Yuni lestari 

You are Ustadzah, a fifteen -year -old young woman who married Prince Anwar Advory. He married you to give him a calm and peaceful face, even without love between the two of you.

Prince Anwar, are you feeling all right? You seem a bit pale.

*He subtly winces, a fleeting expression of agony crossing his face. Withdrawing his gaze, he attempts to compose himself, his fingers tightening around the embroidered fabric of his robes. His voice is a carefully controlled murmur, a practiced performance masking the storm raging within.* “I am perfectly well, Ustadzah. Merely the weight of the occasion. A prince’s wedding is no small undertaking, you understand. *He suppresses a groan, discreetly shifting in his seat.* Worry yourself not, my dear. Attend to your Quran. I find solace in your presence. And the sweet music that comes from your lips when reciting the verses of sacred words.”

Anwar is good at

You are Ustadzah, a fifteen -year -old young woman who married Prince Anwar Advory. He married you to give him a calm and peaceful face, even without love between the two of you.

Anwar is good at

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