Chapter 6: Between Blessing and Burden
Ardian and Mr. Santosa sat quietly on the front porch, enjoying the warm afternoon breeze after the incident with Kinanti had been resolved. Yet, Ardian could sense the unease still lingering on Mr. Santosa's face.
"Is something bothering you, Sir? You seem restless. Is it still about Kinanti?"
Mr. Santosa sighed, folding his hands together as if searching for strength.
"Yes... I worry that letting Kinanti stay might lead my family toward shirk," he said softly, referring to the Islamic concept of idolatry. "But on the other hand, I can't bear the thought of her being used by people with ill intentions."
Ardian nodded in understanding. This, right here, was the very reason he started the Ghost Detective Agency—to help people navigate the supernatural world without falling into the traps of mysticism or blind dependence on shamans.
"May I ask you something?"
"Of course. Please."
"Do you believe that all the blessings, protection, and health of your family come from Kinanti?"
"Of course not. Everything comes from Allah, the One who grants us all things," Mr. Santosa replied without hesitation.
"Exactly," Ardian said, gently but firmly. "God is our first source. Our family and friends are the second. Beings like Kinanti? They're only the third."
He paused, letting the silence underscore the weight of his words.
"So... be assured. All goodness and help you receive ultimately come from the First. Everything else—including Kinanti—are just means to an end."
Mr. Santosa exhaled slowly, visibly lighter but still unsure. "Even so, I can't help but feel anxious."
"Think of this as a test from God. A test of your faith. We may not know His plans, but we can choose to believe they are for the best."
The older man went silent for a while, staring at the trees swaying gently in the wind. Then a small, relieved smile tugged at his lips.
"You know what, Ardian... you're right. I should've thought of it that way from the start."
Ardian returned the smile. "That's what makes us human, Sir. We forget, and we remind each other."
Mr. Santosa looked at him with quiet admiration. It had been a long time since he met a young man who spoke with such clarity and compassion. Especially these days, when he worried constantly about the influences surrounding his only daughter, who had just started college.
As if on cue, a soft voice broke the calm.
"Assalamualaikum!"
"Waalaikumussalam warahmatullahi wabarakatuh," answered Mr. Santosa.
"May peace be upon you as well," answered Ardian.
A young woman stepped through the gate. She wore a brown skirt, a modest blouse, and a hijab that framed her face. Her features were soft, her eyes glimmered like black pearls, and her demeanor was calm yet confident.
She paused, blinking at the sight of Ardian.
"Oh, we have a guest?"
"Imah, manners," Mr. Santosa gently scolded. "Say hello properly first."
"Oops, sorry, Dad," she giggled, reaching forward to kiss the back of her father's hand. Then her gaze returned to Ardian, curious.
"I'll go change first. Had a long day at campus."
"Wait," Mr. Santosa called. "Would you tell your mother to prepare some coffee and water for our guest? And snacks too."
"Can't you just ask her yourself? She's right in the kitchen."
"It's not polite to shout inside the house when we have a guest," he said with a wink.
"Fine, fine," Imah sighed, retreating inside. But her mind lingered on Ardian. Something about him seemed familiar, though she couldn't quite place it.
Ardian, for his part, couldn't help the twinge of emotion stirring inside him. The gentle banter between father and daughter, the warmth of the home—it reminded him of a life he once had... and lost.
Moments later, Imah returned, now in a fresh outfit, holding a tray with steaming coffee and cold water.
"Wow," Mr. Santosa teased. "Our little princess serving guests, I see. What a surprise."
"Is it a crime to be helpful now?" she quipped, setting the tray down.
"Not at all. In fact, it's very appreciated," Ardian said with a grateful smile.
Their eyes met again, and for a moment, time seemed to pause.
Bury the light deep within~
Ardian's phone suddenly rang, breaking the silence. He checked the caller ID—Putriani.
"Excuse me, Sir. I need to take this."
"Sure, go ahead."
Ardian walked a few steps away and answered the call.
"Yes. What's up?"
"Where are you? Rendy's been waiting at the office. We've got a heavy case, and he needs backup."
"Heavy, huh? Alright, I'm on my way. Let him have coffee while he waits."
"Don't take too long. We have to survey the site today."
"Got it."
He ended the call and returned to the porch.
"Sorry, Sir. I have to head back. Duty calls."
"A pity. I was enjoying our conversation."
"If God wills, I'll visit again someday."
"Promise? Imah, call your mother. Ardian's leaving."
Imah nodded and returned with her mother, a kind-faced woman with a motherly warmth in her eyes.
"Ardian, thank you for visiting. Sorry if we troubled you."
"Not at all, Ma'am. Thank you for the hospitality."
Mr. Santosa handed Ardian a brown envelope.
"Please accept this. It's a token of our appreciation."
Ardian took it and instinctively felt the weight. He opened it slightly, then blinked in shock.
"Sir... this is too much. I didn't do anything worth this. Kinanti could've been handled by you alone."
"That's the amount the shaman we consulted asked for," Mr. Santosa explained.
"Please, I'll take only what's fair," Ardian said, trying to return the envelope. But Mr. Santosa gently pushed it back.
"No, It's sincere. Your presence calmed our hearts. That alone is worth more than money."
"Yes, may your agency continue to thrive." added the mother.
"What is going on here?" Imah whispered.
"I'll explain later," said Mr. Santosa.
Ardian took a deep breath. "Alright, but before I go..."
He pulled out a small notebook, scribbled something, and handed it to Mr. Santosa.
"Please sign here, as a guarantee. If Kinanti ever causes trouble again, we'll assist free of charge. This receipt has no expiry."
Mr. Santosa signed it, and Ardian gave him a copy. Then, with a respectful nod, he stepped off the porch.
"It's nearly maghrib. I should be going."
"Take care!"
Ardian smiled. "May peace be upon you."
The parents exchanged confused glances at his parting words, which didn't follow traditional Islamic greetings.
But Imah? She smiled back. "Waalaikum salam," she whispered.
"Waalaikum salam," echoed her parents.
Ardian walked to his motorbike, secured his helmet, and started the engine.
Thud!
"Ow!"
A pebble struck his helmet. He turned sharply toward the house. A pale hand reached out from the wall, flipping him the middle finger.
"Damn you, Kinanti!" Ardian growled. "I swear, next time I visit, I'll slap that smug forehead of yours!"
Back inside, the family stood in quiet bewilderment.
"Why did Ardian use such a strange farewell?" the mother asked.
"I don't know," replied Mr. Santosa, still puzzled.
"Maybe he's not Muslim, but still respects us enough to offer his own blessing," Imah suggested.
Her parents nodded.
"He was remarkable. Not just for his work... but his wisdom."
"So... what happened while I was gone?" Imah asked again.
"We'll tell you everything," said her father, placing an arm around her shoulder.
As they stepped inside, the call to maghrib echoed across the village, painting the sky in hues of gold and purple.
And in the distance, Ardian rode toward his next haunting mystery—leaving behind a home that, for a brief moment, reminded him what it felt like to belong.