At the flat, Aina unlocked the door. The smell of sambal hit her immediately. Her mother was in the kitchen, already home from her shift at the clinic. Her father would be home by seven.
Aina walked home with Li Qin. The rain had stopped. The sun was fierce now, drying the pavement in patches. They passed the mosque, the Chinese temple, the little Hindu shrine tucked between two shoplots. A familiar sound drifted from an open window – someone practicing the piano. Chopin. Aina recognized it from her own piano lessons, which she had quit three years ago because there was no time.
Aina binti Mohamad, sixteen years old, sat cross-legged on the cool floor of the school's surau. Beside her, her best friend, Li Qin, was struggling to tie her tudung straight. Aina reached over and fixed the pin gently. Budak Sekolah Tunjuk Burit
The rain came down in grey sheets over Kuala Lumpur, plastering the bougainvillea petals to the pavement outside SMK Taman Megah. Inside, the air smelled of floor wax, old books, and the faint sweetness of curry puffs from the canteen.
"See you tomorrow," Li Qin said.
Aina thought about it. The question felt like a stone dropped into a deep well. She could hear her mother's voice: "You have everything here. Our family. Our food. Our way of life." She could hear her father's voice: "Opportunities abroad are better. You must think globally."
The final bell rang at 1:25 p.m. The floodgates opened. Students poured out of the gates, some heading to the bus stop, some to waiting parents in Proton Sagas, some to the nearby kedai runcit (grocery shop) to buy cheap instant noodles for lunch. At the flat, Aina unlocked the door
"You'd burn water."
"I don't know," Aina said finally. "I just want to finish this year first." Her father would be home by seven
In Chemistry, Puan Shida wrote the formula for electrolysis on the whiteboard. "This will be in your SPM," she said, tapping the marker against the board. The class groaned. "I don't make the rules," she added, almost apologetically.