CHAPTER 13: BOLD FRIENDSHIP MANAGEMENT
***
Exactly nine years ago.
Within this year, what happens next is just one of the few tragedies that happened during the year and so on.
The air inside the Melaka General Hospital was thick with the sterile, biting scent of antiseptic and the low, constant hum of air conditioning.
Usually, the atmosphere here was one of stifling tension, a place where people spoke in hushed tones as if afraid to disturb the gravity of life and death.
But in one corner of the waiting room, that heaviness was pierced by a sound so light it felt out of place.
"Haha, sorry ma!"
Soft, melodic giggles rippled through the ward, acting like a sudden burst of sunlight through a storm.
It was a sound so pure that even a man down the hall, clutching his bandaged side in agony, found himself smiling in brief, phantom relief.
A nearby infant, who had been wailing for the better part of an hour, suddenly quieted, lulled into a sudden sleep by the sheer innocence of the vibration.
Claria, Trizha's adoptive mother, however, was far from relaxed.
She sat on the edge of a plastic chair, her brow furrowed as she carefully dabbed at a persistent nosebleed with a wad of cotton.
Before her sat a very young Trizha, whose blonde hair was a messy halo and whose eyes sparkled with a mischief that even injury couldn't dampen.
"Trizha...!" Claria sighed, her voice a mix of exasperation and adoration. "You are incredibly lucky that you're sooooo cute, young lady. Otherwise, I would have scolded you until your ears rang right here in the middle of the hospital! What on earth were you thinking?!"
Little Trizha just giggled again, her nose scrunched up as the cotton tickled her.
"Hehehe! I was just curious, Ma! I wanted to see if magic like that really works!"
"Magic?" Claria paused, staring at her adoptive daughter with a look of pure disbelief. "Trizha, there is no magic that involves pushing a lead pencil up your nostril. You're a reckless little idiot."
"But the man on the TV made it disappear!"
Trizha insisted, her voice high and defensive.
"That is called a sleight of hand," Claria corrected, sighing as she finally saw the bleeding stop.
She tossed the stained cotton into a nearby bin and smoothed the girl's hair. "There is no such thing as magic in this world, Trizha. This is reality, not Fantasy. Only clever tricks made by adults to take your money or your attention. Don't let yourself be fooled by every show you see on television. If you keep this up, you'll have to start treating your own wounds because I'll be too tired to do it for you."
"Okay!" Trizha chirped, seemingly undeterred. She swung her legs back and forth, hitting the rungs of the chair. "But... can I still go and pat the doggies I see on the road? The ones with the big ears?"
"No," Claria replied flatly. "You'll get bitten, and then we'll be right back here getting you rabies shots."
The domestic peace of the moment was shattered by the sound of heavy doors crashing open at the far end of the emergency entrance.
Suddenly, a wave of chaos flooded the pristine hallway.
Multiple nurses, their faces taut with high-stakes adrenaline, burst through the doors alongside security guards who were shouting for the paths to be cleared.
The white uniforms of the medical staff were splattered with fresh, jagged stains of crimson—blood that didn't belong to them.
They were pushing a fleet of crank beds at a dead run, the wheels screeching against the linoleum.
On those beds lay bodies that were barely recognizable, their forms mangled by the unmistakable, shredded impact of high-caliber gunshots.
The residents in the waiting room reacted like a disturbed nest.
Some turned away in visceral disgust, others clutched their chests in primal fear.
But the true horror—the detail that turned the room's air into ice—was the size of the patients.
They were small.
They were wearing tiny, blood-soaked colorful shirts.
They were children.
And so, Claria's maternal instincts moved faster than her thoughts.
Before Little Trizha could process the red-stained blur passing by, Claria lunged forward, her palms slamming over Trizha's eyes to shield her from the gore.
She pulled the girl's head into her stomach, clutching her with a grip so tight it bordered on pain.
"Uhm, Ma? I can't see anything," Trizha's muffled voice came from behind Claria's hands. She squirmed, trying to pry the fingers away to satisfy her burning curiosity. "What's happening? Why is everyone running?"
"D-d-don't worry, dear!" Claria stammered, her voice trembling as she watched a nurse desperately perform chest compressions on a boy no older than six. "It's... it's just a bunch of silly perverts coming in! They're... they're all naked and it's very gross! You shouldn't look or you'll go blind!"
It was a desperate, ridiculous lie, born from a frantic need to preserve the girl's innocence.
Claria held the position for two agonizing minutes, her own eyes wide with horror as the last of the gurneys vanished behind the double doors of the surgery wing.
Only when the frantic shouting faded into a distant echo did Claria finally breathe.
Her hands were shaking as she lowered them from Trizha's face.
She straightened her back, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Nearby, two elderly women were huddled together, their whispers carrying clearly across the rows of seats.
"Those poor babies..." the first woman whispered, her voice cracking. "What kind of devil walks into a school and does this?"
"I heard it was the Little Caliphs Kindergarten," the second woman replied, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "A school shooting in broad daylight. They were just sitting for their morning lessons. How can the world be this terrible?"
Claria felt a cold shiver trace the length of her spine.
She looked at the swinging doors where the children had been taken, then looked down at Trizha, who was blinking and rubbing her eyes, unaware that she had just stood feet away from a massacre.
"Trizha," Claria said, her voice urgent. "We're leaving. Right now. We'll go somewhere else, maybe get some ice cream to—"
She turned, reaching out to grab Trizha's hand to pull her toward the exit.
But her hand met empty air.
Claria's stomach dropped. In the few seconds she had spent listening to the gossip of the old women, the space beside her had become a vacuum.
The chair was empty. The blonde girl was gone.
"Tri... Trizha?!"
Claria spun in a full circle, her eyes darting frantically through the crowded waiting room.
She checked under the chairs, behind the pillars, and toward the main entrance, her panic rising into a sharp, suffocating heat.
"Trizha! This isn't a joke! Come out right now!"
She began to move, her steps quickening into a run as she navigated the maze of patients and plastic seats, her mind screaming with the image of those blood-stained crank beds.