Baharuddin gazed at Felzein, utterly transfixed, before lifting a trembling finger to point at him.
"A-Ang... Angel...!" he stammered, voice scarcely above a whisper.
Lasmini, seated beside him, looked equally astonished, "Yes, dear... he does look like an angel," she murmured, her tone laced with awe.
Felzein responded with a soft, composed smile, "Mā shā' Allāh, tabārak Allāh," he intoned, the words falling gently from his lips.
With quiet composure, he lifted the teacup before him, exhaled lightly over its steaming surface, and took a measured sip.
Then, with the same tranquil air, he reached for one of the delicate pastries, biting into it with graceful nonchalance, seemingly untouched by the stunned silence that filled the room.
He had anticipated this. Such reactions had long ceased to surprise him.
Wherever he went, the unveiling of his face was often met with disbelief.
His eyes drifted to Rosa, who sat motionless, eyes wide, fixed upon him as though entranced.
Felzein's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, "Seek forgiveness," he said gently.
The words stirred her from her reverie. She blinked rapidly, turned her face away in flustered haste, and exhaled a long, quivering breath.
"Forgive me, O Lord..." she whispered, her heart still racing wildly within her chest.
Baharuddin and Lasmini, upon hearing those gentle words, instinctively murmured a soft invocation under their breath.
"Forgive us, O Lord…" they said, almost in unison, their voices laced with humility.
Felzein's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.
With a quiet grace, he said, "If simply glimpsing my face leaves you so astonished, imagine for a moment what it would be like to behold the countenance of the Prophet Youssef or the Prophet Mohammed, peace be upon them both."
Baharuddin turned to his wife, his eyes wide with silent awe. They found themselves unable to form a reply.
Felzein lowered his gaze, humility woven into every syllable, "Their beauty… it was not of this world. I am but a fleeting reflection, perhaps not even that."
The words hung in the air, gentle and reverent, settling like dust in the hush of evening.
Rosa, too, bowed her head slightly, a quiet acknowledgement of the truth within them.
Then, in that delicate silence, Baharuddin and Lasmini exchanged a subtle glance, one of those silent conversations only long-married couples can have.
"Well then," Lasmini said with a smile that carried more meaning than her words, "I should check on the tea things."
"Yes, and I must attend to something in the back room," Baharuddin added, clearing his throat as he rose to his feet.
Together, they slipped out of the sitting room, leaving Rosa and Felzein alone beneath the warm, amber light.
Rosa's hands curled in her lap. Her heart beat a fraction faster.
A soft stillness settled between them, comfortable, expectant, fragile as spun glass.
No words were spoken. But sometimes, silence says the most.
Felzein retrieved his mask with a measured motion, carefully settling it once more over his face before turning his gaze towards the clock hanging silently on the parlour wall.
The short hand hovered just shy of twelve, while the long hand inched steadily forward with deliberate grace.
The hour read twenty minutes to midnight. The night had slipped away quietly, leaving only a hushed stillness in its wake.
"Ocha…" His voice, soft and tentative, gently fractured the late hour's silence.
Rosa pivoted, her eyes flickering with a glimmer of hope and something unspoken.
"I ought to be going now. It's nearly midnight," Felzein murmured, casting a sidelong glance at the timepiece strapped to his wrist.
Startled, Rosa blinked, breath caught off guard, "Ah…" she breathed, an involuntary query falling from her lips, "You're not going to finish your tea, sir?"
A faint smile curved beneath the mask, "Thank you, Ocha. I've had quite enough," he assured her, rising with an air of quiet resolve.
Rosa mirrored his movement, her heart tightening with the unspoken ache of parting.
Her eyes lingered on him, reluctant to break the spell of the moment.
"Do remember to give my regards to your father and mother, will you? I must take my leave," he added, offering a brief, courteous glance.
A gentle nod was her only reply, a subtle wave of disappointment washing over her, a feeling elusive, yet profound.
"Yes, I will," she whispered softly, her voice a fragile promise.
Felzein smiled once more, a quiet farewell that seemed to linger in the dimly lit room as he stepped away, his figure dissolving into the shadows beneath the streetlamp's muted glow.
The silence that followed was heavier somehow, the stillness more profound.
Rosa's gaze dropped to the teacup resting upon the table, the very vessel Felzein had held moments before, still faintly warm beneath her fingertips.
An inexplicable yearning stirred within her, drawing her to cradle the cup gently.
Without fully realising, she raised it to her lips and savoured the final drops.
The sweetness lingered on her tongue, mingling with a tender warmth that crept slowly down her throat.
"Sweet…" she whispered, voice barely audible, eyes clouded with wistful reverie.
"As sweet as your smile," she breathed again, a soft smile blooming like a fragile blossom, clutching desperately to the fleeting echo of a moment now past.
It soon became clear that Baharuddin and Lasmini had not truly departed.
From within the dimly lit interior, they stole furtive glances towards Rosa and Felzein.
Observing their daughter's quiet actions, a flicker of surprise crossed their faces.
"See there, love... Ocha is sipping the tea left by Felzein," Baharuddin murmured, his eyes wide with astonishment.
Lasmini met her husband's gaze before returning her attention to Rosa, who still cradled the cup delicately in her hands.
"Aye, dear… It appears she's rather fond of Felzein," she replied softly, a restrained smile tugging at her lips.
"Come along inside now, my dear. It's grown late. Time for bed," Baharuddin urged gently, yet with an unmistakable firmness.
Lasmini nodded in quiet agreement, casting a few lingering looks at their pensive daughter before following her husband towards the bedroom.
Left alone, Rosa remained seated in the fading light, embraced by the tranquil hush of the night.
Meanwhile, after a prolonged spell of silent reverie, Rosa rose at last and set about tidying the remnants of tea and cakes from the sitting room table.
She carried them across to the kitchen, washing each piece with gentle care.
Yet, when she reached the glass Felzein had used, a pause overcame her.
After cleansing it meticulously, Rosa set aside the pale blue tumbler, separate from the rest.
Henceforth, this glass was reserved, no one was to touch it but herself, or Felzein, should he ever return.
Retreating to her chamber, she reclined upon her bed, eyelids heavy but sleep unwilling.
The vision of Felzein's countenance lingered, his faint, serene smile behind that enigmatic mask haunting her thoughts.
Unable to quiet her mind, she reached for her phone and opened WhatsApp, her fingers tracing out a brief status:
"I met an angel tonight."
With a soft tap, she sent the message, placing the device beside her pillow.
Though rest came slowly, eventually, with a heart still racing yet soothed, Rosa surrendered to the embrace of sleep.
Unbeknownst to Rosa, Melati lay awake, her eyes furtively scanning the glow of her friend's WhatsApp status.
"Ocha... Praise be to God," she breathed softly, a quiet relief mingling with a subtle gratitude.
Melati surmised that Rosa had just encountered something remarkable, perhaps unwittingly crossing paths with someone truly extraordinary.
A faint, wistful smile curved her lips as she set her phone aside, a gentle curiosity nestling deep within her chest.
Turning her gaze to the mirror perched upon her dressing table, Melati's eyes grew distant, lost in some unspoken reverie.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she murmured, "May your beloved be nothing like mine, Ocha."
Her features bore the shadow of sorrow, an unmistakable trace of melancholy etched beneath her skin.
Slowly, she swept her hand across her cheek, as though striving to erase not just the visible bruises but the invisible wounds that marred her soul.
The cruel reminders left by Welly, the man who ought to have cherished her, yet whose anger had too often found its way into blows.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Melati prayed that no eyes had glimpsed the evidence of her suffering.
For she yearned, above all, to pretend those scars were not there.
What mattered most was that Rosa, her cherished friend, remained blissfully unaware of the torment Melati bore.
The torment that ravaged not only her heart but also her very flesh.
And Melati resolved, with quiet determination, that Rosa should never know.