Namaku Senja Kurnia, anak bungsu dari lima bersaudara yang terlahir dari keluarga sederhana di sebuah kampung di Jawa Tengah. Ayah meninggalkan kami ketika usiaku baru dua tahun. Kenangan tentangnya nyaris tidak ada—wajahnya pun tak bisa kuingat.
Aku memiliki seorang kakak perempuan, Mbak Indira, yang usianya terpaut lima tahun dariku. Kami bagaikan langit dan bumi dalam banyak hal. Mbak Indira adalah sosok anggun, lembut, dan jujur, sedangkan aku tumbuh menjadi gadis tomboi yang lebih suka bermain layang-layang, sepak bola, atau berenang di sungai bersama anak-anak lelaki kampung. Musim hujan adalah favoritku. Saat tanah di tepi sungai berubah menjadi lumpur licin, kami menjadikannya wahana seluncuran paling seru. Aku satu-satunya perempuan di antara mereka, dan tidak sedikit pun rasa takut singgah di hatiku.
Namun, waktu berlalu, dan aku mulai mengenal rasa malu.
Rumahku berjarak hanya lima puluh meter dari sebuah pondok pesantren milik keluarga kakak iparku yang pertama. Pondok itu kecil, hanya dihuni sekitar dua ratus santri. Walaupun aku terkenal nakal, sesekali aku ikut Mbak Indira menghadiri kegiatan di pondok. Di sana, mereka mengajarkan banyak hal: salat berjamaah, hafalan Al-Qur’an, kitab kuning, hingga ekstra kurikuler seperti seni, olahraga, dan bela diri.
Kemudian, masa remaja datang, dan bersamanya, perasaan-perasaan baru.
Aku pertama kali memperhatikan Ustaz Dario Muhammad ketika ia baru pulang menamatkan pendidikannya di sebuah pesantren terkenal di Rembang. Suaranya ketika mengumandangkan azan begitu indah, begitu menyentuh hati. Setiap kali ia melantunkan ayat suci Al-Qur’an, jiwaku bergetar. Aku mencuri pandang saat ia mengajar, dan ketika tiba giliranku membaca di hadapannya, hatiku berdebar-debar.
Akhirnya, aku memberanikan diri. Sebuah surat kuselipkan di buku tugas, dan betapa terkejutnya aku ketika ia membalasnya. Singkat cerita, hubungan kami pun dimulai. Hubungan yang kami jalani diam-diam, tersembunyi di balik tembok pondok pesantren.
Setiap kali bertemu, aku selalu membawa sahabatku, Umi Kalsum, sementara Ustaz Dario mengajak santriwan bernama Abdul Kifli. Kami berempat bertemu di panggok, tempat anak-anak santri menghafal Al-Qur’an. Awalnya, orang-orang tidak mencurigai apa-apa. Mereka mengira kami hanya belajar bersama. Tetapi, rahasia tidak selamanya bisa disembunyikan.
Suatu hari, berita tentang hubungan kami sampai ke telinga Pak Yai, kakak iparku. Kami berempat dipanggil ke sebuah ruangan. Suasana begitu tegang. Pak Yai menatap kami dengan tajam, bertanya apa yang sebenarnya terjadi. Aku dan Ustaz Dario hanya bisa bersimpuh, meminta maaf dan restu. Namun, Pak Yai tetap diam. Ia menyuruhku keluar untuk menemui Bu Nyai, sementara ia berbicara panjang lebar dengan Ustaz Dario.
Ketika akhirnya Ustaz Dario keluar dari ruangan itu, wajahnya begitu berat. Ia menghampiriku, mengucapkan satu kata dengan nada bergetar, “Maaf.” Hanya itu. Tanpa penjelasan, tanpa janji. Ia memutuskan hubungan kami begitu saja.
Seperti tersambar petir di siang bolong, aku pulang dengan air mata yang tak berhenti mengalir. Hari itu malam terakhir bulan Ramadan. Ketika orang-orang mengumandangkan takbir Idulfitri, aku mengurung diri di kamar, menangis sepanjang malam. Hati ini hancur—lebih dari itu, aku merasa dikhianati. Ia menyerah begitu saja tanpa berjuang untuk cinta kami.
Belakangan, aku mengetahui alasan di balik keputusannya. Dari awal, ternyata sudah ada perjanjian antara keluarga kami. Ustaz Dario telah dijodohkan dengan… Mbak Indira, kakakku sendiri.
Setelah lebaran berlalu, aku memutuskan untuk pergi. Aku pindah sekolah ke kota lain, tinggal bersama Bulik, adik Mama. Aku mencoba merawat luka hatiku seorang diri, meski sulit.
Namun, di tengah kepedihan itu, aku selalu berpegang pada satu keyakinan: Allah tidak pernah memberi ujian di luar batas kemampuan hamba-Nya. Mungkin, luka ini adalah bagian dari rencana-Nya. Dan aku percaya, suatu saat nanti, hikmah besar akan datang bersama pengganti yang lebih baik. []
Chasing the Love of Ustaz
My name is Senja Kurnia, the youngest of five siblings born into a simple family in a village in Central Java. My father left us when I was only two years old. I have almost no memories of him—I can’t even remember his face.
I have an older sister, Mbak Indira, who is five years younger than me. We are like heaven and earth in many ways. Mbak Indira is graceful, gentle, and honest, while I grew up as a tomboy who preferred playing kites, soccer, or swimming in the river with the village boys. The rainy season was my favorite. When the ground on the riverbank turned into slippery mud, we made it the most exciting slide ride. I was the only girl among them, and not a single fear entered my heart.
However, time passed, and I began to know shame.
My house was only fifty meters from an Islamic boarding school owned by my first brother-in-law’s family. The boarding school was small, with only about two hundred students living there. Even though I was known to be naughty, I occasionally joined Mbak Indira in attending activities at the boarding school. There, they taught many things: congregational prayer, memorizing the Qur’an, yellow books, and extracurricular activities such as art, sports, and self-defense.
Then, adolescence came, and with it, new feelings.
I first noticed Ustaz Dario Muhammad when he had just finished his education at a famous Islamic boarding school in Rembang. His voice when calling the call to prayer was so beautiful, so touching. Every time he recited the holy verses of the Qur’an, my soul trembled. I stole glances while he was teaching, and when it was my turn to read in front of him, my heart pounded.
Finally, I dared myself. I slipped a letter into my assignment book, and how surprised I was when he replied. Long story short, our relationship began. The relationship we had was secret, hidden behind the walls of the Islamic boarding school.
Every time we met, I always brought my best friend, Umi Kalsum, while Ustaz Dario invited a student named Abdul Kifli. The four of us met at the panggok, where the students memorized the Qur’an. At first, people did not suspect anything. They thought we were just studying together. However, secrets cannot be hidden forever.
One day, news of our relationship reached the ears of Pak Yai, my brother-in-law. The four of us were called into a room. The atmosphere was so tense. Pak Yai stared at us sharply, asking what really happened. Ustaz Dario and I could only kneel, apologize and give our blessings. However, Pak Yai remained silent. He told me to go out to meet Bu Nyai, while he spoke at length with Ustaz Dario.
When Ustaz Dario finally came out of the room, his face was so heavy. He approached me, saying one word in a trembling tone, “Sorry.” That was it. Without explanation, without promise. He just ended our relationship.
Like being struck by lightning in broad daylight, I went home with tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. It was the last night of Ramadan. When people chanted the Idulfitri takbir, I locked myself in my room, crying all night. My heart was broken—more than that, I felt betrayed. He gave up so easily without fighting for our love.
Later, I found out the reason behind his decision. From the beginning, it turned out that there had been an agreement between our families. Ustaz Dario had been matched with… Mbak Indira, my own sister.
After Eid passed, I decided to leave. I moved schools to another city, living with Bulik, Mama’s sister. I tried to treat my heartache alone, even though it was difficult.
However, in the midst of that pain, I always held on to one belief: Allah never gives trials beyond the limits of His servants’ abilities. Perhaps, this wound is part of His plan. And I believe, one day, great wisdom will come with a better replacement. []