She felt quite professional, and oddly excited. “Kak Hasnah,” she called from the bottom of the steps. Osman stood quietly next to her. Hasnah appeared at the doorway, her eyes widening when she saw Osman in his uniform. “Kak Maryam,” she said slowly, her eyes moving back and forth between Maryam and Osman. “Please, come in and get out of the sun.” Osman carefully untied his policeman’s shoes at the top of the stairs and sat next to Maryam on the porch. “Mak Cik,” he introduced himself, speaking slowly and clearly, “I am Osman, the chief of police in Kota Bharu.” “Ah,” said Aisha’s mother, nodding. “I see.” He smiled his most winning smile. “You know Mak Cik Maryam is helping us …” “Coffee?” Hasnah interrupted, and leaned into the door to order one of her children to prepare something. “Yes?” she returned to Osman. He smiled again, tamping down his impatience. Kampong life had its own rhythm, and there was no use trying to rush it. “I am here with Mak Cik Maryam.
