I strolled in to Republic Polytechnic's floorball arena one 11th October evening, escorted by my bestfriend, Ikah, all the way from the institution's carpark upon arrival by cab.
To my surprise, forty young men conquered the school's floorball battlefield, formed two similar line-ups down the farther half of the court. Fully geared in each one's club jerseys, grasping their sponsored sticks of various brands with their right hand over the other, shaft up and blade down. Tall and heavily-built goalkeepers kept at the sides of both rows, seemingly acted like unbreakable walls.
Instructed by Ikah to stand right before the goalpost these athletes were facing, I did just that with no questions asked. I calmly took some time to look at all of these faces placed infront of me, they weren't any stranger. I've seen them through at least two seasons and one major international competition that sent the nation's name soaring up the sky. I recognised each and every one of them.
Except that, the squad wasn't complete.
Hamka wasn't found in line.
I let my eyes wander. Searched the benches, and finally behind my shoulder and the stands above. All I spotted were the creative crew of VoxSports and ActiveSG, armed with cameras and lights all around. Also, quite a turn out of spectators for merely an unofficial hit-around session amongst invitational players. But still, no sign of my beloved.
When I turned around to face the squad again, Hamka came in running from the sides, showing off some skills before he slid in between the two line-ups. He centralised perfectly amongst them, facing me like I was a target. With him, he had his stick and a ball, placed neatly by his blade.
I was even more confused when he started playing a few tricks, the ball flipped sides, left and right, like he was taking a penalty shot against me. He marched up close, close enough to score. I could hear odd sounds coming from the ball not far from me.
He finally stopped playing mind games with me. He paused for a moment, left the stick on the ground to his left and went down on one knee. That moment in time, not only did his knee hit the ground - my heart did too.
He picked the ball and with shivering hands cracked it open into two but it won't open. He actually got the ball custom-made into a ring holder. I've never seen him struggle so hard to form words without stuttering, what more voice out.
"Baby, I knew you wanted a proper wedding proposal despite already agreeing on a date. So let me ask you and let everyone witness this. Do you want to live with me for the rest of your life and have my kids who'll annoy you more than I do?"
The cliche had to happen - I broke down to bits and sprawled on the floor. Before I even agreed to his proposal, I crawled closer to him, helped open the ring holder and said "Yes." The kinda "Yes." only he could hear and wrapped my arms around his stiff shoulders which couldn't even move because he broke down too.
The sudden uproar of cheers and whistling from those watching over us made us embrace each other even tighter. I gazed upon the soldiers who stood behind him and saw smiles that translated to how proud they were of Hamka's courageous act. It's clear that it wasn't easy to plan a proposal, to execute it perfectly was a miracle and for it's process from start to finish be covered by a sports live station was hands down, the most epic of it's kind.
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I can always dream this was all true, can't I?
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