SCREECH!!!
The taxi’s tyres screamed, slicing through the hush of morning with the metallic shriek of sudden impact.
Dr Zein and Zara alighted before a secluded dojo, Taring Macan, a sanctum of karate that harboured more than mere sweat and recollections.
Without hesitation, Zara sprang from the vehicle, her stride swift and resolute, like an arrow released from a taut bowstring.
Dr Zein, in contrast, remained composed, offering a handful of notes to the driver while his gaze lingered on Zara’s fleeting silhouette as it disappeared beyond the threshold.
“Sensei! Sensei! Where are you?!” Zara’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent, cleaving the morning air like a whipcrack.
Her cry reverberated off the wooden walls, rousing those still ensnared in the lull of routine.
One by one, karateka emerged. Some from their sleeping quarters, others from the practice hall.
Their expressions taut with curiosity and concern, for something was clearly amiss.
A few senior practitioners, recognising her at once, moved to greet her, “Ah, Senior Zara,” one of them said with deference.
Zara offered a curt nod, her breath still catching, “The Sensei... where is he?” she asked, her tone edged with urgency.
“He’s within the dojo,” the young man replied. “Please, come with me.” He turned and began to lead the way.
But Zara halted him with a gesture, “One moment,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “I’ve come with someone.”
“Someone?” he echoed, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Who, Senior?”
Zara fixed her gaze upon the gate of the dojo, “My beloved,” she replied, softly, yet with a clarity that left no room for doubt.
At that precise moment, a tall, striking figure stepped through the entrance with quiet composure.
Who else, if not Dr Zein?
In an instant, the air seemed to shift. Several students, especially the young women, turned their heads in near-perfect synchrony.
“Goodness… he’s utterly handsome,” one of them murmured, her eyes gleaming with open admiration.
“Oi, don’t start,” her companion chided swiftly. “That’s Senior Zara’s partner, remember?”
“What a shame…” sighed the first, a wistful expression settling on her face, though her eyes lingered still.
Meanwhile, some of the young men looked on with varying degrees of expression. Some intrigued, others wearing the thin veil of scepticism.
“Hmph. Just a pretty face,” one of them muttered, the edge in his tone unmistakable.
His friend gave him a sidelong glance and smirked, “Feeling envious, are you?”
“Me? Envious?” He gave a scoff, arms folded tight. “Hardly. Good looks don’t equate to skill.”
Yet his unwavering stare betrayed the very confidence his words pretended to carry.
Dr Zein exhaled gently, a quiet breath of patience, and shook his head with a knowing smile that played subtly at the corner of his lips, neither boastful nor blind.
Zara stepped forward then, her voice strong and sure, “This is my beloved. His name is Zein.”
At once, the students stood taller, as if called to attention by an unseen signal.
With one voice, they greeted him, “Welcome, Zein!”
Dr Zein turned to Zara, bowing his head slightly to whisper, “Is this always how guests are received?”
Zara let out a soft, stifled laugh, “It’s the dojo tradition. Every important guest is welcomed as family.”
Zein returned a modest smile, nodding with quiet grace, “Then I am truly honoured.”
“Come. Let’s find the Sensei,” Zara said, her eyes alight with purpose.
Saying nothing more, Zein stepped forward to follow her, as the gathered karateka continued to watch, curiosity and reverence mingling in their gazes.
Together, they passed deeper into the heart of Taring Macan.
Within what appeared to be a modest structure from without lay a courtyard broad and meticulously kept.
Its surface was level, traced with faint lines forming intricate patterns, each one worn by discipline and time.
Zein frowned slightly, his eyes moving across the open space with quiet intrigue, “Is this… a football field?” he asked, a note of jest dancing in his voice.
Zara laughed gently, the sound echoing softly through the tranquil hall, “No, not for football,” she replied, glancing back at him. “This is the combat arena.”
Zein turned to face her, “All this space for fighting alone?” he asked, eyebrows raised, half in disbelief.
Zara nodded with calm assurance, “Yes. Here, we test courage, not merely technique.”
Zein’s expression shifted, his gaze settling once more on the ground before him. This time, not with amusement, but with a quiet, growing respect.
A silence fell between them, not of awkwardness, but of shared reverence.
Something in him stirred, an unspoken recognition of the sacredness beneath his feet.
Without warning, a booming voice shattered the stillness.
“Zara! Zara!” came the cry of a man, sprinting towards them with the urgency of someone long parted from a dear friend.
Zara turned sharply, then broke into a radiant smile, “Ah… Senior Dadan!” she exclaimed, her entire demeanour lighting up at the sight of him.
Dr Zein cast a calm glance at the approaching figure, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
As Dadan reached them, he wasted no time, “Where have you been hiding? It’s been months since anyone’s seen you at the dojo!”
Zara laughed softly, her tone touched with fondness, “I’ve been living in Derisa. Life’s kept me rather busy there.”
Dadan nodded thoughtfully, though his eyes soon drifted to the man at her side, “And this…?” he asked, letting the question linger in the air like a floating leaf.
With quiet pride, Zara slipped her arm through Zein’s, “My beloved,” she declared, her voice steady and bright. “What do you think? Rather dashing, isn’t he?”
For a moment, Dadan appeared genuinely taken aback.
Then he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “Well, thank heavens! I was starting to think you weren’t interested in men at all!”
“Oh, honestly, Senior Dadan!” Zara scolded with mock outrage, delivering a playful punch to his arm.
Dr Zein, observing their banter, let out a soft chuckle, clearly entertained.
Dadan quickly composed himself and extended a hand with respectful warmth, “Welcome to our humble dojo, sir. I’m Dadan Wirajaya! Though do feel free to call me Dadan.”
Zein took the hand in his own, his grip firm but courteous, “Zein. A pleasure, truly.”
Dadan gave a brief, satisfied nod, his ever-present smile tinged with genuine goodwill.