"Torn Between Love and Jealousy"
"Which idiot are you flirting with, huh? Have some self-respect, Za! Do you think I’m just a piece of wood standing here? Zana, if I catch you with that idiot again, I won’t hesitate to lock you up in this house. Got it?"
Zafkil’s voice roared, while Zana stood just a meter away, looking at him with eyes that seemed to shrink and grow with annoyance.
"Abang, what idiot are you even talking about? I don’t get it."
Her brow furrowed. Since when did I flirt with a bowl? Hello, I’m still sane, okay? Who even flirts with a bowl? Is he crazy or what?
"Which idiot, you ask? The man who had lunch with you at the Coffee House. Who else?"
Zafkil’s voice rose again, his breath moving up and down as he tried to control his temper.
"Abang, he’s just my old friend," Zana replied softly, still patient with her husband’s ridiculous jealousy. She was used to this.
"From today, I don’t want you seeing that idiot again. I don’t like it. You’re a woman and he’s—"
—An idiot, Zana finished the sentence in her head, nearly letting out a laugh.
"—a man. Not even a mahram. People will talk."
Zafkil’s jealousy was getting out of hand. Zana couldn’t take it anymore. His words stung, especially when the image of Darisa—Zafkil’s ex—flashed in her mind. That did it.
"Who are you to lecture me? Hey, you’re not even qualified to. Look at yourself first! You think you’re always right and everyone else is wrong, huh?" Zana snapped.
Who wouldn’t be hurt being scolded by someone so unreasonable? Her face clearly showed her irritation. She almost wanted to bite his head off—but her faith kept her grounded. Then guilt sank in for raising her voice at her own husband.
"You’re asking who I am?" Zafkil’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
Without warning, he grabbed her hand roughly and dragged her out of their luxurious two-story bungalow. Outside the main door, he shoved her shoulder. She grabbed his arm to steady herself, and both of them lost their balance.
Thud! Zana landed on top of her scrawny husband. Serves you right, she thought, hiding an evil laugh.
"Ouch! Get off me!" Zafkil protested.
"Nope." Zana stayed put. If I were heavier, you’d be dead by now under this bony frame of yours, she thought with wicked amusement.
"Za! I can’t breathe! You’re heavy as a rock!"
"Too bad," she replied, hugging him tighter.
Zafkil squirmed, worried the neighbors would see them rolling around outside. This woman has no shame.
"Abang, why do you accuse me like that? I’ve never cheated on you. I love only you," Zana said in a sweet, soft tone, kissing his cheek.
His anger melted instantly. Did she just kiss me? Am I dreaming?
"I’m sorry for speaking harshly just now," Zana said, helping him up and brushing the dust off his clothes. She then took his hand and placed it on her cheek, smiling sweetly.
"Do you forgive me?"
He stayed silent, looking away.
"Abang, look at me." She pulled his other hand toward her belly.
"What’s going on?" he asked, frowning.
She just winked at him, leaving him confused.
FIVE MONTHS LATER
Zana came out of the maternity check-up room with Dr. Syamil, laughing together. Her belly was now seven months round.
"You don’t want to sit?" she asked.
"Nah, I prefer standing," he lied.
"Mil, you know my husband still doesn’t realize that the ‘idiot’ he was talking about was…"
"Me," Syamil cut in. They both laughed.
"Your husband’s really jealous, huh?"
"Oh, totally. Every day I get a headache dealing with him," she said, pouting.
"Well, you’re no less stubborn," Syamil teased.
Zafkil arrived soon after, holding his wife’s hand and helping her up. They walked to his black BMW and drove off.
In the car, the radio played a Hot FM segment titled "The Jealous Husband". Zana grinned at the irony.
"Sayang, you know that doctor, right?" Zafkil asked suddenly at a red light.
"Uh… yeah. I mean, no."
He frowned. Which is it?
"You seemed close with him," he probed.
"Why? You jealous?" she teased.
His silence said it all.
"Abang, admit it—you’re jealous," she pushed.
"What? No way…" he muttered, honking at a random car that did nothing wrong.
Zana smirked. "If you’re not jealous, then who was it earlier threatening to lock me in the house?"
He looked away. "That’s different. I was… protecting you."
"Protecting? Yeah, right," she laughed.
Pulling into their street, his tone shifted. "Za… I’m not afraid you’ll cheat. I’m afraid I’ll lose you."
Her heart skipped. "Abang… I’m yours. Always."
But then—
"Still, about Dr. Syamil… I don’t like him," he added.
Zana laughed. "Oh my God, abang! He’s like my own brother."
"I don’t care. He’s still an idiot."
SIX MONTHS LATER
In the delivery room, Zafkil paced like a caged lion. A nurse tried to calm him.
"Sir, your wife is doing fine—"
"Why are you smiling when you talk about my wife?!" he snapped.
Moments later, the doctor emerged. "Congratulations, it’s a healthy baby boy."
Inside, Zafkil held the baby like fragile glass. "Za, I promise I’ll protect you both… even if I have to be jealous of the whole world."
Zana smiled. "Just don’t overdo it, abang. We don’t need another jealous man in the house."
Years later, at the playground, their little boy Zafran refused to share a swing with a girl.
"Why not?" she asked.
"Because my mama said I shouldn’t get too close to girls… except her!"
Zana stared, stunned. Oh no… he’s exactly like his father.
When Zafkil returned with drinks, she shook her head. "Abang… our son’s just as jealous as you."
Zafkil looked proud. "Good. At least he’ll know how to protect the one he loves."
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