If that isn’t love… what is?

“How many days will it take?” said a man standing, his hand on the surface of the glass.

“I am not sure, mister! One day? Maybe two? We’ ll see! Is it alright?” said another, obviously the owner of the store, behind the counter.

My documents were being made into copies by the shop’s assistant while I stood, waiting beside the glass wall near to the exit. My eyes swept across, in the direction of the sound of the voices.

“Are you sure?” said the man again, his gaze somewhat intense, from behind the glasses perched on his nose. On the crown of his head, a white kopiah (skull cap), his silver hair jutting out here and there from under the headgear, framing his face, which was full of earnest.

“Yes! For sure! Don’t worry! Tell you what? I will call you, when it is ready. Why don’t you write your number here?” said the smiling young man behind the counter again, handing a piece of paper with a ball point pen and a receipt.

“Alright then!” said the silvery haired man, this time, the seriousness on his face, subsiding a little. He held out his right hand, which was previously holding onto the glass counter, from the big pockets of his apple green teluk belanga (traditional malay dress), his quivering fingers desperately scribbling.

More smiles and nods. The man in the baju melayu turned towards the exit.

Then suddenly, it dawned on me. My heart flipped. The man was struggling on his feet. No! On his one foot! Hopping! In his kain pelikat (sarong), towards the glass exit. And then, my heart flipped again. One of his sleeves was swaying too! And there was nothing there as well. He then held the one arm he had left, to open the door. Holding the door ajar with the shoulder with no arm, he hobbled onto the corridor, the armless sleeve, swaying even more in the wind. Deftly, his foot jumped over the drain onto the road in front of the store.

Beyond the tarmac, a lady in a helmet sat, patiently waiting on a motorbike, the engines running. Just then, her face broke into a smile, aggravating the deep lines on her face, as she saw the man. She held out her hand to his outstretched arm, putting it on one of her shoulders. Her other hand caught on another helmet in a basket, across the bike, gingerly putting it on the man’s already stooped head. Her fingers played lovingly around her man’s chin, fastening the straps. Just like a wife who is faithfully toying her man’s necktie on his way out to the office. The look on her face like a mother softly gazing on her baby, deep in slumber. While her man, no longer having the intense and fierce veil on his face, as in the shop earlier on. Instead, contentment and tranquilness. His gaze on her, like a small child being fussed over and his collar tinkered with his mum’s fingers, while at the school gate.

He heaved on her shoulder and then, they were off, the man holding onto her tight, with the one he had left. My eyes followed them as far as I could see. My neck straining like a giraffe holding them in my sight.

“Maam! Here you are!” said a pretty voice, startling me. Her eyes were smiling.

“Oh really? Thank you!” said I, not quite over yet with what I had just seen.

Payments were made and as I traced my steps to the car, I could not help thinking.

“Glorious is Allah! A true gift from Him. Symbol of undying faithfulness and companionship. If that is not love, then what is?”

Silently, I uttered a prayer, “May God continue to shower His love and nurture the beautiful feeling that we share with our other halves; the trust, care and lovingness that we have for each other …amongst us all…Amin”