"The Groom-To-Be Hasn't Arrived Yet?"

The wall clock in the corner kept ticking. Second by second passed quickly. The sky above the house turned gray. In the living room, the marriage officiant sat upright on a wooden chair. His fingers occasionally tapped the table without rhythm as he glanced at the watch on his wrist. He let out a long sigh.

"We'll wait fifteen more minutes," he whispered to Mala's father, who sat stiffly beside him. His forehead creased, and unease crept into his heart.

The room, once filled with laughter and prayers, now buzzed with murmurs from corner to corner.

"Where is the groom-to-be?" Aunt Mia hissed from across the room. Her voice was deliberately loud enough for everyone to hear.

Standing in the bridal chamber, Mala stared blankly out the window, biting her lower lip until it almost bled. She had tried calling her fiancé multiple times, but his phone was suddenly unreachable.

Her mother entered, looking at her with gentle eyes. "Have you tried calling him again, sweetheart?"

"I did, Mom. But his phone is off. What do we do?"

Mala's mother stepped closer, stroking her daughter's head softly, trying to reassure her. "Be patient, dear. Maybe he's stuck in traffic."

Their eyes met for a split second. Mala's mother smiled, but it was a pained smile.

"Mom, what if he doesn't come?"

Mala's face looked somber. Her luxurious wedding gown suddenly felt like a shroud.

Her mother quickly shook her head, but her hands trembled as she adjusted the delicate hairpiece in Mala's hair. "Don't think like that. Reymon is fine, I'm sure…"

A vibration cut off her words. Mala grabbed her phone, her heart leaping. "Reymon?"

But it wasn't a message. It was a weather notification: Rain is coming.

Mala let out a bitter laugh. "Rain," she thought. "Maybe the sky is making a pact with my unshed tears."

She gazed into the mirror in front of her. The woman in the reflection was still beautiful, but cracks lined her eyes, cracks no bridal makeup could conceal.

"Is this love?" she whispered to herself. "A hope placed on someone who can't even respect his own time?"

Mala's mother returned to the living room, pacing. Her forced smiles crumbled as she tried to entertain the guests, but her eyes kept glancing toward the staircase where her daughter stood, watching.

Mala knew that behind those glances, the same question lingered: How long should we wait? How long before this turns into humiliation?

"Mala!"

A voice, breathless.

It was Arslan. Her childhood friend. His face was pale. A brown envelope was clutched in his hand.

Mala turned to him. "What is it, Arslan?"

"He's not coming."

Mala swallowed hard. Her breath hitched. "What do you mean? Who's not coming?"

"Your fiancé," Arslan answered.

Mala chuckled softly, as if refusing to believe. "That's impossible. Don't joke like that."

Arslan took a deep breath. "I'm not joking. This is serious." He handed the envelope to Mala.

A courier had just delivered it to her house, and Arslan, who happened to be outside, had received it.

Mala took the envelope with trembling hands, as if its weight had suddenly doubled.

"I'm sorry, I can't marry you. I have to leave."

"Leave? Why?" Her heart screamed.

"He... left?" Mala choked on a sob, the letter slipping from her fingers, carried away by the wind.

She stared blankly at the open door. 

"Why did you leave?"

"Why didn't you give me a reason?"

"How could you do this to me?"

"What did you take me for, Reymon? A discarded candy wrapper?"

"You're cruel, Reymon. YOU'RE CRUEL!"

Questions raced through her mind. Her heart shattered into pieces. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her body weakened, about to collapse—until Arslan caught her just in time.

"Arslan! Help me bring Mala to her room! She can't walk!" her mother cried.

His body moved instinctively. As he carried Mala, he caught the familiar scent of jasmine from her. The same scent that had kept him awake during their late-night business assignments, just to afford training fees.

Arslan carried her to the room, laying her gently on the bed. Watching her so broken made his heart tremble. Mala's eyes were closed, but her tears kept flowing, unstoppable.

Arslan let out a deep sigh. His mind drifted back to one month ago.

*****

One Month Ago

Arslan had just returned from Lombok after completing a two-year business training program. Determined to start his own business, he had planned to propose to Mala once he achieved success.

That afternoon, he decided to visit her house, eager to share his experiences from the Business Academy.

But when he arrived, he saw a crowd gathered. Curious, he stepped closer.

Arslan stood frozen behind the fence, gripping a small gift box from Lombok. The sound of clinking glasses and cheerful laughter pierced his ears.

Through the open window, he saw Mala sitting on the sofa, wearing a light blue dress that made her glow, just as he had imagined her during those two years away. Beside her, a man in a blue denim suit presented her with a ring box.

They looked so happy.

Yes, Reymon and his family had come to propose to Mala.

Arslan's heart tore apart. His hopes of marrying her vanished as he watched the woman he loved choose someone else.

"Congratulations, dear! Reymon was meant to be our son-in-law," Mala's father said, and applause filled the room.

Arslan swallowed hard. The gift box slipped from his grip, landing with a thud—but no one noticed amidst the cheers.

"I... was too late?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. He picked up the fallen gift and turned away, walking down the village road that suddenly felt endless.

Drizzle blurred his vision, or was it tears?

Days later, an invitation arrived at his house. Mala herself delivered it.

"Arslan! I brought you your favorite chiffon cake!"

She handed him a box from behind the door, her smile wide. But all he could see was the silver wedding invitation in her other hand. The calligraphy of 'Reymon & Mala' gleamed like shards of glass.

Mala beamed. "You're coming, right? I want my bravest friend to stand beside me on my big day!"

Arslan forced a smile, his fingers tracing the smooth surface of the invitation. "Bravest?" he chuckled bitterly. "You always misjudge me, Mal. I'm the biggest coward of all."

Mala: "Oh, really? Back in elementary school, you were the only one brave enough to jump off the guava tree just to get my doll!"

"That was a long time ago," he whispered in her heart.

*****

On the wedding day, Mala stood alone upstairs. Her gown wrinkled, mascara-streaked tears marking her cheeks.

Arslan clenched the crumpled invitation in his hand.

A motorcycle suddenly stopped near him. "Excuse me, sir. Delivery for Miss Mala."

Arslan frowned. "A delivery?"

"Yes, please make sure she gets this," the courier said.

Arslan nodded, walking up to Mala. As soon as he handed over the envelope, she collapsed. He caught her swiftly and carried her inside.

"I'm… so stupid, aren't I? Believing in him?" Mala murmured.

Arslan shook his head. "You're just too kind to see the deceit behind a smile."

Outside, rain began to fall. But inside, only silence broke as Arslan pulled up a chair, sitting beside her bed.

"If you need someone to protect you, I'm here," he whispered. "Like always."

Mala looked at him for a long time, then gripped the edge of his shirt. "You don't have to be my protector. Just… my best friend."

Arslan gave a bittersweet smile. "Best friend," he repeated, a word as beautiful and torturous as that lingering jasmine scent.

In the living room, the officiant's voice rang out, asking for a decision.

But what decision could be made when someone's absence had already turned a sacred ceremony into a tragic stage?

Mala's father slammed the table, making the small glasses tremble. The letter from Reymon shook in his grasp, its paper crumpling just like his face, red with anger and betrayal.

"Find a replacement!" he barked. 

His hoarse voice was no longer a request but a command from a man whose dignity had been trampled. Mala's mother could only hug herself, silent tears falling onto the kebaya she had sewn with her own hands for what was supposed to be her daughter's happiest day.

Upstairs, Mala sat limply against the headboard. The once-elegant wedding gown now felt like a shackle. Arslan knelt beside her, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as if holding himself back from reaching out.

But when the heavy footsteps of Mala's father approached, his body tensed instinctively, standing firm like a shield between her and the storm about to break.

"Where is Mala?" her father growled from outside the door before pushing it open wider. His usually warm eyes burned with frustration.

Then, for a brief moment, his gaze softened when it landed on Arslan, still standing protectively in front of Mala. Deep down, he knew, Arslan was the last option, yet perhaps the best one.

"Arslan!" he called out, his voice firm yet strained.

Arslan turned slowly. "Yes, Uncle?"

"Would you be willing to take the groom's place?"

The room fell into a stunned silence. Only the ticking of the wall clock echoed, matching the frantic pounding of Mala's heart. Her breath hitched as her father's words sank in.

"What do you mean, Baba?" She shot up from the bed, her voice cracking. The hem of her gown caught on the corner of the table, yanking her back, a perfect metaphor for her life, suddenly ensnared in someone else's script.

Her father stepped closer, placing a firm hand on her shoulder. "Arslan will be your husband. Today."

"No!" Mala recoiled, her steps faltering until her back met the cold wall. "I'm not some inheritance that can be handed off to another man in a single day!"

Her mother appeared at the door, one trembling hand covering her mouth. "Sweetheart, listen to your father…"

"How do you expect me to face everyone if this wedding is called off?" Her father's voice cut through the air, thunderous yet laced with an underlying ache. "Reymon has humiliated us. Do you want to let people trample us even more?"

Mala's hands trembled. She wanted to protest, to fight back but no words came out.

Arslan remained silent. But beneath his collar, a vein pulsed. His usually relaxed hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

Mala saw it. And in his tension, she saw a reflection of her own, a soul cornered, trapped in a fate neither of them had chosen.