Don't measure the soul with a ruler of rules.

Andrey walked to the science laboratory alone after break time. As usual, he was solitary; no one wanted to keep him company. His schoolmates all had their own cliques. He only had himself. Although there was sometimes a lingering sense of exclusion, the freedom of a life lived like a bird had sealed those negative feelings shut.
It’s better this way. Crowds make things messy.

His footsteps stopped when he bumped into the principal again—the man in the turban.
He was called over. Not for the first time.

“When are you going to wear a tudung?” asked the principal, his demeanour more akin to a street preacher than an educator.
“We’ll see.”
“It is a sin to dress like this.”

Andrey remained silent.

“I don’t want to see you dressed like this ever again.”

In his heart, Andrey asked God, “What is my sin?”
He gave the turbaned man a vacant look. Not angry, not hateful, just weary.
His mind churned again, “Why does this issue never die? Wouldn't it be better to focus on the school's performance in terms of academics, arts, and sports?”

“The Prophet will not acknowledge this nation.” The same sentence repeated. Every day. Every time. Countless times.

And that question was like a plague; it infected the other teachers, most of them male. The female teachers didn’t care much for it. Perhaps because they, too, felt pressured by the rules the new principal was trying to enforce. Andrey noticed that several teachers had been forced to cover their aurat since the school fell under the headmaster, who wore the jubah.

“I really don’t understand, Kak…” Andrey complained to Kak Zu one afternoon as they spent it by the riverside.

“Before that principal came, there was no problem like this. You didn’t wear a tudung when you went to school there, did you?”
“No. Back when Principal Ikhwan was in charge, no issues. Many teachers didn’t wear one. This new guy has turned everything into chaos. It’s not right.”
“As for me, Kak, if I could avoid wearing a skirt or a pinafore, I wouldn’t wear them at all.”

The girl fell silent. She just rubbed Andrey’s arm, trying to soothe him.

“Does he think this is a village religious school?”
“Maybe he used to teach in one. That’s why he’s shocked to see a skirt.”
“I brought that book once, when Cikgu Roslan called me to the discipline room.”

Andrey remembered the incident a few months ago when he tried to defend himself.
“In this book, there is no written rule making baju kurung and tudung compulsory.” He opened the student handbook, which he had brought prepared, and showed it to the discipline teacher.

“That is an old book! Outdated.”

A week after that, Cikgu Roslan, the discipline teacher, came storming after him during break, in the canteen. The eating area was filled with students of various races. The canteen was packed, as usual. Andrey was drinking his morning tea when a yellow book suddenly flew in front of his face before landing on the table.

“Here. Updated. Read!” Cikgu Roslan bellowed without provocation. In the blink of an eye, the rowdy canteen turned into a field of silence. All eyes were fixed in one direction.

Seeing Andrey silent, not answering, the book stranded on the table was picked up and slapped against the girl’s face. Once. Twice. As if the rules within it were more important than human dignity.
“You read this book and follow all the rules contained within it,” shouted Cikgu Roslan without a shred of guilt.

True to form, Andrey just bowed his head in silence, though humiliated to be treated like that in front of other students. No one reprimanded the teacher. No one came to touch his shoulder or stop Cikgu Roslan’s hand.

That shame was not seen as a teacher’s error, only as entertainment.
Witness to the greatness of a power.
Witness to the error of a stance.
No one showed sympathy, not even Ziana, who at that time was sitting and eating with her other friends.

Fried noodles and rose water syrup were swallowed. Her mouth was silent, but her soul was in turmoil. Before returning to class, he stopped by the public phone, seeking the only voice he knew would listen without judgment: Kak Zu.

The remnants of the post-recess lessons continued without unrest, although the incident in the canteen still reflected in his head. He sat, quiet and calm.
And while the teacher continued to teach at the front, he only waited for three things:
the ringing of the bell,
the door opening, and
the world outside the fence.

𝄢

As promised, that afternoon Andrey cycled to the paddy field. In the distance, Kak Zu looked diligently weeding the beds, her hair in a simple bun, her sleeves folded up to her elbows. She waved when she spotted Andrey.

“Wait a moment! I’m almost done!” Kak Zu shouted from afar, adjusting her straw hat. But Andrey didn’t care. With his already muddy shorts, he walked straight into the paddy, wading towards the only human who made him feel innocent for being himself.

“Hey, isn’t that extreme? Has Cikgu Roslan gone mad? He wasn't like that before. Who cares if people want to wear baju kurung or skirts? This is all because of that new headmaster, I’m sure.”
“I’m ashamed, Kak.”
“Was there no one to back you up?”

Andrey shook his head, helping Kak Zu carry a hoe.
“Ziana?”
“She and her friends just watched.”
“Huh, if I had been there, Cikgu Roslan would have gotten it. No respect at all. What’s wrong with people nowadays? It’s so easy for people to change and want more once they’re given power…”

“I feel like just moving away from here.”
“Hmm, leaving me behind?”
“No... I’ll take you along...” Andrey looked at Kak Zu’s face. He felt calm seeing the girl’s smile. “In my heart.” He added without realising he had touched the heart of a young woman.

“I’ll follow...” Kak Zu knew how to hide sorrow behind jokes and smiles.

The slow-flowing river drowned their thoughts for a moment. A small branch fell from a tree, drifting slowly with the calm river current.

And when a bird perched on a stone in the middle of the river, Andrey asked, “Kak… all this makes me think, am I really a sinner? Or is being me a sin? If God created me like this, isn't He punishing me since birth?”

Kak Zu didn’t answer immediately. She let her thoughts dive into a struggling soul.
“The person who judges is more sinful because no one has the right to determine sin and reward. Insulting a fellow creature is like insulting God, isn't it?”

Kak Zu’s answer brought the image of his mother to Andrey’s mind. “Do you believe in karma?” 

Kak Zu nodded. “That is the most honest law of nature, I think... Every action, good or bad, right or wrong, has its partner later.” Kak Zu’s soft voice tried to inject confidence into Andrey to kill what he shouldn't be feeling.

“Clothing cannot determine a person’s heart, can it?” added Kak Zu. “What’s important is what is in here.” She placed her hand on Andrey’s chest.

𝄞

Asha read the letter that had just arrived. A letter from Sekolah Menengah Seri Mutiara, signed by the Principal, Haji Idris Mahmud.

“Where is Andrey?” She broke her daughter's concentration from a book in her hand.
“What letter is that, Mak?”
“Call him.”

Amanda obeyed. She went upstairs, the bedroom door wide open.
Andrey was lying fast asleep, like a python that had just swallowed a deer, sleeping in utter disregard of the world.

“Andrey… Andrey…” Amanda shook his shoulder gently. “Andrey…”
“What is it... I’m sleepy…” Andrey grumbled. He rubbed his eyes with his palm.
“Mak is calling.”

Lazily, he got up and leaned his back against the headboard. “What is the problem now?”

“I don’t know. But I saw a letter.”
“A letter?” Andrey frowned in confusion. “What letter?”

He had never received a letter before. Without delay, the two siblings went down to the living room, full of curiosity, to find their mother waiting.

“What have you done at school?”
“Just studying, what else? Why?”
“If you didn’t do anything wrong, why would the principal send a letter summoning Mum and Dad like it’s a court case?”

Andrey took the letter lying on the table and read it.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. This is nothing else, it must be because of the uniform...”

The thing he should have hidden was now no longer a secret. The harassment haunting him at school seemed to be getting worse, involving his parents. Andrey’s heart pounded. There was hate. There was fury. There was anger.

“It’s true. I get it all the time.” Amanda reinforced the statement. She nudged Andrey’s foot gently, signalling him to open up.
“This is not right.”

Andrey and Amanda looked at each other.
And that topic became the discussion at the dinner table that night.

“Since we are invited, it wouldn't be polite if we didn't go,” Arman concluded calmly.
“This is what happens when religion is turned into culture,” Asha continued. Not angry, but sounding disappointed at the injustice pressing down on their two children. And what made her feel even worse was when religion was used as an excuse to control and show power.

“At school, people call me an apostate.” Since it was already an issue, Andrey didn't hesitate anymore to reveal the problems raised by the new Principal of Sekolah Menengah Seri Mutiara.

“See? That’s unacceptable.” Asha’s tone changed. “Who gave them the right to question our beliefs?”
“Why didn't you tell us earlier?” asked Arman.

“I thought it was just about the uniform... not important... I didn't expect it to reach the point where they think I’m sinful, an apostate...”

“As if they’re free from sin? Untouched by flaw?” Asha shot back. She had never once imagined that her children were facing problems like that at school. “Arman, we must not let them. This is too much.”

“Don’t worry, sayang.”

Arman looked at them all one by one: his wife and their three children.

“It’s love that unites us, not our beliefs.” He held his wife’s hand and continued, “Look… This is a personal choice. Your mum and I have given you full freedom,” he added. “Choose your path in life. Your religion. Your convictions. As long as it does not harm your mind, spirit, or body.”

“I’m struggling to put my beliefs into words. It’s like people stamped me with a label I never chose… “Honestly, it hurts,” Andrey expressed the turmoil he experienced. Lately, he could feel his heart being called to unravel the mystery of existence, and the problems arising at school only strengthened that echo. 

He wanted to answer it. He knew he needed to answer that call.

“Study first until you understand. Research and contemplate before making a decision. In the matter of choosing beliefs, full freedom is yours. Just don’t follow blindly. That is the most important thing,” added Asha, supporting her husband’s stance.

𝄢

Andrey found Amanda sitting under a tree, waiting for the afternoon school session to begin. It was Friday. Amanda was wearing a baju kurung, without a tudung. She chose to wear a baju kurung only on Fridays, while on other days, like Andrey, she was more comfortable wearing a skirt or pinafore.

“Dad and Mum have gone in. What do you think will happen next…”
“I don’t know. I’m bored with this school. When can we leave this place…”
“Let’s just see.”
“I’m going back first, I’m bored. See you at home.”

Andrey left his sister when her friends approching He saw his father’s car in the parking lot and stopped by briefly to greet Uncle Black, who was waiting in the car.

“Have Mum and Dad been in long, Uncle?”
“About ten, fifteen minutes. Going back already?”

Andrey nodded.

“Don’t worry too much. Go back and sleep. You know Dad and Mum will deal with that Pak Lebai.”
“When can we move from here...”
“Soon.”

After a brief chat with the family driver, Andrey got his bicycle and went straight home.

𝄢

“Alright, teacher. We understand the rule. But clearly, Andrey has done nothing wrong just because he chooses not to wear a baju kurung and a tudung. Perhaps you can explain,” Arman spoke calmly, “why such a small matter is made into a big issue until we need to be called here?”

Haji Idris Mahmud did not answer that question. Instead, he threw out another question, straying from the context.

“Your IC — Muslim. The children are too. But you, Mrs Shariff? Still Buddhist. That is not aligned. It is unseemly.” He ended the words with a cynical smile. Then he continued, “Perhaps the mixed marriage made you turn astray.”

Asha’s blood boiled. Those words were thrown without a shred of respect. “Is that the issue to be discussed?” She almost stood up from her seat, but rationality held her back. They had agreed that Arman would be the one to speak.

“Why link personal matters with this issue?” asked Arman. “Two years ago, under Principal Ikhwan, the question of my child wearing a skirt or pinafore never arose. Why is it a problem now?”

He knew that if this continued, the discussion would stray far from its purpose. But it was clear; the principal’s intention was not to discuss, but to preach.

“As Malays, we are Muslims,” said Haji Idris. “We are fortunate to be born into this religion. We are obliged to obey the Prophet’s teachings. Andrey is imitating the image of a man. The Prophet will not acknowledge such people. Your wife does not cover her aurat. Their sins... who will bear the burden?”

“The Prophet will not acknowledge them, teacher. But you are not the Prophet either,” Asha shot back sharply.

“No one bears the sins of another,” Arman’s tone rose slightly, but remained controlled. He paused for a moment. Then continued, “Forgive me, but I feel you called us here to discuss school uniforms, not my marriage. Our family background has nothing to do with this.”

“You are wrong,” countered the principal. “As the head of the family, you are responsible for the sins of your wife and children. As a new convert, she must be guided. But it seems your wife has not converted yet. So, this marriage is not valid in Islam... or is it you who has converted?”

Those words were insulting. Arman swallowed his anger in silence. He looked at Asha. Her eyes caught the light that had once made him fall in love. A light that was now his own voice.

“I think this has crossed the line. Our religion, our marriage... is no one’s business. We came to discuss school uniforms. Not creed, not lineage,” Asha’s tone remained firm but rooted.

“I just want to understand...” said the principal, his eyes as sharp as his tone. “Why is Andrey straying from the teachings of Islam? Perhaps... the home is not a place of upbringing. As Malay Muslims, we have a responsibility to lead the family to the straight path. But you seem to be letting loose understanding flow in the family.”

Arman did not answer. Those words were too low to be answered with high regard.
And this was not the first time his beliefs had been questioned.
The right to choose was often blocked by verses supposedly from the sky, when in reality, they were only handwritten by humans, not a covenant between him and the Creator.

His eyes returned to Asha. He remembered an old conversation, years ago, when he proposed to that woman...

“I fell in love with your truth. That’s the ground I built my faith on, not fear, not dogma.”
“How about your family?”
“They will understand.”
“Do I have to convert?”
“You don’t owe your soul to anyone. Keep your light. My love doesn’t ask for conversion, only truth. Till death do us part and reunite us again on the other side.”

They married in Ireland. The reception in the homeland was held at the family’s request, following custom, not ritual. Asha kept her first name and took Shariff as her family name.
They never labelled their marriage in a religious context because what they chose was love. Not coercion.

“For two years, my child studied here. Under the old guy, no problem. Why, when you took over, did everything change?”

“Because the principal before me did not follow the true teachings of Islam. I was appointed to correct what has strayed. That is a trust from God.”

Arman took a deep breath. It was useless arguing with a human who believed he already had a place in heaven and the right to determine who was fit to be cast into hell.

“To know a person, look at the heart. Not read the paper,” his voice was low. “Because the heart is the Holy Land where He dwells. The Promised Land. If humans truly understood.”

He looked at Asha. Her eyes answered: Time is more valuable than argument.

“We can take this matter to the PPD, to the Ministry... or the Shariah Court if necessary. I will wait.”

For a moment, Haji Idris fell silent. Then he said, “If it can be resolved in a good way, let’s do it the good way. No need to take it up, just bring it to the straight path. The path the Prophet taught.”

Arman looked towards the principal. Long. He shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing from the mouth of an educator ranked as a principal.

“If you want to resolve it the right way, please stop pressuring my children. Let them think for themselves.
Let them choose with a conscious soul, not out of fear. Faith... if it comes from force, it is not faith. It is a shackle.”

He touched his wife’s arm, then interlaced their fingers, tight.
“If we can’t discuss like humans... we will meet at a place where humans are forced to listen.”

They stood up.
They left nothing behind except the mirror.
And perhaps, a voice of the heart that hadn't been silenced in time.