The morning air tasted of damp earth and woodsmoke, a lingering reminder of the alley's stubborn grip before the sun could fully bleach the sky. Nazma stood before the small, tarnished mirror in her room, her fingers tracing the collar of her school uniform. It was clean, ironed to a crisp edge by Mak Endah's heavy, coal-heated iron, though the fabric felt thin against her skin.
Mak Endah stood by the door, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She didn't offer a hug or a motivational speech, instead opting to adjust the stray hairs behind Nazma's ear with a firm, almost aggressive tug.
"Don't you dare come home with a long face," Mak Endah muttered, her voice a low vibration of anxiety and pride. "You walk in there like you belong, do you hear me? Don't let those city kids see you flinch."
Nazma nodded, the weight of the green brochure in her bag feeling like a lead weight. She stepped out of the house, leaving behind the raw red bricks and the unpaved porch. As she walked toward the mouth of the alley, the usual sounds of the neighborhood began to rise.
The low, expensive hum of a neighbor's luxury SUV idling in a garage echoed against the mossy walls. It was a smooth, mechanical purr that seemed to mock the rhythmic clack-clack of her own worn shoes on the uneven pavement. That sound was a constant reminder of the invisible ceiling above her head, a barrier made of silver and silk that she was determined to shatter.
The atmosphere at AB College was remarkably different from the suffocating judgment of the alley. There was no oppressive aura of intimidation here, no sharp whispers from women like Naura, and no eyes tracking her every move with predatory intent.
Instead, the campus felt vast and indifferent.
The wide corridors were filled with the soft murmur of hundreds of students, a sea of unfamiliar faces dressed in high-quality fabrics that didn't shine under the sun. It was a place of sterile elegance where the air was filtered and cool, smelling faintly of citrus and expensive floor wax.
Nazma felt small, yet strangely liberated.
Here, she was just another number in a sea of applicants, a ghost among ghosts. The silence of the examination hall was absolute, broken only by the synchronized ticking of a dozen wall clocks and the occasional, distant roar of a plane passing overhead.
The sound of the world outside was muffled by the thick glass windows, turning the frantic energy of the city into a silent, moving picture. Nazma took her seat, her palms dry and her heart beating with a steady, clinical precision.
The exam itself was a blur of logic and ink.
She moved through the questions with the desperation of someone clawing for air, every formula a lifeline. When the final bell echoed through the halls, the tension didn't dissipate; it simply transformed into a hollow ache in her chest.
She walked out of the hall, her mind still racing with variables and equations. The corridors were now crowded, a chaotic surge of students heading toward the exits.
Nazma navigated the throng blindly, her head down as she tucked her stationery into her bag.
Then, the world seemed to hitch.
A sudden, sharp impact jarred her shoulder, the force of it nearly knocking her off balance. It wasn't a violent collision, but a solid, physical thud that sent a shockwave through her frame.
In that fleeting second, the environment underwent a chilling transformation. The frantic chatter of the students around her dropped into a low, distorted groan. The footsteps that had been pounding against the polished tiles slowed to a crawl, as if the very air had turned to thick, invisible syrup.
A strange, freezing draft swept through the corridor, though the windows remained shut. It wasn't a natural wind, but a sharp intake of breath from the universe itself.
Beside her, a figure stumbled. Nazma didn't look up, her eyes fixed on the floor as she scrambled to regain her footing. She caught only a glimpse of a dark sleeve and a hand that seemed to hang motionless in the air for a fraction of a second longer than gravity should allow.
Dust motes, usually invisible in the bright hall, suddenly became distinct, shimmering spheres suspended in the light. They didn't fall, instead hovering in place like tiny, dead stars.
A peculiar pressure built in her ears, a ringing silence that drowned out the hum of the air conditioning and the distant traffic.
Time didn't just slow; it felt as though it were being stretched thin, pulled by an unseen force until the fabric of reality was transparent.
She felt a presence close to her, a coldness that radiated from the person she had bumped into. It wasn't the chill of a person, but the icy stillness of a void.
The air around them rippled, a distortion like heat rising from asphalt, bending the light and blurring the edges of the lockers lining the walls. For a heartbeat, the world was a frozen photograph, a moment captured in amber where everything was poised on the edge of a catastrophe.
Then, the pressure snapped.
The sound of a dropped water bottle hitting the floor several meters away exploded like a gunshot, and the world rushed back in with a deafening roar. The students resumed their hurried pace, the distorted groan turning back into laughter and conversation.
The dust motes fell back into their chaotic dance, and the unnatural wind vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Nazma gasped, her lungs burning as if she had been underwater for minutes.
The person she had hit was already moving away, their back turned to her. She saw only a lean silhouette weaving through the crowd with an effortless, almost predatory grace.
She didn't see his face, and she didn't hear him speak, yet the encounter left a metallic taste on her tongue. It was a shadow of something ancient and dark, a foreshadowing that felt like a heavy shroud being draped over her future.
She stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, her heart hammering against her ribs with a renewed, frantic violence. The polished floor beneath her feet suddenly felt unstable, as if the solid concrete of the school were nothing more than a thin crust over a deep, bottomless pit.
"Are you okay, Naz?" Rahma's voice broke through the fog, her hand landing on Nazma's arm.
Nazma blinked, the lingering coldness on her shoulder slowly fading. She looked at her friend, but the words she wanted to say died in her throat. How could she explain that for a second, the world had stopped for a stranger she couldn't even name?
"I'm fine," she lied, her voice sounding thin and distant. "I just... I think I'm just tired from the test."
She walked toward the exit, but the sensation of that slowing world followed her like a ghost. She thought of her room, of the red bricks and the flickering lamp, and for the first time, they felt like a sanctuary.
The luxury cars outside the gate were honking now, a cacophony of wealth and impatience that signaled the end of the day.
Nazma didn't look back at the grand buildings or the manicured lawns.
She kept her head down, her hand gripping the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turned white. Deep down, in a place she didn't want to acknowledge, she knew that the collision in the hallway was more than just an accident.
It was a crack in the glass, a sign that the life she had worked so hard to build was about to be intercepted by something she could neither calculate nor control. The silence of the alley was waiting for her, but the wind she had felt in the corridor was already beginning to howl in the corners of her mind.