Inspector Wildan spoke softly of his memories, and Nuriana listened with a stillness that betrayed the depth of her feeling.
As the words unfolded, tears slipped unbidden down her cheeks, for she had not imagined that Havi, a man branded by the law as a repeat offender, could have touched so many lives with the sharpness of his mind.
At fifty five, Nuriana remained unmarried, a fact seldom discussed and scarcely understood.
She kept her reasons close, never offering them to others, and so her solitude was accepted without question.
Yet Wildan's account stirred something within her, a tenderness that shifted her view of Havi entirely.
She longed to return to that moment when he had tried to seize her bag, the instant that had set the chain of events in motion.
In her heart she wished she had stopped him, halted the reckless act that had led inexorably to his death.
But the past was immovable, and Havi was gone.
What lingered was regret, heavy and unyielding, and a compassion that had arrived too late.
In the silence of her soul, Nuriana prayed.
"O' Allah, I wish I had known the man called Havi. For the first time in my life I felt love, though only for a fleeting moment!"
"O' Allah, Your creation seemed so perfect, even in death! I feel bereft, powerless, and undone!"
"Why did You take him from me before I could know him more deeply?!"
"O' Allah, if there is another chance, return the time! Even if it is the moment when he tried to steal my bag, I would accept it!"
"Or carry us back to an earlier hour, one long enough for us to know each other, to shape a different path together!"
Without a word, Nuriana sank to her knees before Havi's body, her head bowed low as though imploring something that could never be uttered aloud.
The silence around her deepened, heavy with grief and unspoken prayer.
Inspector Wildan, startled by the sudden gesture, stepped forward in haste.
He sought to calm her, yet she resisted gently, her eyes closed, her spirit withdrawn into the sanctuary of her own sorrow.
Inwardly, Wildan's thoughts stirred with unease.
He recalled the image of Mrs Nuriana as she was known in society, wealthy, resolute, commanding respect across the breadth of her enterprises.
Yet here, before him, she was transformed.
The woman who had long been regarded as unyielding now knelt in fragile devotion before the lifeless form of a man condemned by the law.
The notion unsettled him. Could it be that Mrs Nuriana had loved Havi?
The thought seemed impossible, for her suitors had been men of stature, men of wealth, of influence, or of high office.
None had won her heart, and yet this convict, this man of shadows, had stirred within her a grief that spoke of love.
Wildan imagined the outrage should such truth be known.
Those powerful men, thwarted in their pursuit, might scorn the memory of Havi, perhaps even desecrate his remains.
For though he was branded a criminal, he had triumphed where they had failed.
He had claimed the heart of the woman beyond their reach.
What Wildan saw was not mere pity, nor the charity of a benefactress.
It was something deeper, something raw and unguarded, the sorrow of a woman bereft of the man she cherished.
Her eyes, once cold and commanding, now brimmed with anguish, the gaze of a lover robbed by death.
As a policeman, Wildan was trained to read faces, to discern truth in the subtle language of expression.
And in this moment, his judgement was clear.
What Nuriana felt was no passing sympathy.
It was love, true, and unyielding love for Havi, the man the world had named a repeat offender, yet who in her heart had become irreplaceable.
After a long silence, Nuriana lifted her gaze towards Inspector Wildan, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
The question she asked carried the weight of sorrow, and his reply, firm and measured, confirmed what she had feared that Havi had no family, no kin to mourn him, no one to claim his memory.
He had lived alone, sustained only by the harshness of the streets, and now he would be buried alone.
Nuriana's tears fell once more, her hand trembling as she brushed them away.
The words she spoke were laden with pity, and Wildan, though composed, acknowledged them with quiet assent.
The truth of Havi's solitude was undeniable.
In the sterile hush of the ICU, the nurses began their solemn work.
They cleansed the body, clothed it in the hospital shroud, and prepared it for the journey to the mortuary.
Each gesture was precise, respectful, and final.
Wildan took his leave, offering gratitude for Nuriana's compassion.
She returned his courtesy, and they parted with dignity, bound by a mutual respect that needed no further words.
True to her promise, Nuriana bore the costs without hesitation. Yet her devotion did not end there.
She oversaw the burial herself, guiding each stage with care, her tears unceasing as though determined to grant Havi the honour denied him in life.
At the graveside, beneath the muted sky, she stood in silence.
Her eyes lingered upon the headstone, her breath drawn deep, her lips moving in prayer.
The words were hers alone, whispered to God, to fate, or perhaps to Havi himself.
No one else would ever know their meaning.
They were the final offering of a woman who had scarcely known him, yet who mourned him as though he had been hers.
Nuriana lingered at the graveside, her voice scarcely more than a breath.
"If only time could return, I would never have allowed that moment to happen!" She murmured, her words dissolving into the stillness of the cemetery.
At length she turned away, her steps slow and deliberate, leaving behind the quiet earth that now held Havi.
By the gate her black saloon awaited, the driver standing dutifully beside it.
At the sight of his mistress, he hastened forward, opening the rear door with a swift, respectful gesture.
Without speaking, Nuriana entered the car and seated herself, her composure marked by silence.
The door closed firmly, and the driver returned to his place at the wheel, guiding the vehicle out of the burial ground.
"Where are we bound now?!" Asked Nuriana, her tone subdued yet steady.
"We have a scheduled charity visit to the orphanage, Mrs Nuriana!" The driver replied.
"Mrs Havi!" She declared with sudden firmness.
The driver faltered, his brow furrowed, "Pardon me, Ma'am?!"
"From this moment, call me Mrs Havi!" She said, her voice grave, her words carrying the weight of resolve.
Bewildered, the driver held his silence. He fixed his gaze upon the road ahead, his hands steady on the wheel, and drove on towards the orphanage, while beside him sat a woman who had chosen to bind her name forever to the memory of the man she had lost.