The night passed quickly. I hardly noticed when my eyes finally closed; I only knew the sun was rising when my old alarm went off. My room—or, more accurately, a tiny cramped space with a thin mattress—never felt comfortable, but it was enough to rest my bones.
While most kids my age still slept under warm blankets, I was already getting ready to work. Early in the morning I walked to Uncle Burhan's shop. The wooden shelves, sacks of rice, and the smell of cooking oil had become part of my daily routine. Nothing special—just sweat as payment for the next day.
"Here, Han. Take this for your breakfast," Uncle Burhan said, handing me a wrapped bread before I left for school.I nodded. That simple bread meant more than anything.
The bell rang. The classroom fell quiet for a moment, then homeroom teacher walked in with steady steps. But this time he wasn't alone.
"Class, we have a new student today. Please introduce yourself," he said.
Standing beside him was a girl. Her long black hair fell neatly; her face was calm and almost unreadable. My heart beat faster. She was the girl I'd seen yesterday at the end of the road.
Her name came out softly. "Azkia Adriani. Call me Kia."
There was an empty seat right in front of mine. She sat without fuss, her back straight, a faint clean scent of soap in the air. From that moment, my attention split between the blackboard and the foreign presence at the front of the class.
As usual, some glances were aimed at me—mocking, looking for chances to make fun. But this time there was another look too, sharper, more curious. From Azkia.
When break came, Kia's desk was surrounded. Standard questions popped up: Where are you from? Why did you transfer? What are your hobbies?Her answers were short, only what was necessary. Still, several times her eyes glanced my way. Quick, but enough to make my chest tighten.
Arka patted my shoulder. "You know, Han? Even the new girl's curious about you."I snorted. "Famous for being a target, you mean."
We decided to go to our hiding place: the storage room behind the auditorium. Dusty, quiet, but safe. A place where we could eat without being disturbed. I opened the bread from Uncle Burhan and after two bites, footsteps made us stop.
The door creaked. She stepped in. Kia.
She stood in the doorway, looking straight at us. Her face stayed neutral—no smile, no greeting."I thought this place was empty," she said calmly.
Arka jumped up. "How did you know about this place? No one comes here."
Kia shrugged lightly. "I just walked."Her tone was almost too simple, which made it feel strange.
Arka looked suspicious, ready to press further, but I cut him off. "Arka, enough."
Kia then turned her gaze on me. Her eyes held mine, staring long enough that it didn't feel like a casual look."You're Yohanes, right?"
I held my breath. She'd said my name as if she already knew me, even though I was sure I'd never introduced myself.
The bell rang sharply like a savior; the conversation ended. We went back to class, but the school corridor felt different. Whispers followed us—not just about the new student, but about us walking beside her.
A Shadow at the Gate
After classes, the main gate was crowded with students rushing home. The evening wind brought dust and the smell of street snacks, mixed with laughter that sounded wrong to my ears. In the crowd, Davka and his group already stood, like guards at the gate of hell. Their eyes hunted—and their target was clear.
"Hey, loser! Over here," Davka called.
Arka reflexively held my arm. I could feel the tension in his grip. "Don't pay him any mind," he whispered. But I knew fighting or running would only prolong the pain.
I stepped forward. The atmosphere changed immediately, like a stage had been set. Some students walked on, pretending to be busy; others stopped to watch. No one really intended to help.
Davka crossed his arms, a crooked smile fixed on his face. "Where's today's tribute?" he asked lightly, but with menace.
My hand went into my pocket, searching for loose change. Empty. I looked at him with a heavy breath. "I don't have any."
His smile flattened and then vanished. Before I could react, his fist shot forward. A hard blow landed in the pit of my stomach. My body folded, breath knocked out of me; the world spun. Laughter erupted—harsh, stinging laughter that slapped away the last of my dignity.
Two of his henchmen moved in. One grabbed Arka's shoulder roughly to keep him from helping. Another kicked my shin so sharply my knee almost gave out.
The noisy crowd became background—faint, as if they were watching a show that wasn't their concern. Their eyes pierced me, but not one moved.
Davka leaned close, his breath sour, his voice low and sharp. "Do you know why I hate you?" he said. "Because your face is enough to ruin anyone's day."
Laughter broke out again, led by his group. I swallowed blood and iron taste—my mouth full of pain. The world laughed with them.
"Enough!" a monitoring teacher's voice cut through the crowd.
Like that, Davka and his gang scattered. Their laughter still echoed as they drifted away through the gate. The crowd dispersed, leaving me and Arka behind.
Arka grabbed my shoulder, face full of worry. "Han... can you walk?"
I forced myself to stand, though my stomach felt crushed. My lips trembled, but I managed a weak smile. "I can. At least... enough to get home."
We walked out of the gate carrying hurts heavier than bruises.
The Wheel Keeps Turning
Like always, after school I returned to the same routine. My life moved in a narrow loop: school, work, home, sleep—then repeat. Nothing special, but I held on because that simple routine let me keep going, at least until the next day.
In the evening, Uncle Burhan's shop welcomed me with familiar smells: hot coffee steaming in an old tin cup, the scent of newly opened cardboard boxes from the pickup truck. The rustle of plastic, creaking wooden shelves, and a crackling old radio playing old songs formed the soundtrack of my days.
"Take two breads, Han. Good luck comes to those who share," Uncle Burhan said with a wide smile, his wrinkles somehow warm. I lifted two wrapped breads to him and nodded. "For breakfast tomorrow, Uncle.""Good. Don't get used to an empty stomach. Young people need energy."
Then my time was spent restocking shelves, weighing sugar, lifting boxes of oil—until I was sticky with sweat. When the shop finally closed, the sky was dark. Street lamps cast a weak yellow light and I walked home with heavy shoulders, the pain from the day still in my body.
Night crept in. I fell asleep in my tiny room—barely a room, just a thin mattress and a squeaky old fan. But sleep never felt peaceful. That night the nightmare came again: I was on a long, dark stair that never ended. I ran, trying to climb, but my feet kept slipping. I fell and fell. My breath came in ragged gasps. My heart felt squeezed.
I woke with cold sweat on my temples. My chest felt tight, like the dream wasn't just a bad image but a mirror of my life. The clock read a little past three in the morning. In the still hour when others slept, I had to go back to work.
I walked through the cold dawn to Uncle Burhan's shop again. The city was quiet; only the occasional motorbike or distant dog bark broke the silence. At the shop, I lifted heavy rice sacks that felt heavier than my strength; I arranged shelves, counted small change until my hands ached. Oddly, even though I was tired, there was a small feeling of usefulness—at least I wasn't completely empty.
By half past six, dawn peeked over the horizon and the sky turned a pale orange. I said goodbye to Uncle Burhan; my eyes were heavy but I had to head to school."Take care, Han," he said, patting my shoulder. "Take two more breads. Don't skip meals."I only nodded and slipped the breads into my bag.
I hurried, jogging toward school. My body was tired, my eyes droopy, but the wheel of my life kept turning—whether I wanted it to stop or not.
When the World Fell Apart
On my way to that small hell called school, my mind drifted. Each step felt heavier, as if the stones beneath my feet mocked how small I was in life. Sometimes I asked myself: Will my life always be like this? School, work, beatings, fake laughs, then sleep with the same nightmare? I wanted to give up. Not just stop the routine—but stop everything. That thought clung to me like a dark shadow.
Unconsciously, I was already close to the school gate. Kia stood there, upright as if waiting for someone. When our eyes met, I felt something I couldn't name—a mix of a blank stare and a weight held inside.
"We'll talk after school," she said, quietly but firmly.
I stayed silent. Not because I didn't want to answer, but because her words felt like they could change everything. Those simple words dug in, making my chest tight.
Back in class, the routine resumed. Davka, as usual, came over with his annoying laugh. "Where's today's share?" he said, interrupting the air. Arka—my friend who was too kind for this rotten world—offered a few coins he'd saved, face reddened with embarrassment. Me? I had nothing. My pockets were empty.
Because they were empty, Davka's fist spoke. His punch hit my stomach hard, taking my breath. The other students just watched—some pretending to be busy, some holding back laughter. No one was surprised. No one cared. The teacher came in, the lesson began, and the clock moved slowly, as if deliberately torturing me.
Around noon, the classroom door opened. A different teacher stood there with a serious expression. His eyes weren't the same as usual."Yohanes, come with me," he said.
I obeyed, my steps heavy. The school corridor felt cold, like a thin fog wrapped the air. We stopped near the administration office.
"Have you heard anything from your parents?" he asked gently, as if measuring my strength.
I nodded. "We called last night. They said they were fine."The teacher took a deep breath and looked down. "There's news from their workplace. There was an accident. Your parents—"
"No, that can't be," I snapped, my voice cracking. "Dad's joking, right? This can't be real!"
But his eyes were too real, too heavy for a lie. "We... are sorry for your loss."
The world stopped. His words fell like sand slipping through fingers—scattering and leaving emptiness. The sounds around me faded. All I could hear was my heart pounding wildly.
I ran. Through the halls, out the gate, into the scorching noon. "Yohanes!" Uncle Burhan called from across the street. I didn't stop. I couldn't.
The house felt unbearably quiet when I locked the door behind me. A silence louder than any noise. My hand trembled as I dialed the number of my parents' workplace. The ringing seemed endless until a middle-aged man's voice answered.
"I'm Yohanes Andhikari. The son of Calvin Andhikari and Ayyara Aneisa. Please connect me," I stammered.
"Please hold."
Minutes felt like hours. My heart nearly burst waiting for an answer. Finally another voice came on—colder, more official, with no warmth. "We have already informed the school. Details... you can request from them."
"But—hello? Hello!!" My voice broke and hung in the air. The line dropped.
I fell to the floor shaking. Until now, I'd tried to survive alone. My parents, though far away, were the reminder that I wasn't completely by myself. Their voices on the phone were the one proof that I still had a home, a reason to fake a smile in the dark.
And now... it was all taken in an instant. No more voices. No more warm calls at night. They'd really left me alone in this mean world—where laughter belonged to those who had everything, and insults to those who had nothing.
Tears fell, but even crying felt useless. My chest emptied. I was weak and powerless. For the first time in my life, I truly had no idea how to face tomorrow.