My name is Kayla Nadhifa Almaira, the daughter of a renowned Kyai (Islamic scholar) in the city of Ledre. I attend Madrasah Ibtidaiyah, and playing becomes my daily activity. I consistently score well in every exam, and my recitation of the Qur'an is fluent. Alhamdulillah, I've already memorized three chapters of the Qur'an. Perhaps it's because my father is a Kyai, and he always listens to every recitation I perform.

Whenever I desire something from my father (Abah) and mother (Umi), they always insist that I replace it with my Qur'an memorization because nothing in this transient world comes for free.

I still have a healthy and well-preserved grandmother (Nenek). Although sometimes her attitude towards me can be annoying. She considers me inferior to all her other nieces and grandchildren. However, I've never harbored any resentment towards her and always show respect.

One day, my extended family was struck by sad news. One of my mother's relatives experienced a serious incident. Their house was engulfed in flames. As a result, they had to stay in our modest house.

One day, I was wearing my headscarf and admiring myself in front of the mirror. I felt a pair of eyes watching me from behind. I turned and saw an older boy.

His name was Muhammad Ali Miftahuddin, adopted by Abah's family and entrusted to the pesantren (Islamic boarding school). He served as a caretaker in our pesantren. I noticed he always watched me whenever I looked in the mirror.

My hands covered my eyes, and he did the same. When I touched my small nose, he did the same. Even when my hand reached my cheek, he followed suit. It was such a hilarious sight, watching Ali, whom I affectionately called Kang Ali, imitating my every move.

Sensitive to my laughter, he smiled at me. I approached him and playfully bumped his shoulder. Kang Ali chased me around, circling my father who was standing, holding his book.

"You missed, you missed," I teased him.

He was determined to catch me and eventually did by grabbing my wrist.

"I got you!" he exclaimed.

"Eh, let's go to the Pesantren, the event is about to start," Abah said while placing a hand on both of our shoulders.

We rushed towards the Pesantren, and the place was bustling with guests. This time, Kang Ali was performing as the lead vocalist in the Pesantren's ensemble known as "banjari" for the children. It's because his voice was truly remarkable and suited the role of a vocalist.

I sat with Umi, watching the Maulid Nabi event. The male host was Mas Syarif, my cousin and the son of Uncle Ishak. Since Uncle Ishak moved to the Pesantren, his son had contributed a lot to Abah's Pesantren.

The melodious voices resonated beautifully amidst the sounds of the tambourines. It was a distinctive and soulful performance.

"Maulaa Ya Sholli Wassalim daiman Abada

Alaa Habibika Khoiril Kholkiqullihimi."

The excerpt from the burdah poem was recited beautifully and with deep devotion. Unbeknownst to me, tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn't sure if it was the enchanting performance or the sight of the tears in the Munsyid's eyes on the stage.

Kang Ali finished his performance and signaled to me that we should leave as the event concluded. I got up, and we headed outside the Pesantren.

There were many vendors selling their goods. Suddenly, Kang Ali grabbed my hand and led me to one of the vendors. The aroma of "dadar gulung" (sweet rolled pancakes) being prepared by the vendor filled the air. Kang Ali seemed to know this vendor.

"Kang, how much money should I bring?"

"I have 5000 here," he said, taking out a brown banknote from his pocket and handing it to the vendor.

The dadar gulung was ready to be enjoyed, and we decided not to go back inside the Pesantren. We sat outside, savoring the delicious treat. The sauce dripped onto me, and Kang Ali burst into laughter. Well, he should have helped me wipe it off instead of laughing at me.

He wiped his hand on my face. I looked at him.

"That's why you should be careful while eating," he said to me.

"Let's finish this and then go back inside. Abah and Umi might be looking for us," Kang Ali said, glancing in my direction.

We headed back to the Pesantren, but just as we were about to enter, Mbah Uti was there, and she pinched our ears. It hurt, and it felt like a burning sensation. Ah, the habits of grandparents, they never let their grandchildren have fun.

"Where were you two? Get inside! Look at your older cousin Azizah, she's beautiful, smart, pious, and well-behaved, unlike you!" Mbah Uti scolded me with a terrifying look.

I ran as fast as I could, with Kang Ali following me until we reached Umi's side. I complained to Umi about everything Mbah Uti did to me.

"Why is Mbah Uti like that, Mi, with Kayla?" I pouted.

"Kayla, you have to be patient," Umi said to me.

"I'm sorry, Mbah Uti, Kayla has to be patient," Umi said to Kang Ali and me.

I then went back to the ndalem house with Kang Ali. My tears flowed like raindrops on the earth. Always over trivial matters, Mbah Uti was angry and mean to me.

Am I not her granddaughter? But I'm the child of Umi and Abah, so why am I treated differently from my siblings?

Shortly after, Kang Ali entered my room to comfort me. I hugged him, and my tears stained his white shirt.

"Be patient, Kayla," Kang Ali said as he embraced me. I had always been close to Kang Ali, and he felt like a brother to me. He was always there when I was sad, laughing with me in times of joy and sorrow.

"Okay, what does Kayla want now? I'll buy it for you."

"I don't want anything, Kang."

"Alright, don't want to go back out there?"

"No, Kang, I'm not in the mood."

Kang Ali still looked at me and shared a story.

"Kayla, there's a noble story from the time of the Prophet. When the Prophet was hurt, he never retaliated. He faced it with patience.

Every time the Prophet passed by the house of an old woman, she would spit on him. One day, when the Prophet was passing by her house and she didn't spit on him, he inquired about her. Surprisingly, the person he asked was amazed that he was inquiring about the woman who had always treated him poorly.

Afterwards, the Prophet found out that the woman who used to spit on him every day was sick. Instead of rejoicing, he decided to visit her. The woman couldn't believe that the person visiting her was the same one she had spat on every time he passed by her house. She cried silently, realizing her mistake.

She said, 'O Muhammad, why have you come to visit me, even though I used to spit on you every day?'

The Prophet replied, 'I believed that you spat on me because you didn't know the truth about me. If you had known, I believed you wouldn't have done it.'

With tears of gratitude and happiness, the woman said, 'O Muhammad, from now on, I bear witness to following your religion.'"

I cried upon hearing the story he shared. The patience of the Prophet was immense. Meanwhile, I was just a young child. I could only imagine that if I were in his position, I would likely get angry and emotional. However, he treated the old woman with kindness. Kang Ali still smiled at me, and I returned his smile.

"Kayla, continue to respect Mbah Uti, and InshaAllah, one day she will realize," he said, resting his hand on my shoulder.

I nodded and smiled at Kang Ali. He then reached into his pocket next to his koko (traditional Indonesian attire).

"Here's some candy for you, Kayla," he said, opening the candy and handing it to me.