she had free time, like today, she made time to share her knowledge.
Mayra grabbed her crossbody bag and left her room. Mila was sitting on the sofa in the TV room with a snack jar in her lap.
“Where are you going, Sis?”
“To the mosque.”
“Huh? Weren't you going to Ustadzah Hana's house?” Mila asked, confused.
“Yes. I'll stop by Ustadzah's house before heading to the mosque. It's on the way. Want to come?”
Mila stared at Mayra in horror.
“No way. What would I do there?”
“Who knows? Maybe you could help teach the kids to recite the Quran.”
“Yeah, right. They'd run away if I were their Quran teacher instead of sitting quietly and listening.”
“True. You are pretty impatient with little kids.”
“They're such a pain. They cry over every little thing. Besides, I don't feel like going to Ustadzah Hana's house.”
“Why not? Mil, the two of them are our Quran teachers. We should respect them. We need to keep in touch.”
“Yeah, yeah, Ustadzah Mayra. I'll go there sometime, just not now. I'm afraid they'll try to set me up too.”
“Too? What do you mean?”
“Ugh, Sis, do you really not get it, or are you just pretending? It only took me one look to realize that Ustadz Fahmi and Ustadzah Hana are trying to find you a match. I don't want to be their next victim. I still want to be free and find a guy who fits my dream criteria.”
“Don't be suspicious. It's not certain that Ustadz Fahmi wants to discuss matchmaking.”
“Oh, please, Sis. Don't try to deny it. You must be thinking the same thing. It's just that your excessive respect for them makes you try to hide that suspicion. Just wait and see—you won't be able to refuse because you'll feel bad turning down their kindness.”
Mayra fell silent at Mila's words. She might not be able to refuse outright if Ustadz Fahmi and his wife asked her for something. They had always been so kind to her, offering Mayra precious advice that helped her remain patient whenever she experienced different treatment from her parents.
“See? Now you're thinking about what I said. Trust me, Sis, you're going to get set up.”
“I don't know. We'll see what happens.”
“But if he's handsome, go for it, Sis. Especially if the guy's filthy rich, too. Your life will be made.”
“Those are your criteria for a guy. For me, what's important is that he's of the same faith and knows how to respect women. Looks can be fixed. Money can be earned. Anyway, I'm leaving now. Check on Mom later, okay? She might need help.”
“It's fine. Besides, Mom's already recovered. She just needs to finish recuperating.”
Mila turned her attention back to the television, which was showing a children's cartoon. The girl's laughter could still be heard as Mayra reached the front porch. Mayra merely shook her head slowly. Then she continued toward Ustadz Fahmi's house, about three hundred meters from her own.
“Assalamualaikum,” Mayra said as she knocked on the open door of Ustadzah Hana's house.
“Waalaikumussalam. The one we've been waiting for finally arrived,” Ustadzah Hana replied, then held out her hand.
Mayra kissed the back of the hand of the woman who had taught her Quran lessons when she was little. In return, Ustadzah Hana gently stroked her head. The middle-aged woman wore the same smile that always curved her lips.
“Come in, May. I'll go get Ustadz.”
Mayra went inside and sat down on the carpet spread across the living room floor of Ustadzah Hana's house. Her hands clasped together. She felt nervous as she waited for Ustadz Fahmi to arrive.
“Have you been waiting long, May?” asked the middle-aged man, who was about the same age as Mayra's father. The question made the beautiful girl in her pink hijab rise from her seat and greet the Ustadz by kissing his hand.
“Not at all, Ustadz,” she replied calmly, despite holding back her pounding heart.
“Sit down!”
Mayra sat down again in front of her Quran teacher.
“Are you still in college, May?” Ustadz Fahmi asked her.
“Yes, Ustadz, but I'll be graduating soon.”
“How old are you this year?”
“I'm twenty-two, Ustadz.”
The man sitting across from Mayra nodded repeatedly as he rubbed his chin.
“That sounds just right, and it's about time.”